Part 2: The Man Behind the Name
Part 2: The Man Behind the Name
By midnight, Adria was inside Ottawa General Hospital.
The doctors said she was suffering from mild hypothermia and dehydration. She would recover.
Stellin Vain didn’t leave her side.
He stood beside the hospital bed with his hands in the pockets of his dark coat, watching his daughter sleep beneath a heated blanket.
Seven years old.
Too young to understand what enemies were.
Too young to understand that someone had deliberately left her alone beside a freezing canal.
But Stellin understood.
And that was what frightened him.
Someone had gotten close enough to his daughter to know her routine.
Someone had convinced her nanny to cooperate.
Someone had arranged for Adria to disappear.
This wasn’t an accident.
It was a message.
The question was: who had sent it?
Stellin stepped into the corridor and made one phone call.
“Find out everything.”
His security chief, Joel, didn’t ask what he meant.
“How far back?”
“Three weeks.”
“Understood.”
Twenty minutes later, Stellin had an answer.
The nanny, Patricia, had been approached three weeks earlier by a man she’d described as “a friend of a friend.”
The man had asked innocent questions.
What time did Adria leave for school?
When did she come home?
Who usually drove her?
Where did she spend her weekends?
Patricia had answered.
She hadn’t believed the questions mattered.
She’d also accepted a small gift from the man.
Now she understood.
Stellin closed his eyes for a moment.
Someone had been watching his child.
He opened them again.
“Find the man.”
Joel nodded.
“And Mr. Vain?”
Stellin looked toward the hospital room.
“What?”
“The waitress.”
Stellin’s expression changed slightly.
“The woman who found Adria?”
“She’s still here.”
That surprised him.
He walked toward the waiting area.
Varity was sitting alone beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.
She was still wearing her work clothes.
A black apron.
A thin white shirt.
Her hair was damp from the freezing rain.
She looked exhausted.
But when Stellin approached, she lifted her head without fear.
“How is she?”
“Stable.”
Varity nodded.
“Good.”
She looked relieved.
Genuinely relieved.
Not because she expected money.
Not because she wanted recognition.
She simply wanted the little girl to be alive.
Stellin sat across from her.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
Varity did.
Every detail.
She explained where she’d found Adria, how the girl’s lips had turned blue, how she’d checked her pockets, found the phone, called the last number, and contacted emergency services.
She didn’t exaggerate.
She didn’t leave anything out.
When she finished, Stellin studied her.
“Why did you stop?”
Varity frowned.
“Because she needed help.”
“Most people would have called the police and kept walking.”
“Maybe.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She looked toward the hospital room.
“Because she was seven.”
Something about the simplicity of that answer stayed with him.
Stellin leaned back.
“Do you know who I am?”
“No.”
“Do you want to?”
Varity considered the question.
“Should I?”
For the first time that night, something almost resembling amusement touched his eyes.
“No.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
He studied her for another moment.
Then he said quietly, “The people responsible won’t be a problem anymore.”
Varity understood enough.
She didn’t ask what he meant.
Instead, she stood.
“I should go home.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“I know.”
“I’ll have someone drive you.”
“I can take the bus.”
“It’s freezing.”
“I’ve lived in Ottawa my whole life.”
Stellin paused.
There was something about her that irritated him.
Not because she was rude.
Because she wasn’t afraid.
“Let me have someone drive you,” he said. “Consider it professional courtesy.”
Varity picked up her bag.
“Fine.”
She hesitated.
“One thing.”
“What?”
“I want to know she’s okay tomorrow.”
Stellin looked at her.
“You will.”
“One message.”
“One message.”
She left.
Stellin watched her disappear through the hospital doors.
Then Joel appeared beside him.
“Interesting woman.”
Stellin didn’t answer.
“She didn’t ask for anything.”
“I noticed.”
“Most people would.”
“I noticed that too.”
Joel waited.
“Should I investigate her?”
Stellin looked toward the empty doorway.
“No.”
Then, after a moment:
“Actually, yes.”
The next morning, Varity received a message from an unknown number.
Adria is well and asking for you. —SV
She stared at the screen for several seconds.
Then she smiled.
Just a little.
She placed the phone face down on her kitchen table.
She made coffee.
And tried to convince herself she had already forgotten about the dangerous man from the hospital.
She hadn’t.
Neither had he.
Ten days later, Stellin received a report on his desk.
Varity Callum. Age 22.
Second-year part-time social work student.
Three years at Harbor and Salt.
No criminal record.
No suspicious associations.
$4,200 in student debt.
A tiny apartment with a broken radiator.
Stellin read the report twice.
Then he closed the folder.
He picked up the phone.
Varity answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“This is Stellin Vain.”
A pause.
“I know.”
“I’d like to speak with you.”
“About what?”
“I’d like to offer you a job.”
Varity laughed softly.
“Mr. Vain, I think you may have the wrong person.”
“I don’t.”
“What kind of job?”
“A legitimate one.”
That made her laugh again.
“I’m listening.”
Stellin leaned back in his chair.
He had negotiated with politicians, businessmen, rivals, and men who would kill for less than the things he owned.
Yet somehow, talking to a twenty-two-year-old waitress felt more complicated.
“Come meet me,” he said.
“Where?”
“Somewhere public.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“There’s a Lebanese restaurant on Rideau Street. The owner knows me. We can use the back room.”
“Does it have windows?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll come.”
The call ended.
Stellin stared at the phone.
He couldn’t explain why he was smiling.
And somewhere across Ottawa, Varity Callum was staring at her own phone, wondering why the most dangerous man she’d ever met wanted her working for him.
Neither of them knew it yet.
But the woman who had saved Stellin Vain’s daughter was about to become the one person in his world he couldn’t calculate.
