Chapter 5 - THE SECRET MY FATHER BURIED
Roman did not speak during the drive home.
His silence frightened me more than anger would have.
At the estate, he took the flash drive directly to the library.
His security specialist disconnected a laptop from every network before inserting it.
One video file appeared.
Roman stood beside me.
“Play it.”
The screen flickered.
Security footage.
A parking garage.
Date stamp: six years earlier.
A younger Thomas Miller entered the frame.
My father.
Another man followed.
Victor Hale.
There was no audio.
They spoke for several minutes.
Then Dad handed Hale a folder.
The video changed.
A second camera showed a black sedan entering the same garage two hours later.
Roman leaned toward the screen.
His face went colorless.
“My brother.”
I saw a younger man climb from the car.
He looked like Roman.
Not identical, but close enough.
Marco Costa.
Another vehicle entered.
Three armed men stepped out.
The footage ended.
I covered my mouth.
“Roman.”
He walked away.
His hands clenched.
“Play the next file.”
There was an audio recording.
My father’s voice.
Marco Costa knows about the waterfront accounts.
Then Hale.
And?
Dad again.
If he talks, everything collapses.
The recording stopped.
Roman stared at the blank screen.
I felt physically sick.
“My father knew.”
Roman said nothing.
“He knew your brother was going to be killed.”
Still nothing.
I approached him carefully.
“Roman.”
“Don’t.”
I stopped.
He turned away.
I understood.
I carried my father’s name.
My father’s blood.
Maybe seeing me now meant seeing the man who had helped get his brother killed.
“I’m sorry.”
Roman looked at me.
“For what?”
“What my father did.”
“You didn’t do it.”
“But—”
“No.”
His voice was sharp.
Then softer.
“Do not apologize for another person’s sins.”
Nobody had ever told me that.
I swallowed.
Roman looked toward the rain-darkened windows.
“Marco was thirty-one.”
I waited.
“He had a daughter.”
My chest tightened.
“Her name is Lucia. She was four when he died.”
“Where is she now?”
“With Elena.”
I understood.
“Elena is her grandmother?”
Roman nodded.
“She raised us. Then she raised Lucia.”
“What happened to Lucia’s mother?”
“Left.”
He gave a humorless smile.
“Apparently the Costa men inspire complicated family situations.”
I wanted to comfort him.
I didn’t know how.
So I simply stood beside him.
After a while, Roman spoke.
“I spent six years trying to prove Hale ordered it.”
“And now?”
“Now I know your father helped him.”
The next morning, I returned to the financial records with a new purpose.
If Dad had been connected to Hale six years ago, Harbor North might be older than we thought.
It was.
At 3:17 p.m., I found the first payment.
Six years earlier.
Three days before Marco Costa died.
Miller Development had transferred $475,000 to a security consulting company.
That company had dissolved two weeks later.
Its owner was connected to Victor Hale.
I printed the record.
Roman stared at it.
“This paid for the hit.”
“Maybe.”
“No.”
His voice became ice.
“This paid for the hit.”
I expected him to leave.
To take men and weapons and settle six years of grief in blood.
Instead, Roman sat down.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Thinking.”
“You’re not going after my father?”
His eyes lifted.
“Do you want me to?”
“No.”
“Then why do you sound surprised?”
“Because of who everyone says you are.”
Roman leaned back.
“And who is that?”
I hesitated.
“Dangerous.”
“That part is accurate.”
“Ruthless.”
“Sometimes.”
“A criminal.”
His mouth curved slightly.
“You really need to work on flirting.”
I stared at him.
Then laughed.
The tension cracked.
Only briefly.
His expression became serious again.
“I spent half my life solving problems the way men like Hale solve them. My brother did too.”
He looked at the financial record.
“And where did that get him?”
I understood.
“You want evidence.”
“I want Hale unable to buy his way out.”
“And Dad?”
Roman’s gaze met mine.
“Your father will answer for whatever he did. In court if possible.”
The relief I felt embarrassed me.
Roman noticed.
He always noticed.
“You can hate what someone did and still love them,” he said.
“I don’t know whether I love him anymore.”
“You don’t have to decide today.”
That night, we found Gregory.
Not physically.
Digitally.
He called me.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
“Sadie.”
I stood so quickly my chair fell backward.
“Gregory?”
Roman looked up.
My brother was crying.
“Sadie, please help me.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you hurt?”
A ragged breath.
“Yes.”
I put the phone on speaker.
Roman immediately signaled his team.
“Gregory,” I said, “listen to me. We’re going to find you.”
“No.”
“What?”
“You don’t understand.”
His voice broke.
“They don’t want Dad’s money.”
Roman went still.
“Then what do they want?”
“You.”
My blood chilled.
“Me?”
Gregory started sobbing.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I didn’t know they would hurt you.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“What did you do?”
Silence.
“Gregory.”
“I gave Hale your name.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Why?”
“Because Dad said you found the accounts. Hale wanted to know who else knew.”
Roman’s face became deadly still.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Three weeks.
Before Roman came to collect the debt.
Before Dad offered me.
Before any of this.
Gregory had already betrayed me.
“I thought he’d scare you,” Gregory whispered. “That’s all.”
I closed my eyes.
My own brother had delivered my name to a man who killed people to protect financial secrets.
“Sadie, please.”
I opened my eyes.
“Where are you?”
“I told you, I don’t—”
A door slammed on his end.
Gregory gasped.
Then another voice came through.
Smooth.
Older.
Amused.
“Hello, Sadie.”
Roman reached for the phone.
I stopped him.
“Victor Hale?”
A quiet laugh.
“So Roman has been educating you.”
“What do you want?”
“You found something that belongs to me.”
“The accounts?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Something your father hid twenty-four years ago.”
I frowned.
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
The line went dead.
Thirty seconds later, an email arrived.
One photograph.
A hospital bracelet.
The date was twenty-four years earlier.
The patient’s name made no sense.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
INFANT FEMALE — COSTA.
Roman stared at the screen.
I looked at him.
“What does this have to do with me?”
Roman did not answer.
Because beneath the bracelet was a second photograph.
My birth certificate.
And someone had circled one line in red.
MOTHER: CYNTHIA MILLER.
The line for father had been altered.
May you like
Underneath the correction fluid, another surname was visible.
Costa.
