The civil ceremony was a quiet affair. No grand church, no elaborate reception. Just Albert, me, two nurses from his home care agency as witnesses, and the city hall clerk. It was deliberately discreet, a strategic move rather than a romantic one.
I wore a simple navy dress, Albert a crisp suit. We exchanged vows, not of undying love, but of partnership, of shared purpose. When the clerk pronounced us legally wed, Albert squeezed my hand, a look of profound relief on his face.
“Thank you, Nia,” he whispered. “You have no idea what this means.”
I understood. It meant the charter clause was active. It meant we had a fighting chance.
Afterward, I headed back to the corporate tower to retrieve some personal files from my office. I wanted to tie up loose ends before the new reality of “Mrs. Barksdale” set in. The sky had darkened, and a light drizzle began to fall as I descended into the underground parking garage.
The garage was mostly empty, the usual evening quiet broken only by the distant hum of ventilation. My footsteps echoed as I walked towards my modest sedan.
I reached my car, unlocked it, and pulled open the door. Before I could slip inside, a shadow fell over me.
“Looking for something, Mrs. Barksdale?”
Marcus. His voice was laced with a chilling coldness. He stood too close, his form looming over me in the dim light.
My heart leaped into my throat. I tried to stay calm, remembering the pawn receipt hidden inside my chess queen, which was in my bag.
“What do you want, Marcus?” I asked, my hand instinctively going to my purse strap.
He moved swiftly, grabbing my wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong, his fingers digging into my skin.
“Don’t play coy, Nia,” he snarled, pulling me closer. “That little chess piece. The brass queen. Hand it over.”
His eyes were wild, desperate. He knew. Somehow, he knew it held something important.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, trying to yank my arm free. His grip tightened, sending a jolt of pain through me.
“Don’t lie to me!” he hissed, his face inches from mine, his breath smelling of stale coffee. “That old fool told you something, didn’t he? Gave you something.”
He began to roughly pat down my blazer, searching for the chess piece. My bag was still clutched tight in my hand.
I struggled, pushing against him. His strength was overwhelming. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through me. No one was around. No one would hear me.
“Let go of me!” I cried out, my voice cracking.
Just then, a flash of headlights sliced through the gloom. A dark SUV, one I recognized as part of the corporate security fleet, screeched to a halt a few car lengths away.
Two burly security guards jumped out, their faces grim.
“Mr. Holloway!” one of them yelled, his voice echoing in the concrete space. “Release her immediately!”
Marcus froze, his head snapping up. His grip on my wrist loosened slightly. He looked furious, but also momentarily stunned.
He let go of my arm, stepping back abruptly. He smoothed down his suit jacket, trying to regain his composure. My wrist throbbed.
“This is a private family matter,” he growled, glaring at the guards.
“We received an anonymous tip about a disturbance, sir,” the other guard stated, his hand resting on his taser. “We advise you to step away.”
Marcus shot me a look of pure hatred, a silent promise of future retribution. He spun on his heel and stalked away, disappearing into the shadows of the garage.
I leaned against my car, my body trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The anonymous caller. Albert. He must have anticipated Marcus’s move.
My wrist pulsed with pain. But the chess queen, and the receipt inside, were safe. For now.
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