Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Astoria
The drive back to the Astoria apartment was a blur of panic and reckless driving. Jasper ran two red lights, his hands gripping the steering wheel of the Lincoln Navigator so tightly his knuckles turned purple.
"It’s a mistake," he muttered to himself, his eyes bloodshot. "It has to be a mistake. Hailey probably complained to her father about the bus, and the old man is playing some kind of sick joke. He’s just a contractor. He can't freeze my accounts. He can't kill my deal."
But deep down, the puzzle pieces were beginning to fit together in a way that made his blood run cold.
He remembered the wedding. Hailey had wanted a small, quiet ceremony in a public park, but when the permits were suddenly denied, a historic estate in the Hamptons had magically opened up for them—free of charge. He had assumed it was a cancellation.
He remembered the lease on their luxury apartment. The landlord had accepted Jasper's mediocre credit score without a single question, offering them a rent that was a fraction of the market rate.
He remembered the Navigator. Hailey’s father had driven it down from upstate, handing Hailey the keys with a quiet smile. “A safe car for my grandson,” the old man had said. Jasper had laughed privately, thinking the old contractor had probably gone deep into debt to buy his daughter a luxury SUV to impress her new, successful husband.
O God. O God, what have I done?
Jasper pulled up to the curb of their apartment building, slamming the SUV into park. He didn't even lock the door as he leaped out and ran toward the lobby.
He took the elevator to the fourth floor, his heart hammering against his ribs. He pulled out his brass key ring, finding the key to apartment 4B. He jammed it into the lock and twisted.
The key didn't turn.
Jasper frowned, sweat dripping down his temple. He pulled the key out, checked it, and tried again. He shoved it in, forcing it with all his strength.
Snap.
The key broke, leaving the brass tip lodged deep inside the keyway.
"What the hell?" Jasper yelled, pounding his fist against the heavy wooden door. "Hailey! Hailey, open the door! It’s me! Open the door right now!"
There was no sound from inside. No crying baby. No footsteps.
Suddenly, the door to apartment 4A opened, and a burly, middle-aged man with a thick Queens accent stepped out. It was their neighbor, Frank.
"Hey, pal. Keep it down," Frank said, crossing his arms. "There’s nobody in there."
"What do you mean there's nobody in there?" Jasper snapped, spinning around. "My wife is in there! She just got home from the hospital with our son!"
Frank let out a dry, mocking laugh. "Your wife? Yeah, she was here. About an hour ago. A whole crew of guys in expensive suits showed up. They cleared the place out, buddy. I mean everything. They had professional movers packing boxes faster than I’ve ever seen. They even took the light fixtures."
Jasper’s jaw dropped. "They... they took everything?"
"Yeah. And then some big guy with a scar on his cheek handed the landlord a fat stack of cash, signed some papers, and changed the locks. He told me to tell you, if you showed up, that you should check your email."
Jasper’s hands shook as he pulled out his phone. He opened his personal inbox. There was a single, unread message from an address he didn't recognize: [email protected].
He clicked it. Attached was a PDF document.
It was a petition for divorce, citing extreme emotional cruelty, physical abandonment of a post-operative spouse, and financial fraud. But it wasn't the petition that made Jasper’s breath stop.
It was the custody agreement.
It requested sole physical and legal custody of Toby Robertson-Rossi, with zero visitation rights for Jasper Vance. And at the bottom of the page, the signature block for the plaintiff's attorney didn't list a local family lawyer.
It listed Arthur Pendelton, the senior partner of Pendelton, Vance & Associates—the most expensive, ruthless corporate defense firm in the United States, a firm that usually represented heads of state and Fortune 500 companies.
Beneath the document was a short, typed note from Hailey:
"You told me not to keep calling you, Jasper. So I won't. From now on, you can speak to my father’s lawyers. I hope your lunch was worth it."
May you like
Jasper dropped his phone. It clattered against the tiled floor of the hallway, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of cracks.
He slumped against the wall of the corridor, sliding down to the floor just like Hailey had on the bus, but there was no one to lower the steps for him. He was completely, utterly alone.
