Chapter 3 Background

Grace didn't sleep that night. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about things she had spent three years trying to forget.

Marcus Cross.

The name had been haunting her since she saw Dominic's last name at the meeting. Cross wasn't exactly a rare name. It could be a coincidence.

But Grace had stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago.

She got up at five in the morning and made coffee. Her apartment above the ferry office was small and drafty. The paint was peeling and the heater only worked half the time. But it was hers and nobody could take it away from her.

Unlike everything else she had lost.

Grace carried her coffee to the window and watched the sun rise over the river. The water looked peaceful in the early light. It was the only thing in this town that didn't look tired.

She thought about the first time she had seen Marcus Cross. Not in person but in a case file.

Grace had been a prosecutor in the city back then. Twenty eight years old and absolutely certain she was going to change the world. She worked sixty hour weeks. Skipped meals. Lost friends. But she won cases and that was all that mattered.

Marcus Cross had been arrested for armed robbery. A convenience store on the east side. The clerk had been shot. Not killed, but close enough. The evidence seemed solid. The security footage showed a man in a black hoodie. The clerk identified Marcus from a photo lineup. A gun was found in his apartment.

Grace had been so sure. The case felt airtight.

She remembered sitting across from Marcus during the trial. He was young. Twenty four. He kept saying he was innocent. That he had been home that night. That someone was setting him up.

Everyone said that. Every defendant claimed innocence. Grace had learned to tune it out.

The jury found him guilty. Fifteen years.

Grace had gone out for drinks with her team that night. They had celebrated another win. Another dangerous criminal off the streets. She had felt good about herself.

That feeling lasted exactly two years.

Grace poured herself more coffee even though her hands were already shaking. She didn't want to remember the rest but the memories came anyway.

A new detective had reopened the case. Found things the original investigation had missed. The security footage had been grainy. The identification questionable. The gun had no fingerprints. And Marcus had an alibi that was never properly checked.

By the time the truth came out, Marcus had been in prison for two years. Grace had pushed for his immediate release. Started the paperwork herself. Called in every favor she had.

But the system moved slowly. There were procedures, Appeals and Reviews.

Marcus Cross died in prison three weeks before his release date. A fight in the yard. Wrong place, wrong time.

Grace had gone to the funeral. She didn't know why. Maybe she thought it would help. Maybe she thought his family deserved to see her face. To know she was sorry.

They hadn't let her in.

Marcus's mother had stood at the church entrance and told Grace very calmly that she was not welcome. That her apologies meant nothing. That sorry wouldn't bring back her son.

There had been a younger man standing beside her. Early twenties. Same dark hair as Marcus. Same blue eyes.

The brother.

Grace had left without a word. What could she say? The woman was right. Sorry changed nothing.

She quit the prosecutor's office the next day. Couldn't stand to walk into that building anymore. Couldn't stand to look at case files and wonder if she was destroying another innocent person's life.

Her friends had tried to talk her out of it. Told her it wasn't her fault. That she had done everything by the book. That the system had failed, not her.

But Grace knew the truth. She had been so eager to win that she hadn't looked hard enough at the evidence. Hadn't listened when Marcus said he was innocent.

She had destroyed a man's life because winning had mattered more than truth.

So she ran. Found this dying town at the edge of nowhere. Bought the ferry with the last of her savings. Told herself she could do honest work and maybe, eventually, sleep through the night again.

That hadn't happened yet.

Grace finished her coffee and got dressed. The ferry didn't run itself. People depended on her now. It wasn't much but it was something real.

She was halfway down the stairs when her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

"Good morning, Grace. I'd like to hire you as a consultant on the resort project. $10,000 for a few meetings. Let me know when you're available."

No signature but she knew who it was.

Grace stared at the message. Ten thousand dollars. That was more money than she had seen in three years. It would fix the ferry. Pay her debts. Give her breathing room.

All she had to do was help Dominic Cross destroy her town.

She typed out a reply. "Not interested."

Then she deleted it.

Typed another. "When?"

Deleted that too.

Finally she just wrote, "Why me?"

His response came immediately. "Because you're the only person here who isn't afraid to tell me the truth."

Grace sat down on the stairs. Her chest felt tight.

She thought about Marcus Cross. About his mother's face at the funeral. About the brother who had stood there with hate in his blue eyes.

Blue eyes like Dominic's.

It couldn't be the same person. That boy would be older now. Late twenties maybe. The timeline fit but it had been three years. People changed.

Grace looked at the text message again.

Ten thousand dollars.

She needed the money. And maybe if she worked with Dominic she could convince him to change his plans. Find a compromise that didn't erase the whole town.

Or maybe she was just making excuses because part of her wanted to see him again.

Grace typed quickly before she could change her mind.

"Fine. But just business. Nothing else."

"Of course. Just business."

She didn't believe him.

Grace stood up and headed down to the ferry. The sun was fully up now and there was work to do. She could worry about Dominic Cross and impossible coincidences later.

But as she started the engine and guided the ferry onto the water, she couldn't stop thinking about blue eyes. About the way Dominic had looked at her last night.

About the way Marcus's brother had looked at her three years ago at that funeral.

With absolute hatred.

Grace told herself she was being paranoid. Seeing connections that weren't there.

But deep down, in a place she didn't want to examine too closely, she wondered if maybe she was right to be afraid.