Chapter 7 - The Recording Beneath the Nursery Floor
The thing Rafael wanted wasn't the ledger.
Vincent knew that before sunrise.
Rafael had escaped with it.
Yet his network kept moving.
People still searched.
Still threatened.
Still broke into properties connected to Camille.
So the real evidence remained elsewhere.
Camille remembered her old apartment.
The one where Mia died.
She hadn't returned in years.
The building still existed.
Vincent bought it anonymously within twenty-four hours.
Camille glared when she learned.
“You can't buy trauma.”
“I bought access.”
“That somehow sounds worse.”
They went together.
Mateo asked to come.
Camille said no.
He accepted it.
That was new.
The apartment was empty.
Renovated twice.
Still, Camille recognized corners.
Kitchen.
Window.
Closet.
Mia’s room.
She stopped there.
Vincent waited in the hallway.
“You can leave.”
“No.”
“I don't need you watching.”
“I’m not watching.”
He turned toward the wall.
That earned a small laugh.
Then Camille noticed something.
The baseboard.
One section older.
Untouched.
She crouched.
Removed it.
Nothing.
Then Adeline, who had insisted on coming because she hated being left behind now, crawled beneath the window.
“Mama.”
“What?”
“Floor talks.”
Camille frowned.
Adeline tapped.
Hollow.
Vincent looked down.
Again.
A child finding what adults missed.
They removed two boards.
Inside was a waterproof pouch.
Mateo's federal contact had hidden it there after Mateo disappeared.
Not mailed.
Delivered.
But never told Camille.
Inside:
One audio recorder.
Batteries dead.
Memory intact.
Vincent played the file on an isolated device.
His father’s voice.
Rafael’s.
Anthony’s.
Several politicians.
Marcus, younger.
Then another voice.
Vincent himself.
He froze.
Camille looked at him.
The recording came from twelve years earlier.
Vincent remembered the meeting.
He had been twenty-nine.
Angry.
Ambitious.
Still working under his father.
The voice said:
If the union rep keeps blocking us, scare him.
Vincent closed his eyes.
Camille listened.
The recording continued.
No murder order.
No trafficking.
But enough.
Bribes.
Threats.
Old Vincent.
Ugly.
Real.
Camille looked at him.
“You knew some of it.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Not Rafael’s network.”
“But other things.”
“Yes.”
“Did you hurt people?”
“Yes.”
She turned away.
Vincent didn't defend himself.
“I told you I wasn't clean.”
“I thought you meant business crimes.”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“I ordered men intimidated.”
“Beaten?”
“Sometimes.”
Camille’s face tightened.
“And now you're raising funds in Javier's name and acting like—”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
Her voice rose.
Adeline looked up.
Camille lowered it immediately.
“You don't get to become good because you decide you're tired of being bad.”
Vincent felt the sentence.
“Agreed.”
She stared.
“What?”
“I agree.”
That took anger out of her.
He continued.
“I don't think changing erases anything.”
“What does it do?”
“Stops me from repeating it.”
Camille looked at the recorder.
“Rafael wants this because it implicates everyone.”
“Yes.”
“Including you.”
“Yes.”
“You could destroy it.”
Vincent picked it up.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if I destroy evidence to protect myself, I become exactly what I’m fighting.”
Camille studied him for a long time.
Then Adeline walked over.
She held out her alligator.
“Vin sad?”
He looked down.
“A little.”
She pushed the toy into his hand.
“For brave.”
Vincent laughed softly.
“Thank you.”
Camille watched.
Something changed.
Not forgiveness.
But trust moved one inch.
The recording was turned over to federal prosecutors.
Vincent’s attorneys nearly revolted.
“You could be charged.”
“Yes.”
“Old extortion counts.”
“Yes.”
“Conspiracy.”
“Possibly.”
“Civil suits.”
“Yes.”
His lead attorney stared.
“Why are you calm?”
“Because fear has made enough decisions for this family.”
That night, Rafael called.
“You handed it over.”
“Yes.”
“You idiot.”
“Probably.”
“You'll lose everything.”
“Maybe.”
“You'll go to prison.”
“Maybe.”
“And for what?”
Vincent looked through the window.
Camille sat outside with Adeline.
Mateo stood several feet away.
The toddler slowly approached him with Bunny.
First voluntary interaction.
“For whatever happens next to belong to someone else.”
Rafael laughed.
“You really think you're different from your father.”
“No.”
Vincent’s answer surprised him.
“I think I'm responsible for becoming different.”
Silence.
Then Rafael said:
“You won't get the chance.”
The call ended.
Marcus escaped custody that night.
Inside help.
Of course.
Two hours later, Isabella received a package.
Inside was a photograph of the Castellano family estate.
Marked with red circles.
Entrances.
Fuel lines.
Security boxes.
And one message:
IF THE FAMILY WON’T RETURN TO ME, THERE WON’T BE A FAMILY.
May you like
Rafael wasn't running anymore.
He was coming home.
