Chapter 3 - The Dead Woman’s Lullaby
Clara’s mother had been dead for 12 years.
At least, that was what Clara had believed.
Anne Jennings supposedly died from complications following emergency surgery when Clara was 12 and Ben was 4.
There had been a funeral.
A closed coffin.
A gravestone in Queens.
Clara had visited it every Christmas.
Now she stood inside Dominic Rossi’s penthouse at 2:17 in the morning listening to her dead mother hum through a phone.
Again.
And again.
The recording contained 23 seconds of music and 7 words.
That was all.
Dominic watched from across the room.
“Stop playing it.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever sent it wants you emotional.”
“My dead mother is apparently alive. I think we passed emotional 3 murders ago.”
Dominic said nothing.
Clara replayed it.
This time, she heard something beneath the humming.
A rhythm.
Clicks.
Four.
Pause.
Two.
Pause.
Seven.
“Wait.”
She increased the volume.
Dominic came closer.
“You hear it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s intentional.”
Clara wrote the sequence.
4-2-7.
Then more.
1-9-9-8.
Dominic frowned.
“A date?”
“April 27, 1998?”
“That would be before Ben was born.”
Clara suddenly remembered something.
Her mother had owned a music box.
Walnut.
Small brass clasp.
Clara had not seen it since childhood.
She called the superintendent of the Queens apartment building where she and Ben had lived after their parents died.
Twenty minutes later, they were driving again.
Dominic insisted on coming.
Clara did not argue.
Not because she trusted him.
Because someone had already reached her brother inside a hospital.
The old apartment looked smaller than Clara remembered.
The current tenant watched nervously as Dominic’s men searched.
Clara headed for the hallway closet.
“What are you looking for?” Dominic asked.
“My father replaced the floorboards after a pipe burst.”
She knelt.
One board had a tiny indentation near the wall.
Dominic handed her a pocketknife.
She lifted it.
Underneath lay a dusty walnut music box.
Clara’s heart hammered.
She opened it.
The melody began.
Her mother’s lullaby.
Inside the lid was a faded photograph of Clara and Ben as children.
Nothing else.
Dominic examined the mechanism.
“May I?”
Clara handed it over.
He removed the velvet lining.
Beneath it was a brass plate engraved with numbers.
The same sequence.
Below it:
GCT — L117
“Grand Central Terminal,” Dominic said.
“Locker 117.”
By 4 a.m., they were beneath Grand Central’s celestial ceiling.
Locker 117 no longer officially existed.
But behind a maintenance corridor, Dominic’s men found an old bank of storage boxes sealed off decades earlier.
The combination worked.
Inside was a cassette tape.
A key.
And a handwritten note.
Clara recognized her mother’s handwriting.
Clara, if you found this, Thomas failed. Trust no Rossi until you know which one saved you.
Dominic read over her shoulder.
“That’s comforting.”
Clara glared at him.
They found an old cassette player at a twenty-four-hour electronics repair shop Dominic apparently owned.
Anne Jennings’s voice filled the room.
“Clara, if you’re hearing this, I’m sorry.”
Clara covered her mouth.
Her mother sounded exactly as she remembered.
“I need you to understand that your father was not an accountant. Not really. He built financial systems for Vittorio Rossi. Then he discovered Vittorio wasn’t the man controlling the money.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“There was someone above him. Someone who called themselves Janus.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
Anne continued.
“Thomas found Janus’s ledger. He wanted to take it to federal authorities, but the FBI office he contacted was compromised. Two days later, Vittorio Rossi was murdered.”
Dominic’s eyes closed briefly.
“Thomas realized we were next. We divided the ledger into pieces.”
Clara whispered, “Pieces?”
“One was numbers. One was names. One was the encryption key. No single person could expose Janus alone.”
The tape crackled.
“I took the names. Your father took the numbers.”
A pause.
“And the key was hidden with the one person Janus would never suspect.”
The recording stopped.
Clara stared at the cassette player.
“That’s it?”
Gabriel turned the tape over.
Side B contained 8 more seconds.
Anne’s voice returned.
“If Ben becomes sick, it means they found us.”
Clara stopped breathing.
“What?”
The tape ended.
She grabbed it.
“No. No, play it again.”
Dominic did.
Same sentence.
If Ben becomes sick, it means they found us.
Clara stood so quickly the chair fell.
“Ben’s leukemia.”
Dominic’s face had gone frighteningly still.
“You think—”
“I don’t know what I think.”
She called Mount Sinai.
Ben’s doctor answered after several attempts.
Dominic listened while Clara asked about Ben’s diagnosis.
Something strange emerged.
Ben’s original bloodwork had been ordered through a private clinic.
A clinic Clara had never heard of.
The doctor had assumed Clara authorized the transferred records.
She had not.
Dominic searched the company.
The clinic had closed 6 months earlier.
Its parent company was registered in Delaware.
That company belonged to another.
And another.
Gabriel eventually found the beneficial owner.
Rossi Meridian Holdings.
Clara looked at Dominic.
His face became unreadable.
“Your company.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Your name is literally on it.”
“Rossi is a family name.”
“Ben got sick, and a Rossi company was involved.”
Dominic approached slowly.
“I didn’t hurt your brother.”
“How would I know?”
“You wouldn’t.”
Again, that infuriating honesty.
Dominic turned to Gabriel.
“Find every person attached to Meridian.”
Gabriel hesitated.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“I recognize the incorporation attorney.”
He turned the laptop.
The registered attorney was Elena Rossi.
Dominic’s mother.
Clara stared at him.
Dominic looked as if someone had struck him.
“My mother has been in a private psychiatric facility in Switzerland for 14 years.”
“Apparently your family has a problem with dead and missing women.”
Dominic ignored the insult.
He called a number.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Finally, someone picked up.
Dominic spoke in Italian.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He ended the call.
“My mother disappeared from the clinic 3 days ago.”
Clara felt the room tilt.
Then Gabriel’s laptop chimed.
An email had arrived.
Sender unknown.
Attached was a live video feed.
Benjamin.
Still sleeping.
But this time the camera was not inside his hospital room.
Clara recognized the blanket.
The IV.
But not the room.
She called Mount Sinai.
The nurse screamed for security.
Thirty seconds later, confirmation came.
Room 814 was empty.
Ben had vanished.
The live feed zoomed closer to his face.
A digital timer appeared.
05:59:59
Six hours.
A distorted voice spoke.
“Bring the Grand Central key to Pier 19.”
Clara gripped the desk.
Dominic stood.
Then the voice added:
“Dominic comes alone.”
The screen went black.
Clara turned toward him.
“You’re not going alone.”
Dominic picked up his coat.
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“Clara—”
“My brother is there because of my family. They want your family. And whatever this is, they’ve been planning it longer than either of us has been alive.”
She stepped directly into his path.
“So either we solve it together, or you’ll have to lock me up.”
Dominic looked at her for several seconds.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
It was the first time Clara had seen him do it.
Barely a smile.
But real.
“My father used to say stubborn people die young.”
“My father apparently hid criminal ledgers in music boxes.”
“Fair point.”
His smile disappeared.
“Get your coat.”
They left together.
Neither noticed Gabriel remaining behind.
Neither saw him take out a second phone.
May you like
And neither heard the 5 words he whispered when someone answered.
“They found the music box.”
