She picked up his phone again and started looking through the deleted messages. In the trash folder, she found a conversation with someone named Owen Keller, dated in January, two months before Mark’s death. The messages were cryptic, but it was clear they were discussing some kind of land deal.
Mark had written: *“If something goes wrong, my family can’t be involved.”*
Keller replied: *“Don’t worry, it’s all handled. Just keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told.”*
The last message from Keller came the day before the accident: *“Meeting tomorrow, usual place. Bring the documents. And remember, there’s no turning back.”*
Susan found information about Owen Keller online. He was the owner of a construction company and a city councilman. His firm’s office was in a prestigious downtown high-rise. She decided to try to meet with him. Maybe Keller could explain what Mark had been involved in during his final months and why someone was now searching her apartment.
Susan drove to Owen Keller’s office early the next morning, hoping to catch him before his day officially started. The Continental Tower loomed over the city center: 30 stories of glass and steel, a monument to success. The security guard waved her through without a second glance.
Keller Construction occupied the entire 27th floor. A young receptionist with impossibly long eyelashes politely informed her that Mr. Keller was extremely busy and saw people by appointment only. Susan tried to explain that it was about Mark Morrow, but the name meant nothing to the young woman.
“Please just tell him Mark’s widow is here,” Susan insisted. “Tell him it’s about the documents.”
The receptionist reluctantly picked up the phone and whispered into it. A moment later, she nodded.
“Mr. Keller can give you five minutes. His office is down the hall.”
Keller was a man in his late forties with a strong jaw and piercing gray eyes. He didn’t stand up when she entered, just gestured to the chair opposite his desk, which was covered in architectural blueprints.
“My condolences for your loss,” he said dryly. “Mark was a good man. But I’m not sure what you want from me.”
Susan took out the phone and showed him the text exchange.
“I want to understand what my husband was involved in, and why my apartment was broken into last night.”
Keller glanced at the screen and shrugged.
“Mark and I sometimes discussed business. He consulted for us on zoning laws. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Then what does ‘no turning back’ mean? And why was he worried about his family’s safety?”
Keller’s expression didn’t change, but Susan saw the muscles in his jaw tighten.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Perhaps Mark had some personal problems.”
“Fifty thousand dollars isn’t a personal problem. It’s serious money that he was supposed to give to someone.”
Keller stood up and walked to the window.
“I’d advise you not to dig too deep, Mrs. Morrow. Some things are better left in the past. Especially when you have children.”
The last sentence was a clear threat. Susan felt a chill run down her spine.
“Are you threatening me?”
“Just offering some friendly advice. Mark died in a car accident. A tragic accident. Don’t go looking for conspiracies where there aren’t any.”
Susan knew she wouldn’t get anything more out of him. Keller clearly knew the truth but wasn’t going to talk. She stood up and walked to the door, feeling his cold gaze on her back.
At the entrance to the building, two men in dark suits were waiting for her. One was tall and lean, the other short and stocky. Susan recognized them—the same men who had been in her apartment.
“Mrs. Morrow, we need to talk,” the tall one said, blocking her path.
She tried to step around them, but the second man grabbed her arm.
“Don’t be in such a hurry. This will only take a minute.”
They pulled her into an alley between the buildings, out of sight of the security cameras. The tall one took out his phone and showed her pictures—photos of her children walking to school and daycare.
“Beautiful kids,” he said calmly. “Katie’s in third grade, Mikey’s in the ‘Sunshine’ group at his preschool. They walk the same route every day, without an adult.”
Susan felt a wave of pure terror.
“What do you want?”
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