Chapter 5 - The Sketchbook’s Secret
Nathan brought Jonah back to Whitmore Tower not through the main lobby, but through the private underground loading bay. He carried the exhausted child in his arms, ignoring the looks of the midnight maintenance crew. Jonah had fallen asleep the moment they hit the heated interior of Nathan's private vehicle, his small fingers still woven into the wire spirals of his sketchbook.
In the penthouse, Nathan placed the boy on the guest bed, carefully removing the torn hoodie and wrapping his thin frame in a warm fleece blanket. He called his private physician, Dr. Aris, who arrived within twenty minutes to clean Jonah’s scraped palms and bandage his bleeding feet.
"He’s severely malnourished, Nathan," Dr. Aris said, packing his medical bag. "And he’s got signs of prolonged exposure. But he’s a survivor. He just needs rest, warm food, and safety. Who is he?"
"He’s the only person who remembers my daughter's real face," Nathan said, staring at the guest room door. "And someone tried to kill him tonight to keep him quiet."
After the doctor left, Nathan sat at his kitchen island with Jonah’s sketchbook. The cover was stained with grease and rain, but when he opened the first page, his breath caught in his throat.
The book was a chronicle of Emily's last year of life.
There were drawings of her sitting on plastic milk crates, laughing with elderly homeless women. Drawings of her handing out thick wool socks in the middle of a January blizzard. But as Nathan flipped further into the book, the tone of the drawings changed.
The sketches became more detailed, more frantic.
On a page dated October 14th—exactly three weeks before her fatal crash—Jonah had drawn Emily standing outside her Range Rover in an underground parking garage. She was arguing with a man. The man was tall, built like an athlete, wearing a distinctive corporate security jacket with a crest on the lapel.
Nathan leaned closer, his heart stopping.
The man in the drawing was Carl Dempsey.
On the next page, Jonah had drawn the underside of Emily’s car. He had drawn a hand reaching up near the brake lines, holding a tool. Above the drawing, in a child's messy handwriting, Jonah had copied words he must have overheard: “Tell the board it’s done. She won't make it to the audit.”
Nathan’s phone buzzed on the counter. It was an internal alert from the building’s security system.
May you like
Private elevator activated. Penthouse access initiated.
Nathan looked up at the digital monitor on the wall. The camera feed inside the elevator showed Carl Dempsey standing alone, his hand inside his coat pocket, his face grim and determined. He was coming to finish the job.
