Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO KEPT REQUESTING HER
Vanessa Whitmore requested Avery again three nights later.
Then twice the following week.
By the end of September, Avery had delivered food to the Moretti estate eleven times.
That was too many to be coincidence.
The delivery app occasionally allowed customers to mark preferred drivers, but Avery had never known anyone to use the feature this aggressively.
Especially someone who clearly disliked her.
Every visit followed the same pattern.
Wait.
Insult.
Smile.
Money.
Vanessa seemed fascinated by the exact amount of humiliation Avery would tolerate before pushing back.
One night she made Avery stand beside the side entrance while she inspected every container.
Another time she opened a salad, found no problem with it, then told Avery to call the restaurant anyway because the lettuce “looked poor.”
Once, after Dominic’s assistant added a two-hundred-dollar digital tip, Avery woke the next morning to find the tip reversed.
Customer adjustment.
She stared at the screen for ten full seconds.
Two hundred dollars.
Gone.
That money had already been assigned in her head.
Dialysis copay.
Prescription refill.
Half the electric bill.
Instead, it became another reminder that wealthy people could reach into her week and rearrange it with one thumb.
Avery still accepted the next order.
Linda noticed.
“You hate that house.”
“I hate lots of houses.”
“This one makes your left eye twitch.”
“My left eye has personality.”
“Avery.”
She was cutting pills into the weekly organizer at the kitchen table.
Her hands had become thinner over the last year.
Avery hated that.
Linda looked at her daughter.
“People who pay you don’t get to own your dignity.”
“No.”
“Then why do you keep going?”
Avery checked the dialysis statement beside the refrigerator.
“Because dignity isn’t accepting online payments yet.”
Linda closed her eyes.
That answer ended too many arguments.
The Moretti orders became stranger in October.
Vanessa stopped using the side entrance.
She started making Avery carry deliveries farther into the house.
The pantry.
The breakfast room.
Once, the formal dining room.
Avery assumed Vanessa wanted an audience.
She was right.
“Gloves,” Vanessa said one evening.
Avery held up both hands.
Already wearing them.
Vanessa smiled.
“Learning.”
Avery kept her mouth shut.
A man near the dining room windows laughed.
Not Dominic.
Dominic Moretti was rarely present during the humiliations.
When he was, Vanessa changed.
She became gracious.
Warm.
Almost kind.
On Avery’s thirteenth delivery, Dominic passed through the front hall while Vanessa was complaining that Avery’s shoes had left rain marks on the marble.
Dominic looked down.
There were no marks.
Then he looked at Vanessa.
“She came through a storm.”
“I know.”
“Then why is she standing here?”
Vanessa smiled.
“We were just talking.”
Avery nearly laughed.
Dominic’s eyes moved to her.
For the first time, he asked:
“What’s your name?”
“Avery.”
He nodded.
“Avery.”
Something about hearing it from him irritated her more than it should have.
Weeks ago he had handed her a hundred-dollar bill without asking.
Now he knew the name attached to the hand.
Small improvement.
He looked at the insulated bags.
“What’s the total?”
Avery told him.
Dominic paid through the app.
Then he looked at Vanessa.
“If a driver is delayed at the gate, security fixes it.”
Vanessa’s jaw tightened.
“Of course.”
Dominic left.
The moment he disappeared upstairs, Vanessa turned.
“Enjoy that?”
Avery frowned.
“What?”
“His attention.”
“No.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Women like you always pretend money embarrasses you until someone rich looks directly at you.”
Avery felt something old move in her chest.
The same anger she used to carry into tournaments.
The same anger her father had taught her how to control.
Never fight because somebody insults you.
Fight because you have no safer choice.
So Avery did not respond.
She picked up her bag.
Vanessa blocked the doorway.
“Your father worked construction, didn’t he?”
Avery stopped.
“What?”
Vanessa smiled.
“I looked you up.”
The room became colder.
“Why?”
“Curiosity.”
