Chapter 3 - The Man I Trusted Most
Michael arrived at eight the next morning.
He walked into my study smiling as though the previous night had never happened.
“Your message sounded dramatic.”
“Sit.”
His smile faded.
“Dominic?”
“Sit.”
Michael obeyed.
He had been beside me since we were fourteen. He knew where bodies were buried, where money moved, which politicians lied, which captains could be trusted.
More importantly, he had held Grace before I had.
I placed the photograph of Isabella and the baby on my desk.
Michael stared at it.
His face remained still.
Too still.
“Where did you get that?”
“You tell me.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“The security logs were altered using executive clearance.”
“And?”
“Six people have that level.”
He leaned back.
“So this is an interrogation.”
“It becomes one if you lie.”
Michael stared at me.
“You think I threatened Grace?”
“I think somebody did.”
“And your first thought was me?”
“No.”
That answer surprised him.
“My first thought was that I would kill anyone who did. Then I remembered you were one of the few people who knew about Isabella’s medical complications before Grace was born.”
Michael looked away.
That tiny movement was enough.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“Michael.”
His jaw tightened.
“Who’s Evelyn Shaw?”
I didn’t answer.
He smiled without humor.
“So she got to you.”
“You know her?”
“I know what she is.”
The study door opened.
Evelyn entered.
Michael stood instantly.
Recognition passed between them.
Grace followed.
I pointed toward my daughter.
“Grace stays.”
Michael looked uncomfortable.
“Dom—”
“She stays.”
Evelyn faced him.
“You’ve gotten older.”
Michael laughed once.
“And you’ve gotten careless.”
“Have I?”
“You walked straight into his house.”
“That was the point.”
Grace frowned.
“You two know each other.”
Michael looked at me.
“Her father tried to expose people who would have destroyed every family in Chicago.”
“People?” Evelyn said. “Or you?”
Michael’s face hardened.
I rose slowly.
“Answer her.”
He looked at Grace.
Then at me.
“Isabella came to me thirteen years ago.”
My pulse changed.
One year before she died.
“What?”
“She thought someone was watching Grace.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she asked me not to.”
“You chose my wife’s secrecy over my daughter’s safety?”
“She believed telling you would start a war.”
“She was right.”
“You had a newborn. She didn’t want Grace growing up around retaliation.”
Grace spoke quietly.
“I grew up around it anyway.”
Nobody had an answer.
Michael rubbed his face.
“Isabella gave me a key.”
“To what?”
“I never knew.”
“Where is it?”
“I destroyed it.”
Evelyn stepped forward.
“No, you didn’t.”
Michael looked at her.
“My father told me what Isabella gave you. You were supposed to deliver it if anything happened to her.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know the key was brass. Two inches long. Number 317.”
Michael went pale.
I walked around the desk.
“Where is it?”
He remained silent.
“Michael.”
“Dominic, there are things you are better off not knowing.”
That sentence ended twenty-seven years of trust.
I grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him close.
“You don’t decide that anymore.”
Grace’s voice cut through my anger.
“Dad.”
I stopped.
Not because she sounded frightened.
Because she didn’t.
“Let him go.”
I looked at my daughter.
She was facing us, listening.
“He’s scared,” she said.
Michael’s breathing changed.
Grace turned slightly toward him.
“You keep touching something in your right pocket.”
Michael froze.
I released him.
“What?”
Grace shrugged.
“His jacket keeps rubbing when he moves his hand.”
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed.
“Michael.”
He closed his eyes.
Then reached into his pocket.
A brass key landed on my desk.
Stamped into it was one number.
317.
I stared at him.
“You carried it for thirteen years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Isabella made me promise.”
“Where does it go?”
Michael shook his head.
“I swear I don’t know.”
Evelyn picked up the key.
“I do.”
We all turned toward her.
“Union Station.”
Michael’s eyes widened.
Evelyn continued.
“There were private storage lockers beneath the old service level. My father used them.”
Grace smiled faintly.
“So Mom left us something.”
Evelyn looked at her.
“Yes.”
Michael suddenly moved.
Not toward me.
Toward the window.
“Get down!”
Glass shattered.
Everyone dropped.
A small object punched through the window and buried itself in the opposite wall.
My guards stormed into the room.
Grace stayed on the floor.
Evelyn covered her with her body.
I looked at the damaged wall.
Not a bullet.
A metal dart.
Anthony carefully removed it with gloves.
A note was wrapped around the shaft.
I opened it.
Three words.
BURN THE KEY.
Michael stared at it.
“They know.”
I looked at him.
“Who?”
He finally answered.
“The Bell Consortium.”
Evelyn whispered the name like a curse.
Grace sat up.
“What is that?”
Michael looked toward her.
“The reason your mother spent her final years afraid.”
I placed the key in my pocket.
“Then we stop being afraid.”
Michael stared at me.
“What are you going to do?”
I looked at Evelyn.
Then at Grace.
May you like
“We’re going to locker 317.”
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