Chapter 3 - What Emma Remembered
Victor did not reach for his weapon.
That was probably the only reason he remained alive.
He stared at Emma like she had punched through his chest.
“Emma…”
My hand moved beneath my jacket.
Claire saw it.
“Not in front of her.”
I ignored her.
“Victor.”
He looked at me.
“Take your gun out.”
“Adrian.”
“Slowly.”
He removed the pistol with two fingers and placed it on my desk.
“Now explain.”
Emma buried her face in Claire’s shoulder.
Victor looked destroyed.
“I was at the house that night.”
I stepped closer.
“You told me you were at the Cicero warehouse.”
“I lied.”
My vision narrowed.
“Why?”
“Elena called me.”
I hit him.
Once.
Hard enough to send him into the bookshelf.
Claire stood.
“Adrian.”
“Stay out of this.”
“No. Emma is watching.”
That stopped me.
Barely.
I looked toward my daughter.
She was trembling.
I forced myself to step back.
Victor wiped blood from his mouth.
“Elena asked me to come secretly.”
“Why?”
“She said she had evidence someone inside your organization was moving weapons through your legitimate freight routes.”
“Who?”
“She didn’t know.”
“She called you instead of me?”
“She was afraid you’d confront everybody immediately.”
“She knew me.”
Victor gave a miserable laugh.
“Yes.”
“And what happened?”
“I arrived at nine-thirty.”
My wife died at 10:18.
“She gave me a sealed envelope.”
“Where?”
“I don’t have it.”
“Victor.”
“I never got to open it.”
“Why?”
“I saw a vehicle parked across the street.”
“What vehicle?”
“Black Escalade.”
“We own twelve.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
“I followed it.”
“You left Elena alone?”
“She told me to.”
I wanted to hit him again.
Instead I clenched my fists.
“I followed the Escalade for fifteen minutes. Lost it near Michigan Avenue. Then I heard about the explosion.”
“And you never told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I realized somebody knew I had gone to Elena.”
I stared.
Victor continued.
“Before I reached the hospital, someone sent me a photograph of my son leaving school.”
My anger faltered.
Victor had one son.
Caleb.
Fourteen at the time.
“They threatened him?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Anonymous.”
“So you stayed silent for three years.”
“I tried investigating privately.”
“And found?”
“Nothing.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Useful.”
Victor absorbed it.
He deserved to.
Then Emma spoke again.
“Uncle Victor cried.”
Everyone turned.
She was looking at him now.
“You cried with Mommy.”
Victor’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Emma frowned.
“Then the other man came.”
I stopped.
“What other man?”
Victor looked confused.
“There was no one else while I was there.”
Emma shook her head.
“After.”
Claire gently asked, “Can you remember what he looked like?”
Emma closed her eyes.
“Tall.”
“That describes half Daddy’s friends,” Harper said from the doorway.
I turned.
Harper stood there wearing pajamas.
“How long have you been listening?”
“Long enough.”
I sighed.
This family had apparently abandoned privacy.
Harper walked inside.
“Emma, did he have hair?”
Emma nodded.
“Gray.”
“Glasses?”
“No.”
“Anything else?”
Emma thought.
“A ring.”
“What kind?”
She touched her finger.
“Snake.”
Victor and I froze.
Harper noticed.
“What?”
I knew one man in my organization who wore a serpent ring.
Dominic Rourke.
My father’s oldest friend.
The man who had helped me take control after my father died.
Dominic had been at Elena’s funeral.
He had carried Emma in his arms.
He had kissed her forehead while I stood beside my wife’s grave.
“No,” Victor whispered.
I looked at him.
“You know.”
“There were rumors.”
“What rumors?”
“That Dominic was moving product through the north routes without authorization.”
“You never told me?”
“I had no proof.”
“What exactly do people have to do before you start telling me things?”
Claire said quietly, “Maybe fear has been working in this house longer than you think.”
I turned toward her.
“That sounded like criticism.”
“It was.”
Victor almost laughed despite the blood on his lip.
I ignored him.
My phone rang.
Hospital.
Ava.
I answered immediately.
“Dad?”
“I’m here.”
Her voice sounded weak.
“I remembered where I put the drive.”
“Where?”
“Promise you won’t send one of the guards.”
“I promise.”
“Bring Claire.”
I looked at her.
“Why Claire?”
“Because Mom knew her.”
Claire went still.
I stared at her.
“What?”
Ava whispered, “Her name is in Mom’s journal.”
Claire’s face drained of color.
I ended the call.
“What did Elena know about you?”
Claire shook her head.
“I never met your wife.”
“Ava says otherwise.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
Victor said, “Could Elena have known of you?”
Claire’s breathing changed.
“Maybe.”
“How?”
She looked toward the floor.
“St. Gabriel.”
I waited.
Claire finally spoke.
“The night the hospital was bombed, I operated on a woman brought in under a false name.”
“Who?”
“She had a gunshot wound.”
“Name.”
“She called herself Anna Ward.”
“That means nothing.”
Claire looked up.
“She gave me something before surgery.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
My pulse changed.
“Of who?”
“You.”
Silence.
“And Elena.”
I stepped toward her.
“What did she say?”
“That if she died, I should find Elena Vale.”
My skin went cold.
“Did she die?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do with the photograph?”
“I kept it.”
“Why didn’t you find Elena?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
Claire swallowed.
“Two days before Elena’s car exploded.”
Nobody moved.
“So my wife was connected to the hospital bombing,” I said.
“I think she was connected to whatever caused it.”
“And you never told me.”
“You were a man whose name appeared in every article about organized crime in the Midwest.”
“Fair.”
“I thought Elena might be innocent. I wasn’t sure about you.”
Victor asked, “Who was Anna Ward?”
Claire shook her head.
“I never knew.”
I looked toward Harper.
“Get dressed.”
“Why?”
“We’re going to the hospital.”
“Me too?”
“All of us.”
Emma whispered, “Claire comes.”
“Yes.”
She relaxed.
Thirty minutes later, we entered Ava’s private room.
She looked exhausted but alert.
Claire sat beside her.
“Where’s the drive?”
Ava pointed toward her backpack.
Harper opened it.
Nothing.
Ava smiled faintly.
“Inside the lining.”
Harper tore the seam.
A small black drive fell onto the bed.
I picked it up.
Three years.
Possibly every answer I wanted sat inside something smaller than my thumb.
Victor brought an isolated laptop.
No internet.
No network.
We inserted the drive.
Password required.
Ava whispered, “Mom’s journal said the password was Emma’s first word.”
I looked at Emma.
Her first word had been “moon.”
I typed it.
Access granted.
Folders appeared.
Shipping manifests.
Bank transfers.
Photographs.
Security logs.
One video file.
Dated the night Elena died.
I clicked.
My wife appeared on the screen.
Alive.
Sitting in her private room.
She looked exhausted.
“Adrian, if you’re watching this, I failed.”
My throat closed.
Harper began crying.
Ava covered her mouth.
Emma stared at her mother.
Elena continued.
“Someone inside your organization has been helping Dominic Rourke move military-grade weapons through the Chicago ports.”
Victor cursed.
My wife looked directly into the camera.
“Do not trust the obvious traitor.”
The video glitched.
Then Elena said:
“Marcus is working for me.”
I froze.
Marcus.
The man locked in my cellar.
“She recruited him to investigate Dominic,” Victor said.
The recording continued.
“If anything happens to me, protect Claire Whitman.”
Claire gasped.
Everyone looked at her.
May you like
Elena’s next words changed everything.
“Because Claire’s father is the reason Dominic wants us both dead.”
