Chapter 3 - Forty-Three Seconds
By midnight, I discovered that the official report of my husband's death contained a lie.
Not a mistake.
A lie.
And someone had spent almost two years making sure I never found it.
Dante's security team reached my apartment before we did.
Two unmarked SUVs were parked outside our building in Queens. A police cruiser idled near the corner, its lights off.
Sophie had fallen asleep in the back seat, her stuffed rabbit tucked beneath her chin.
I watched the windows of our third-floor apartment.
One curtain hung crooked.
The kitchen light was on.
I had turned it off before leaving for work.
Vincent opened my door.
“Someone searched the bedroom and storage closet. Nothing appears to have been taken.”
“Nothing?” I repeated.
“They were looking for something specific.”
Dante stood beside me.
“Where's the box?”
My mouth went dry.
“In a storage locker.”
“Not here?”
“No.”
He studied my face.
“Good.”
I almost laughed.
Good?
My home had been broken into.
My daughter had been threatened.
My dead husband's name was suddenly connected to a stranger in a gray coat.
Nothing about this was good.
Dante seemed to understand my expression.
“Marissa, I know you don't trust me.”
“You own the building where Marcus died.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't tell me.”
“I didn't know who you were until Vincent checked your employment file tonight.”
“Then why did you recognize his name?”
Dante looked toward the apartment door.
“Because his death was connected to an investigation I never finished.”
The words landed heavily.
“What investigation?”
“Not here.”
I stared at him.
“I'm done being told to wait.”
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he nodded.
“You're right.”
He led me into the kitchen while Vincent stayed with Sophie.
The refrigerator hummed.
A magnet shaped like a yellow duck held one of Sophie's drawings against the door.
Marcus had bought that magnet during our honeymoon in Cape May.
Seeing it almost broke me.
Dante noticed my eyes drifting toward it.
“Marcus worked for a restaurant tenant named Anthony Bellini,” he said. “Bellini leased the space from a holding company I controlled.”
“I know.”
“What you don't know is that six weeks before the fire, my accountants found evidence that Bellini's restaurant was being used to conceal fraudulent payments.”
I stared at him.
“Money laundering?”
“Among other things.”
“Your money?”
“Some of it moved through companies associated with me. That doesn't mean I authorized it.”
I crossed my arms.
“That's convenient.”
“It is.”
His willingness to admit that surprised me.
Dante continued.
“I ordered an internal audit. Before my investigators could complete it, the restaurant burned.”
“And Marcus died.”
“Yes.”
“Was he involved?”
“I don't know.”
The answer hurt more than I expected.
“My husband was a good man.”
“I haven't said otherwise.”
“He worked twelve-hour shifts. He came home exhausted. He made pancakes shaped like animals for Sophie. He wasn't some criminal accountant.”
Dante's expression softened.
“Good men sometimes discover things dangerous people want hidden.”
I looked away.
Because Marcus had been different during his final month.
I remembered that now.
The late-night calls.
The way he checked the locks twice.
The strange argument we'd had when I found a second phone inside his coat.
He told me it belonged to a coworker.
I had believed him.
I wanted to keep believing him.
Dante's phone rang.
Vincent.
He answered immediately.
After listening, he looked at me.
“We need to leave.”
“Why?”
“Someone just tried to enter your storage facility.”
My breath caught.
“How do they know where it is?”
“We're going to find out.”
Twenty minutes later, I stood inside a privately operated storage building in Long Island City.
A security guard watched nervously as Vincent inspected the hallway.
Unit 214.
Marcus had rented it years earlier when we moved into our apartment.
I kept Christmas decorations there.
Old baby clothes.
A broken rocking chair I'd never had the heart to throw away.
And a small metal box.
I knelt beside a cardboard carton labeled WINTER.
Beneath a stack of scarves sat a rectangular steel case.
Dark blue.
Scratched.
Locked.
I lifted it carefully.
The sight of Marcus's handwriting on a strip of faded tape nearly brought me to my knees.
FOR MARISSA. WHEN IT'S SAFE.
Dante crouched beside me.
“Do you have the key?”
I shook my head.
Then I remembered something.
Marcus's watch.
He had worn it every day.
A cheap silver watch with a cracked leather strap.
After his death, I kept it in my jewelry box.
I had never understood why the back plate was loose.
“Wait.”
I reached into my purse.
I carried the watch sometimes when I missed him.
That night, by some strange instinct, I had brought it.
I turned it over.
A tiny metal key was taped beneath the strap.
My hands began shaking.
Dante didn't touch me.
He simply waited.
I slid the key into the lock.
It opened.
Inside were three objects.
A flash drive.
A folded letter.
And a photograph.
I picked up the photograph first.
Marcus stood outside Bellini's Kitchen beside another man.
The second man was tall and narrow, with wire-rimmed glasses.
He wore a gray coat.
I stopped breathing.
“The elevator man.”
Dante took the photograph.
His face hardened.
“Elias Voss.”
“You know him?”
“He used to audit several of my companies.”
“Used to?”
“He disappeared eighteen months ago.”
I unfolded Marcus's letter.
The handwriting was hurried.
Marissa,
If you're reading this, I failed to fix what I found.
I need you to know I never stole anything. I never agreed to help them.
I thought I could make it right without putting you and Sophie in danger.
I was wrong.
Don't trust the official fire report.
And please, whatever happens, don't blame yourself for the argument we had.
You were right to be afraid.
I love you both.
Marcus.
The final line was blurred.
I couldn't tell whether the paper had been stained by water or tears.
I pressed it against my chest.
For almost two years, I had replayed our last argument.
I had told Marcus he was hiding something.
He had told me to stop asking questions.
I had accused him of caring more about his work than his family.
Those were the last angry words I ever said to him.
Now I knew he'd been afraid.
And he'd died before he could explain why.
Dante took a step back, giving me space.
I cried without making a sound.
When I finally looked up, he was watching the open box.
“What's on the drive?” I whispered.
“We'll need a secure computer.”
Vincent approached.
“We have another problem.”
Dante stood.
“What?”
“The storage facility's security system was accessed remotely at 11:17 p.m.”
“By whom?”
“An administrator account assigned to Caleb Ross.”
Dante's expression darkened.
Vincent continued.
“And the building's cameras captured a second person leaving before we arrived.”
He showed us a still image.
A woman.
Dark hair.
Long coat.
Her face partly hidden.
She was carrying a small black handbag.
I stared at the photograph.
Something about her posture seemed familiar.
Then Vincent enlarged the image.
A gold bracelet hung from her wrist.
Three tiny charms.
A star.
A heart.
A crescent moon.
My blood turned cold.
I knew that bracelet.
I had given it to my younger sister, Natalie, for her twenty-fifth birthday.
I grabbed Vincent's arm.
“Where did she go?”
“We're trying to determine that.”
I shook my head.
“No. You don't understand.”
Dante stepped closer.
“Marissa?”
My voice broke.
“That's my sister.”
And the realization that followed was worse.
Natalie was the person who had helped me choose the storage facility.
She knew where I kept Marcus's things.
May you like
She knew Sophie stayed at the hotel.
And she was the only person outside my apartment who still possessed a spare key.
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