Chapter 2 - The Name Her Mother Buried
I locked Grace and Evelyn inside the cellar before going upstairs.
Grace hated me for it.
She made that clear through the steel door.
“Dad!”
“It’s temporary.”
“You’re doing it again!”
“Tonight, I’m willing to live with that.”
“Dominic,” Evelyn called, “the west gate is a distraction.”
I stopped.
“You seem very certain.”
“Because whoever is coming doesn’t need the gate.”
That sentence stayed with me as I climbed the stairs.
My security chief, Anthony Russo, met me in the main hall.
“Vehicle hit the west barrier and backed away. No one entered.”
“Cameras?”
“Three went black.”
“Which three?”
“West gate, south garden, and service corridor.”
I stared at him.
The service corridor ran directly above the wine cellar.
Evelyn had been right.
“Lock the house down.”
Anthony nodded.
“Nobody leaves?”
“Nobody.”
Including my own people.
Especially my own people.
Twenty minutes later, we found nothing.
No intruder.
No damaged window.
No open door.
Which meant Evelyn had also been right about something worse.
Whoever had triggered the alarm already had access to my house.
I returned downstairs.
Grace was sitting on a bench, arms folded.
“I’m mad at you.”
“I know.”
“You locked me in.”
“Yes.”
“You promised Mom you’d never make decisions for me because you were scared.”
My eyes moved to Evelyn.
“How does she know that?”
“I didn’t tell her,” Evelyn replied.
Grace lifted her chin.
“You say it in your sleep sometimes.”
That hurt more than I expected.
I crouched in front of my daughter.
“I’m sorry.”
“You still did it.”
“Yes.”
“Then being sorry isn’t useful yet.”
At twelve, she could sound frighteningly like her mother.
I stood.
“Tell me everything.”
Evelyn placed the silver medallion on a wooden table.
“My father worked security for your wife before you married her.”
“Isabella never had private security.”
“She did before she met you.”
I stared at her.
Evelyn continued.
“Her family wasn’t wealthy. They weren’t political. They were witnesses.”
“To what?”
“A network operating through legitimate medical foundations. Money laundering, blackmail, illegal surveillance. Your future rivals used those foundations to buy information about judges, businessmen, police officials.”
I shook my head.
“You expect me to believe Isabella was involved in that?”
“She was trying to expose it.”
Grace turned toward Evelyn’s voice.
“How?”
“She worked as a junior records analyst at twenty-two. She found financial transfers that shouldn’t have existed.”
I remembered Isabella mentioning a bookkeeping job from before we met.
Never this.
“She gave copies to your father?”
“Thomas was hired by someone who wanted those records protected. Eventually he realized Isabella was the one actually in danger.”
“And sixteen years ago?”
“My father was killed because he refused to hand over the last copy.”
My voice hardened.
“You said he worked for Isabella.”
“He did.”
“Then why did he save me?”
Evelyn looked at me as though the answer should have been obvious.
“Because she loved you.”
The cellar felt smaller.
Grace spoke softly.
“And me?”
Evelyn hesitated.
That hesitation terrified me.
“What happened to me?”
“Your mother became sick while she was pregnant.”
“I know that,” I said. “There were complications.”
“There were.”
Evelyn’s jaw tightened.
“But someone had tampered with medication she was given.”
I crossed the room before realizing I had moved.
“Careful.”
“I’m not accusing a doctor without proof.”
“You’re accusing someone of hurting my wife and unborn child.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do you know?”
“That Isabella discovered the truth after Grace was born.”
I stared at her.
“She told you?”
“No.”
“My father did. Before he died.”
Grace tilted her head.
“My mother knew?”
“Yes.”
“And she didn’t tell Dad?”
Evelyn’s eyes found mine.
“Your mother believed the person responsible was inside Dominic’s organization.”
I felt the floor disappear beneath me.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
My phone vibrated again.
Anthony.
I answered.
“What?”
His voice was low.
“We found something.”
“Where?”
“Your study.”
I was upstairs in less than a minute.
Anthony stood beside my desk.
On top of it rested an envelope.
No one had seen anyone enter.
My name was written across the front.
DOMINIC CARUSO.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Isabella stood outside our old townhouse holding newborn Grace.
A red circle had been drawn around the baby’s face.
On the back were five words.
SHE SHOULD HAVE STAYED HELPLESS.
My vision narrowed.
Anthony swore quietly.
Then another voice came from the doorway.
Grace.
I turned sharply.
“How did you get out?”
“Evelyn opened the door.”
Of course she had.
Grace stood with Evelyn behind her.
“What is it?” my daughter asked.
Nobody answered.
Grace’s expression hardened.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at each other instead of telling me.”
I closed my eyes for one second.
Then I told her.
Every word.
When I finished, Grace stayed silent.
Finally she asked, “They’re afraid I’m learning to defend myself?”
Evelyn answered.
“Yes.”
Grace nodded slowly.
“Then I’m going back downstairs tomorrow.”
“No,” I said automatically.
Grace turned toward me.
I caught myself.
She waited.
I hated every second of what came next.
But I said it anyway.
“You’re going back downstairs tomorrow.”
A faint smile touched her face.
Then Anthony’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Dominic, we have a problem.”
“What kind?”
“Our internal camera logs were altered.”
“By who?”
Anthony swallowed.
“Someone with executive clearance.”
Only six people had that clearance.
Four were standing inside the house.
One was me.
And the sixth man had been my best friend for twenty-seven years.
May you like
Michael Vieri.
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