Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Oak Street
The snow had begun to fall over Chicago, coating the frozen pavement of the Loop in a blinding white sheet. Miles Shaw sat in the passenger seat of an unmarked sedan as Adrian drove himself through the bitter wind, haunting the neighborhoods where Ariana used to disappear on quiet afternoons.
“Sir, we traced a credit card transaction for a single cup of coffee at a diner near Oak Street Beach three nights ago,” Miles said, reviewing a tablet illuminated by the dashboard light. “It matches the time she left the estate.”
Adrian gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “Who pays with a credit card when they are running away?”
“Someone who didn't realize until too late that her personal accounts were tied to the Vale family holdings,” Miles replied quietly. “We checked her personal savings account—the one she opened before you two were married, the one you forgot existed. She withdrew two hundred dollars. That’s all she took.”
The car slid to a halt outside a modest, weather-beaten diner with a flickering neon sign buzzing against the gray sky. The windows were fogged with steam from within.
Adrian stepped out into the freezing wind, his tailored overcoat offering little protection against the lake-effect gale. He pushed open the diner door, the rusted bell chiming above him.
The smell of grease, stale coffee, and pine cleaner hit him instantly. A tired waitress looked up from wiping down a vinyl booth.
“We’re closing up in ten minutes,” she said, not bothering to look at his expensive suit.
Adrian stepped further into the light, scanning the empty booths. “I’m looking for a woman. Brown hair, pale, wearing an ivory coat. She was here three nights ago.”
The waitress paused, her rag hovering over the table. She looked at Adrian’s sharp jaw, the haunted desperation in his dark eyes, and the way his hands shook slightly.
“You’re him, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice hardening. “The billionaire husband who threw her out on the street for some society socialite.”
Adrian didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. “Tell me where she went.”
“She sat right there in booth four,” the waitress said, pointing with her rag. “She didn't cry. She didn't make a scene. She just sat there for two hours nursing a single cup of black coffee while the snow piled up outside. When I asked her where she was heading, she looked out at the lake and said something strange.”
May you like
“What did she say?” Adrian stepped forward, his heart hammering against his ribs.
“She said, ‘When you build a cage out of gold, you forget that the door was never locked—you were just too comfortable to walk through it.’ Then she left her wedding ring on the table as a tip, walked out into the storm, and got on a northbound bus toward Evanston.”
