Chapter 18: Escalation
Joe's shoes were outside Beck's apartment door.
I spotted them from the stairwell—brown oxfords, carefully placed beside the mat, the kind of domestic detail that meant he'd stayed the night.
The Detection hummed cold as I descended past her floor. Not dangerous-cold. Satisfied-cold. The contentment of a predator who'd claimed territory.
I continued down to street level and took up position at the coffee shop across the block. Seven forty-five in the morning. If Joe was staying over, he'd leave eventually.
At eight-fifteen, he emerged.
Beck's building door swung open and Joe walked out carrying two paper cups. Coffee for two. His expression was soft, pleased—the look of a man who'd gotten exactly what he wanted.
He walked three blocks to the subway, whistling something I couldn't identify from my distance. The Detection faded as he moved out of range, taking his cold satisfaction with him.
The relationship had progressed to intimacy.
I'd known it would happen eventually. Joe's playbook required physical closeness—it was how he built ownership, dependency, the sense that Beck belonged to him completely.
But knowing didn't make observing easier.
I finished my coffee and started walking toward midtown.
Peach Salinger's schedule wasn't hard to map.
Her social media showed recurring appointments—gym at seven, charity work at ten, lunch meetings throughout the week. The gaps suggested private activities she didn't broadcast.
I staked out the address from my research on her PI consultation. The building was nondescript—lawyers, accountants, professional services that catered to people with money and problems.
She arrived at two-fifteen.
Same controlled posture, same expensive clothes, same energy of someone preparing for battle. She was inside for forty minutes before emerging with a manila envelope tucked under her arm.
The PI report.
I needed to know what was in that envelope.
That night, I sat at Fin Coulson's laptop and ran through my options.
The original Fin had some tech skills—nothing elite, but better than average. Freelance writing had led him into content security work at some point, and he'd picked up useful knowledge.
Peach's email wouldn't be easy to access. But wealthy people often outsourced security, which meant relying on services with known vulnerabilities.
I spent three hours working through the process. Created anonymous accounts, routed connections through multiple layers, exploited a weakness in her email provider's password recovery system.
At eleven-forty-two, I was reading Peach Salinger's private correspondence.
The guilt hit immediately.
Her inbox was a mix of charity coordination, social planning, and personal messages. The personal ones were surprising—vulnerability hidden beneath the controlled exterior. Emails to her therapist about anxiety. Messages to Beck that were never sent, drafts expressing feelings she couldn't voice out loud.
People are complicated.
I forced myself to focus on the relevant threads.
The PI—a firm called Blackwell & Associates—had delivered preliminary findings. I found the attachment and opened it.
Background Check: Joseph Goldberg
Education: NYU dropout, circumstances unclear Employment: Mooney's Rare Books, 3 years (previous employer unavailable for comment) Criminal Record: None found Social Media Presence: Limited, accounts created approximately 24 months ago Notable Gaps: 18-month period with no verifiable activity (age 22-24) Red Flags: Minimal digital footprint pre-2016, former landlord unlocatable, no family contacts verified
The report was cautious, professional. Nothing that proved Joe was dangerous—just smoke where fire might be.
But the gaps were significant. Eighteen months of unaccounted time. A former employer who wouldn't speak. A digital presence that materialized from nowhere.
Joe had reinvented himself. The question was why.
Peach had flagged the same items I would have. Her instructions to the PI were clear: dig deeper, especially into the gap years and the former employment situation.
She was serious. This wasn't jealousy masquerading as concern—she genuinely believed something was wrong with Joe, and she was willing to spend money to prove it.
I deleted my access traces carefully and closed the laptop.
The next three days were surveillance intensive.
I monitored Joe's movements, watching for any sign he'd discovered the investigation. His behavior remained consistent—work at Mooney's, dates with Beck, the occasional solitary walk that might be stalking or might be contemplation.
The Detection never showed alarm. Joe was comfortable. Satisfied. Unaware that his carefully constructed backstory was being professionally dissected.
Peach, meanwhile, was escalating.
