Chapter 4 - The Photograph Behind the Wall
Dante did not sleep.
By sunrise, he had replayed Owen’s statement until the dying word lost all meaning.
Claire.
Marco entered the study holding coffee.
“Owen died twenty minutes ago.”
Dante stared at the desk.
“Then why say Claire?”
“To turn us against her.”
“Or because it’s true.”
At 9:00 a.m., Ellie found another secret inside Mr. Snow.
A small SD card had been sewn behind one ear.
They loaded it onto a secure laptop.
Claire appeared on screen.
“If Ellie is watching this with Dante, then something has gone wrong.”
Dante leaned closer.
Claire looked exhausted.
“I need you to understand what happened eight years ago.”
She took a breath.
“Michael discovered Victor was selling information, but Victor wasn’t working alone. There was someone above him. Someone Michael called the Broker.”
Claire continued.
“The night Michael died, he asked me to meet him at the old Lake Street garage. I arrived first. Owen Rusk was there. He said Michael had changed the plan and told me to drive to the bridge.”
Her eyes filled.
“I knew something was wrong. I called Michael. He answered. Then I heard metal, glass, and water.”
Dante stopped breathing.
“I did not kill Michael.”
Claire looked into the camera.
“The crash was staged. Victor helped cover it up.”
The image glitched.
Then Claire said something that changed everything.
“But Michael survived the crash.”
Dante stood so fast the chair fell over.
Claire held up a photograph.
Michael.
Alive.
Bandaged.
Sitting against a concrete wall.
The photo was dated thirteen days after his funeral.
Dante whispered, “Jesus.”
Claire explained that she searched for years but never found proof Michael died afterward.
Then she said Michael had hidden something in Dante’s childhood house.
Behind the photograph where the three brothers stand.
The Vale family home had been abandoned for years.
Dante took Marco and Bruno.
On the hallway wall they found the picture.
Three boys stood in front of a fishing boat.
Dante.
Michael.
And their cousin Adrian Sloane.
Victor’s son.
Behind the frame was a plastic tube.
Inside was a handwritten list of dates, names, payments and one note:
ADRIAN KNOWS.
Footsteps sounded downstairs.
Dante drew his weapon.
A man stepped into view.
Older.
Thinner.
A scar along his jaw.
Adrian Sloane.
Victor’s son.
Adrian raised both hands.
“Before you ask, yes, my father lied about everything.”
“Where have you been?”
“Hiding.”
“From Victor?”
“From the Broker.”
Dante held up Michael’s note.
“He said you knew.”
Adrian looked at the paper.
“Michael found me two days before the crash.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That he had proof.”
“Proof of what?”
Adrian looked toward the dark hallway.
“That the Broker wasn’t stealing from your organization.”
He looked back at Dante.
“He was building it.”
Adrian then produced a photograph.
Victor stood beside a red-haired woman.
On the back was one name.
Evelyn Cross.
Dante knew it.
May you like
Everyone in Chicago did.
Evelyn Cross was the city’s most respected federal prosecutor.
