Chapter 8 - The Name on the Final Page
The name belonged to Assistant Commissioner Raymond Holt.
For twenty-two years, Holt had built a reputation as one of New York's most respected law-enforcement officials.
Daniel Adams had trusted him.
That had been his fatal mistake.
Holt was the officer Daniel mentioned on the recording.
The one inside the department.
Worse, federal investigators believed Holt had warned Victor about Daniel’s investigation eight years earlier.
Rachel sat in a federal office staring through the glass wall.
“He came to my father's funeral.”
Nick sat beside her.
“He hugged me.”
Her voice broke.
“He told me Dad was a hero.”
Nick's hand covered hers.
This time she did not pull away.
Holt disappeared before agents reached his Manhattan apartment.
Victor refused to cooperate.
For forty-eight hours, the city searched.
Rachel finally returned to Mel’s Diner.
Gus had boarded the broken windows.
When Rachel entered, he hugged her so tightly she nearly dropped her bag.
“You disappear for three days!”
“Long story.”
“Police came. FBI came. Some guy offered to buy the building.”
Rachel slowly turned toward Nick.
He stood near the door.
“What?”
“Did you buy the diner?”
“No.”
Gus pointed at him.
“He bought the diner.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“Nick.”
“The landlord was going to sell.”
“You bought my workplace?”
“Technically, I bought the building.”
“That is worse.”
Gus whispered, “I like him.”
Nick smiled.
Rachel pointed at him.
“You are impossible.”
“I've been told.”
She returned to work the following night.
Nick hated it.
Rachel insisted.
“I need normal.”
So Nick sat in his old booth.
Facing the door.
Rachel approached with coffee.
“You ordering food?”
“No steak.”
“Smartest thing you've said all week.”
She poured coffee.
For several hours, normal almost existed.
Then a little after midnight, a man entered.
Gray coat.
Baseball cap.
Rachel barely noticed him.
Nick did.
The man chose a booth near the restroom.
He ordered pie.
Nick watched his hands.
No obvious weapon.
Still, something bothered him.
Rachel carried the pie over.
The man looked up.
“Rachel Adams?”
She froze.
Nick stood.
The stranger removed his cap.
Raymond Holt.
Rachel had seen him in photographs.
Older now.
Tired.
But unmistakable.
Nick moved toward them.
Holt placed both hands on the table.
“If I wanted her dead, Santoro, she would already be dead.”
Nick stopped.
“That's not helping your situation.”
Holt looked at Rachel.
“Your father made copies.”
“I know.”
“No. Copies I never found.”
Rachel said nothing.
Holt continued.
“Victor thinks I betrayed Daniel.”
“You did.”
“I warned Daniel.”
Rachel stared.
“What?”
“I told him Victor knew about the investigation. I told him to disappear.”
“You took money from Victor.”
“Yes.”
Nick's expression hardened.
Holt nodded.
“I was dirty. I'm not pretending otherwise. But Daniel was my partner for seven years.”
Rachel's eyes filled.
“Then who killed him?”
“Victor ordered it.”
“We know.”
“No.”
Holt leaned forward.
“Victor gave the order. But the man who sabotaged Daniel’s car still works for Nicholas.”
Nick froze.
“Who?”
Holt looked at him.
“Anthony Russo.”
Rachel’s stomach dropped.
“No.”
Nick's face became unreadable.
Holt continued.
“Anthony was nineteen. Victor owned his father’s gambling debts. He forced the kid to tamper with the brake line.”
Nick grabbed Holt by the collar.
“You're lying.”
“Ask him.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because Victor kept proof.”
Holt slid a photograph across the table.
Anthony.
Nineteen years old.
Standing beside Daniel Adams’s car the night he died.
Rachel stared at it.
Nick released Holt.
His phone was already in his hand.
Anthony answered on the second ring.
“Nick?”
“Where are you?”
Silence.
That was enough.
Nick closed his eyes.
“Anthony.”
“I can explain.”
Rachel looked away.
Nick's voice dropped.
“Tell me he’s lying.”
Anthony breathed heavily.
“I was nineteen.”
Rachel felt something inside her collapse.
“You killed him.”
Anthony heard her.
“Rachel—”
“You killed my father.”
“I cut one brake line. Victor told me Daniel would be scared, that he'd stop investigating. I didn't know—”
“You cut his brakes!”
“I've lived with it every day.”
Rachel took Nick’s phone.
“My father didn't get those days.”
Anthony said nothing.
She ended the call.
Holt stood.
“Victor has one final archive. Recordings, payments, everything. He kept insurance against everyone.”
“Where?”
“Federal Plaza evidence storage.”
Nick stared.
“How?”
“He has people inside.”
Holt nodded.
“And if that archive disappears, half the case against his network becomes harder to prove.”
Rachel wiped her eyes.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Nick looked at the clock.
12:47 a.m.
Holt said, “You have less than an hour.”
Rachel reached for her coat.
Nick stopped her.
“No.”
She looked at him.
“My father's case began with dirty cops.”
“Rachel—”
“It ends with the evidence surviving.”
Nick saw there would be no changing her mind.
He sighed.
“Stay beside me.”
She looked at him.
“Always giving orders.”
“Request.”
Rachel’s expression softened.
“Better.”
They headed toward the door.
Then Nick noticed something outside.
Anthony stood beneath the diner’s neon sign.
Alone.
Hands empty.
Rachel froze.
Anthony entered.
His eyes were red.
“I know where Victor's archive is.”
Rachel looked at the man who had helped kill her father.
Every instinct told her to hate him.
May you like
Anthony swallowed.
“And I'm going to help you take it down.”
