A/N: Hey guys, here is chapter 2. let me know what you guys think!!

My anxiety riddled my body to the core. I was feeling weak and almost dizzy just due to the anticipation of his words. I rubbed my hands down my pants, like I was wiping off sweat, multiple times. He sat into my couch and relaxed, adjusting his blazer and his burgundy button up shirt. Meanwhile, I just perched along the edge, too anxious to fully relax.

When he noticed my anticipation he hit my leg, "Oh, Eliza, you need to relax."

"You said it was nothing good. I can't relax."

"Do you want me to just tell you?"

I roll my eyes at him, "I want you to egg on the agony and anxiety I feel."

"Okay, sorry." He huffs, "I think Alexander is going through something big."

"Like what?"

"Like an affair… with Maria Reyonlds…"

I stand up, my anxiety gone, but only replaced with anger, "With Maria…"

He stands up and puts his hands on my arms, rubbing them up and down to comfort me, "Now, Eliza, I wouldn't be too upset right now. I'm not sure about it, but I suspect something is going on. He has been leaving the office early, coming in late, locking his office doors. The biggest thing is that he is 'going to the bank'."

"Why would he need to go to the bank?"

"I have no idea."

"Well he is the secretary treasurer, so maybe it's for work."

"Even if you can justify all of that, you can' really justify leaving early or walking into the White House late. Or locking his doors when he gets into the office."

"Well he sometimes doesn't stay for breakfast, maybe he is going to get something quick to eat. And he comes home early... sometimes…"

He sits me back down, "Eliza, I think you stop needing to justify, and talk to him about what you're going through and what you think."

I turn towards him, my hands falling on his knees, "Oh, but, Thomas, I have never been good with confrontation! What am I going to do?"

"You need to talk to him." He looks around, as if to make sure no one is listening in to our conversation, "If you want to deal with this quickly, I can help you out. I run a special service to help customers get what they really want when they are hurt."

My face contorts, "What type of a service, Mr. Jefferson?"

"One that you will probably need to use if what I told you is true, Mrs. Hamilton."

I nod to him and he says, "I'll leave the information on an index card and leave it on the counter. I advise that you look into it before Alex comes home, I don't think you wouldn't want him to think you are a cheater, like he is."

Thomas takes an index card out of his blazer and scribbles some words on. Then he gets up, adjusts his work clothes, drops off the index card on the kitchen counter, and leaves my house. I wait a series of long minutes before I force myself to get up and go peak at the card. Every step I take is filled with precision. When I get to the kitchen my steps speed up and I tip-toe run over to the counter. I pick up the card and do the same little step over to my home office. I close the door and lock it. It's the first time I have ever needed to lock that door, I can't say I enjoy doing that. I lean my back against the door and exhale, I didn't realize I was holding my breath for so long. I look down at the card that I had pressed into my stomach. My eyes scan over the scribbled words that Thomas wrote down. It took minutes to process the words he wrote. He left a phone number, maybe he can answer my questions because my head is racing with them.

I text the number: Thomas, I am more than confused, can you answer some questions?

I wait and then my phone dings twice: What can I do for you, Mrs. Hamilton?

What do you mean by I can tell my sister? Which one?

I received an eye roll emoji: Angelica, she has used my services more than once. Of course that was an earlier day for her, but she still utilized it. If you tell her that you are engaging with Thomas in his business, she should understand.

When can we meet to talk about who and how we plan on doing this.

Sure. Tuesday night, meet by the capitol building around 8pm. I'll work late, so I'll be there because the cabinet has a meeting with senators. Make up an excuse to talk with Mr. President just a little bit longer.

I respond back: Okay, will you be able to answer more of my questions on Tuesday?

Of course, Mrs. Hamilton. See you Tuesday night.

I slide down my door and exhale, loudly. Why do I think that getting involved with a hit-man is a good idea?