“Yes.”
“I’m Gideon Mercer. I’ll take you home.”
He spoke without excitement or nervousness.
Vivien glanced at the car.
“You’re the replacement?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hesitated.
Then she climbed inside.
The interior was warm.
A folded wool blanket rested on the seat beside her.
The driver had already checked the destination.
He didn’t ask unnecessary questions.
He didn’t comment on her company, compliment her dress, or attempt to make conversation.
He simply drove.
Vivien appreciated the silence.
For the first time all evening, nobody seemed to expect her to make a decision.
She closed her eyes.
Then Gideon’s phone rang.
And everything changed.
Gideon Mercer was thirty-nine years old.
To the transportation agency that employed him on temporary assignments, he was a reliable driver with an excellent safety record.
He accepted evening shifts, weekend airport transfers, and occasional corporate transportation jobs.
He arrived early.
Kept his car clean.
And rarely complained.
The dispatcher knew he was raising a daughter alone.
Beyond that, nobody asked much about his past.
That suited him.
Gideon lived in a modest two-bedroom apartment in Queens.
His daughter, Hannah, was ten years old.
She liked astronomy, mystery novels, and asking questions that required answers far more complicated than Gideon expected.
Her favorite possession was a small telescope he’d bought secondhand and repaired for her birthday.
On clear evenings, they sometimes carried it onto the roof of their apartment building to look at the moon.
Hannah had inherited her father’s curiosity.
She also had a habit of noticing when he was worried.
“Dad,” she’d ask, “is this a money problem or a thinking problem?”
He’d usually smile.
“A little of both.”
Her mother, Claire, lived in London.
Gideon and Claire had divorced several years earlier after a difficult period that neither of them liked discussing.
They remained civil.
Claire called Hannah regularly and visited when she could.
But Gideon was the parent managing everyday life.
School lunches.
Homework.
Dentist appointments.
Winter coats.
Parent-teacher conferences.
And the unexpected emergencies that seemed to arrive whenever he thought the household budget was finally balanced.
The driving work paid modestly, but it was flexible.
He could accept shifts while Hannah stayed with his mother, Ruth, in Connecticut.
That Christmas, Hannah was spending several days with her grandmother.
She had called that afternoon to report that they’d baked cookies and that Ruth had allowed her to put too much frosting on nearly all of them.
Gideon laughed.
“Save one for me.”
“Maybe.”
“Hannah.”
She giggled.
“Okay, two.”
He’d promised to collect her the following afternoon.
Until then, he’d accepted an extra transportation shift.
He’d expected an ordinary ride.
He certainly hadn’t expected the passenger to be Vivien Laurent.
And he hadn’t expected the urgent call from Matthias Köhler halfway through the journey.
Matthias was a German attorney and one of the few people who still knew Gideon from his previous life.
He had been trying to reach Gideon all afternoon.
The Falconrath transaction was moving faster than expected.
A financing group connected to the deal wanted certain agreements signed before the holiday.
Matthias had discovered that the proposed structure could affect an older investment arrangement in which Gideon still held a contractual interest.
Gideon had agreed to review the relevant documents.
He hadn’t intended to discuss them in front of a passenger.
But the urgency of Matthias’s call made him answer through the car’s hands-free system after pulling into a safe place along the curb.
Now, as he returned to the road, Gideon could see that his passenger was fully awake.
Vivien leaned forward.
“You said Falconrath.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“Are you advising them?”
“No.”
“Then are you advising someone on the other side?”
He glanced toward her in the mirror.
“Not professionally.”
She frowned.
“That’s an unusual distinction.”
“I suppose it is.”
The car slowed near an intersection.
Snow moved through the headlights.
Vivien studied the back of his head.
“Where did you learn German?”
“I lived in Frankfurt.”
“For how long?”
“Eleven years.”
She sat straighter.
“What did you do there?”
He was silent for several seconds.
Then he said, “I worked in corporate advisory.”
Vivien almost laughed.
“Corporate advisory?”
“Yes.”
“What firm?”
The sedan stopped at a red light.
Gideon looked into the mirror.
For a moment, she saw something in his expression that hadn’t been there before.
A guarded sadness.
Then he answered.
“One you’ve probably heard of for the wrong reasons.”
He didn’t explain.
Vivien leaned back.
She knew he wasn’t going to say more.
But she also knew enough about international finance to recognize the way he’d spoken during the call.
He hadn’t been asking someone for information.
He’d been giving instructions.
And the words he’d used were the vocabulary of a man accustomed to complex negotiations.
When the sedan stopped outside her apartment building, the doorman hurried forward with an umbrella.
Gideon put the vehicle in park.
“Here we are, Miss Laurent.”
Vivien didn’t move.
She looked at him.
“Gideon, before you go, answer one question.”