Chapter 2 - THE LOCKER AT THE ABANDONED WAREHOUSE
“I didn't know they were going to take him!”
Vanessa's confession hung in the air.
Dominic Moretti stared at the woman he'd intended to marry in three weeks. He had heard men beg for their lives without feeling a fraction of the uncertainty that now tightened his chest.
“Start talking,” he said.
Vanessa wiped her cheeks. “I arranged the transfer. Arthur discovered it. I asked someone to frighten him into backing off. That was all.”
“Who?”
“I can't tell you.”
Dominic took one slow step toward her.
“You just told me someone took my chief accountant. You don't get to decide which questions I ask.”
Clara stood near the ruined fireplace, her hands clasped tightly. She knew Dominic's reputation. She also knew that whatever happened next would determine whether Arthur's disappearance was finally investigated—or buried alongside him.
Vanessa glanced at Clara with naked hatred.
“She manipulated me. She knew about the transfer and set this up.”
“No,” Clara replied. “You recognized the page before you knew whether it contained your name.”
Dominic lifted a hand, silencing both women.
“Marcus, take Vanessa to the blue sitting room. Two guards outside. Nobody enters or leaves without my permission.”
Vanessa's face crumpled.
“Dominic, you can't lock me up!”
“I'm not locking you up. I'm making sure you don't destroy anything else.”
Marcus escorted her away.
When the door closed, Dominic turned to Clara.
“How long have you known?”
“About the transfer? Six weeks. About the missing page? Three days.”
“Why didn't you come directly to me?”
Clara looked at the ashes.
“Because Mr. Bennett told me that if anything happened to him, I should preserve the evidence before telling anyone. He said the danger might be closer than I thought.”
“You believed I could be involved?”
“I believed you might be deceived.”
Her answer angered him because he couldn't dismiss it.
Dominic had spent years believing that loyalty could be measured by service, money, and fear. Yet a housemaid had protected evidence while the people he paid to protect him had apparently allowed a man to disappear.
He took his coat from a chair.
“We're going to the warehouse.”
Clara hesitated. “Mr. Whitmore said the locker should be checked before you confront anyone.”
“Then we'll check it.”
“Sir, if someone is watching that location, they may expect you.”
Dominic studied her.
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Yes. Don't arrive in your own car.”
For the first time that night, Dominic almost smiled.
Twenty minutes later, Dominic, Clara, and Marcus left through the rear service entrance in an unmarked sedan. Rain streaked the windows as they crossed the industrial district on the outskirts of Chicago.
Clara sat in the back seat, gripping a small canvas bag.
“What's in there?” Dominic asked.
“Arthur's old key ring. He gave it to me the week he disappeared.”
“Why didn't you mention it?”
“Because I didn't know which key belonged to the locker.”
She held it up.
One brass key bore a tiny stamped number: 317.
Marcus glanced at Dominic through the rearview mirror.
“Could be the locker number.”
“Let's hope,” Dominic said.
The warehouse stood behind a rusted chain-link fence. Police tape had long since disappeared, and weeds pushed through cracks in the loading bay. Arthur's car had been found two blocks away, abandoned with its doors unlocked.
Marcus remained near the entrance while Dominic and Clara followed a narrow corridor into a storage facility attached to the building.
Locker 317 was at the end of the second aisle.
The key turned.
Inside sat a metal cash box, a stack of folders, and a cheap prepaid phone.
Dominic opened the cash box first.
There were no diamonds, no money, no weapons.
Only photographs.
The first showed Arthur Bennett standing beside a black SUV. The second showed Vanessa entering a downtown office building. The third showed a man Dominic recognized immediately.
His younger brother, Adrian Moretti.
Dominic stopped breathing for a moment.
Adrian had been presumed dead in a boating accident four years earlier. His body had never been recovered, but the family had held a private funeral.
“That's impossible,” Marcus whispered.
Clara took the photograph carefully.
“Is this your brother?”
Dominic didn't answer immediately.
The image showed Adrian outside the same office building Vanessa had visited. On the back, Arthur had written a date: September 10.
Two days before the transfer.
Dominic opened the folder.
Inside were copies of bank records, company registrations, and a handwritten list of names. Several belonged to trusted members of the Moretti organization.
One name appeared twice.
Marcus Hale.
Dominic's security chief.
The man standing ten feet away from them.
Dominic looked toward the corridor.
“Marcus!”
No answer.
Then came the sound of a metal door slamming.
Dominic rushed outside.
The sedan was gone.
So was Marcus.
Clara clutched the folder against her chest.
A prepaid phone began vibrating inside the locker.
Dominic answered.
A distorted male voice spoke.
“You should have left the dead buried.”
“Who is this?”
“Ask your maid what happened to the original page.”
The call ended.
Dominic slowly lowered the phone.
Clara's face had gone pale.
“What does he mean?” Dominic asked.
She stared at the photographs.
“Mr. Bennett told me the page could expose the person who ordered the transfer.”
“And?”
“He also said there was something on the back that I wasn't supposed to see until he gave me permission.”
Dominic turned the page over.
A faint pencil mark ran along the bottom edge, almost invisible beneath the photocopy.
It was a set of initials.
A.M.
Adrian Moretti.
Dominic looked toward the dark warehouse entrance.
His dead brother might be alive.
His security chief might be working against him.
And the maid standing beside him might know more than she'd admitted.
Before he could question her, a vehicle's headlights swept across the loading bay.
A black SUV rolled to a stop.
The passenger window lowered.
A man Dominic had buried four years earlier leaned into the light.
Adrian smiled.
May you like
“Hello, brother. I see you've brought the girl who helped me disappear.”
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