Chapter 3 - The File My Father Left Behind
Mom looked tiny beneath the hospital blankets.
But alive.
That was enough.
“Avery?”
I rushed to her bedside.
“I'm here.”
She touched my cheek.
“What happened to your face?”
“Long story.”
Her eyes moved past me.
Dominic stood in the doorway.
Mom's expression changed.
She knew him.
I saw it immediately.
“Mom?”
Linda whispered, “You shouldn't have brought him here.”
Dominic entered.
“Hello, Linda.”
I stood between them.
“You two know each other?”
Mom closed her eyes.
“Your father made me promise.”
“Promise what?”
“To keep you away from them.”
Dominic remained silent.
I looked at him.
“Out.”
“Avery—”
“Out.”
He left.
I turned back to Mom.
“Tell me everything.”
She resisted for nearly five minutes.
Then she finally spoke.
My father had worked for the Moretti organization.
Not as a criminal.
As an accountant and logistics manager.
Eventually, he'd discovered money moving through legitimate businesses into secret accounts.
“He started copying records,” Mom said.
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“Against who?”
“I don't know.”
“Where are the records?”
Mom looked at me.
“Your father gave you something the week before he died.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Your tournament bag.”
My heart stopped.
The old martial arts bag had been in our storage closet for eight years.
Dad had packed it before my final competition.
I never opened it again after he died.
I walked into the hallway.
Dominic was waiting.
“I need to go home.”
“You're not going alone.”
“I don't work for you.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“But someone just entered your mother's clinic.”
I hated that he was right.
Twenty-five minutes later, we entered my apartment.
Nothing looked disturbed.
I pulled the faded black training bag from the closet.
Inside were old gloves.
Hand wraps.
A medal.
Dad's sweatshirt.
Then Dominic pointed.
“The lining.”
A seam had been restitched.
I tore it open.
A small brass key fell onto the floor.
Attached was a tag.
CICERO CENTRAL — 318.
“A locker,” Dominic said.
We drove to the old train station.
Locker 318 contained one thing.
A flash drive.
Back inside the SUV, Dominic's security specialist opened it on an isolated laptop.
Folders appeared.
Payments.
Photographs.
Names.
Then one name stopped Dominic cold.
Richard Whitmore.
Vanessa's father.
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“Richard was my father's attorney.”
“And?”
“He arranged your father's final meeting.”
I felt sick.
Dominic opened another document.
A scanned letter appeared.
Dad's handwriting.
If anything happens to me, Richard Whitmore knows why.
I sat back.
Vanessa hadn't repeatedly requested me by accident.
Her family knew exactly who I was.
Dominic's phone rang.
He answered.
“Speak.”
His face darkened.
“Where?”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Vanessa disappeared.”
I stared at him.
“You think she knows?”
“I think she knew enough.”
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Mom.
Sleeping in her hospital bed.
Taken minutes earlier.
Below it was one message.
BRING THE DRIVE. COME ALONE.
Dominic read it over my shoulder.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“They have someone near my mother.”
“My men are already securing the floor.”
“They can still reach her.”
“Avery.”
I looked at him.
“This is my family.”
Dominic held my gaze.
Then he nodded.
“Exactly.”
He took the laptop.
May you like
“And nobody touches your family again.”
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