“My father has been dead eight years.”
“Yes.”
Vanessa’s expression remained smooth.
“Terrible accident.”
Avery stared.
“How do you know that?”
For the first time, something flickered in Vanessa’s eyes.
Then she shrugged.
“Public records.”
No.
Avery’s father’s death had barely made local news.
One paragraph.
Thomas Carter, forty-six, fatal fall at an industrial renovation site.
No lawsuit.
No criminal case.
No reason for Vanessa Whitmore to know.
Avery took one step closer.
“What site?”
Vanessa smiled.
“You should go.”
“What site?”
“Good night, Avery.”
She opened the door.
Rain blew inside.
Avery stood there for another second.
Then left.
That night, she searched her father’s name again.
Nothing new.
Then she searched the company listed on the old workers’ compensation paperwork.
Midwest Structural Redevelopment.
Defunct.
Next she searched the property where he died.
The address had changed ownership twice.
Current owner:
Moretti Development Holdings.
Avery sat back.
Her stomach tightened.
Coincidence.
Probably.
Then she found the old permit archive.
The renovation contractor eight years earlier had been Whitmore Industrial Group.
Vanessa’s father’s company.
Avery stared at the screen.
Moretti owned the building now.
Whitmore had run the project then.
And Vanessa somehow knew Avery’s father died there.
The next Moretti order appeared twenty-four hours later.
Preferred driver requested.
Avery almost declined.
Then she saw the payout.
Forty-eight dollars before tip.
She needed groceries.
She accepted.
Vanessa met her at the side entrance.
“You’re late.”
“I’m three minutes early.”
“You were supposed to arrive before the guests.”
Avery looked past her.
Cars lined the circular drive.
“Guests?”
“Dinner.”
“I wasn’t told.”
Vanessa took the bags.
Then did something odd.
She placed one hand over Avery’s wrist.
Too tight.
“You’ve been asking questions.”
Avery went still.
“About what?”
“Your father.”
There it was.
Not public records.
Not coincidence.
Vanessa knew.
Avery pulled her hand free.
“What happened to him?”
Vanessa’s face emptied.
For half a second, Avery saw something beneath the polished surface.
Fear.
Then footsteps sounded behind her.
Dominic.
Vanessa smiled instantly.
“Avery was just leaving.”
Dominic looked between them.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” Vanessa said.
Avery could have told him.
She almost did.
Then she remembered the Moretti name on the current property.
Maybe Dominic already knew.
Maybe Vanessa was not the only dangerous person in the house.
“I’m leaving,” Avery said.
She walked into the rain.
Behind her, Vanessa called:
“Drive safely.”
The words sounded ordinary.
They were not.
On the way home, Avery noticed a black SUV three cars behind her.
It stayed there through two turns.
Then three.
Avery’s pulse changed.
Her father had taught her situational awareness before he taught her kicks.
Don’t stare at a threat.
Confirm it.
She turned into a twenty-four-hour gas station.
The SUV passed.
Good.
Probably nothing.
Then, five minutes later, it appeared again behind her.
Avery did not go home.
She drove directly to a police station parking lot.
The SUV vanished.
At 1:12 a.m., her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
STOP DIGGING.
Avery stared at the message.
Then another arrived.
YOUR MOTHER NEEDS YOU.
Her entire body went cold.
The next morning, Linda found Avery sitting at the kitchen table with her father’s old death certificate.
“What happened?”
Avery looked up.
“I think Dad’s accident wasn’t an accident.”
Linda’s face changed.
Not surprise.
Terror.
Avery stopped breathing.
“Mom?”
Linda looked toward the window.
Then whispered something Avery had waited eight years to hear without knowing it.
“Your father told me the night before he died that if anything happened to him, I was supposed to stay away from the Whitmores.”
And suddenly Avery understood why Vanessa kept requesting her.
May you like
It was not entertainment.
Vanessa had recognized the name Carter long before Avery understood the name Whitmore.