I tailed her to a second meeting with the PI—longer this time, more animated conversation visible through the office window. She was pushing for faster results, probably. Demanding answers her money should be able to buy.
Beck floated between them, oblivious. I saw her twice that week—once at workshop, once at the coffee shop near her apartment. Both times she mentioned Joe with affection, mentioned Peach with complicated undertones.
"She's being weird," Beck told me at workshop drinks. "Protective in that way that feels suffocating."
"Maybe she just needs time to adjust."
"Maybe." Beck didn't sound convinced. "But it's like she's waiting for Joe to do something wrong so she can say I told you so."
She's not waiting. She's hunting.
I kept the observation to myself.
The breakthrough came on Friday.
Peach's PI had delivered an updated report—I found it in her email that afternoon, accessed through the same vulnerability I'd exploited before.
Update: Joseph Goldberg - Extended Investigation
Former Employer Identified: Mooney's Rare Books predecessor location (closed) Former Colleague Located: Ethan D., current employee at main location Preliminary Interview: Subject described Joe as "intense" and "private," mentioned unconfirmed rumors about previous incidents at closed location Gap Period: Partial explanation found - subject may have worked at bookstore's secondary location during this time Recommendation: Interview former staff from closed location, investigate circumstances of closure
The closed location. I hadn't known there was one.
The PI's notes included an address—a building in the Village that had housed Mooney's second store until two years ago. The closure was attributed to lease issues, but the timing aligned with Joe's gap period.
Something had happened there. Something Joe didn't want found.
I created a new file in my Memory Palace.
Joe's Missing Years
Known: Worked at Mooney's closed location Unknown: What happened during that period Unknown: Why location closed Unknown: What "incidents" Ethan referenced
Peach was getting close to something real. If her investigation continued, she might find evidence I could use.
But if Joe discovered he was being investigated, he might decide Peach needed to be eliminated.
The balance was precarious. I needed Peach's resources without her becoming a target. Needed her investigation to produce results without pushing Joe toward violence.
That weekend, I started my own research.
The closed bookstore location was now a coffee shop. The building's management company was listed in public records. Former employees might still be in the area, might have stories to tell.
I spent Saturday canvassing the neighborhood. The coffee shop staff knew nothing about the previous tenant. The neighboring businesses had mostly turned over in the past two years. Dead ends everywhere.
But the bartender at a dive bar three blocks away remembered.
"Mooney's place? Yeah, I knew some people who worked there." He was polishing glasses, attention half on the sports broadcast behind me. "Weird kid ran it. Quiet. Bookish type. Then there was some kind of... incident. They closed up fast after that."
"What kind of incident?"
"Don't know the details. Someone got hurt, I think. Maybe died? The cops came around for a while. Then the landlord pushed them out and that was that."
Someone got hurt. Maybe died.
I bought another drink I didn't need and kept the conversation going. The bartender didn't have much more—just neighborhood gossip, half-remembered stories, the kind of unreliable information that pointed toward truth without confirming it.
But it was enough.
Joe had history at that closed location. History that involved someone getting hurt. History that coincided with his gap years and his digital reinvention.
Peach's PI might find more. Or I could find it myself—faster, more carefully, without creating a paper trail that Joe might discover.
Back at the apartment, I updated my notebook.
Joe's Missing Years - Updated
Confirmed: "Incident" at closed Mooney's location Rumored: Someone hurt, possibly killed Timeline: 2+ years ago, matches gap period Evidence: Neighborhood gossip (unreliable), PI report findings
Next Steps: 1. Research closed location incident - police reports? News coverage? 2. Locate former employees who might talk 3. Monitor Peach's investigation progress 4. Prepare contingency if Joe discovers he's being investigated
The mission was evolving. Preventing individual kills wasn't enough—I needed to break Joe's obsession with Beck completely. That required understanding what he was, where he came from, what had made him.
Somewhere in those missing years was the key to who Joe Goldberg really was.
Peach was looking with money and professionals.
I was looking with powers that could see patterns others missed.
One of us would find the truth first.
The question was what happened when we did—and whether Beck would survive the discovery.
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