Chapter 5 - THE CHILD IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
The wounded intruder regained consciousness in the mansion's security room.
He was in his early fifties, with a narrow face, a scar beneath his left eye, and a wedding ring that had been cut off years earlier. His coat concealed a concealed holster, a burner phone, and a small vial containing an unidentified liquid.
Dominic stood across from him.
“Who sent you?”
The man said nothing.
Dominic placed the photograph of Hannah on the table.
“Why do you have this?”
The man's eyes flickered toward Hannah, who watched from behind Marcus.
“I'm not here for the girl.”
“Then why carry her photograph?”
“Insurance.”
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“Against whom?”
The man smiled faintly.
“You think you're the only person who knows how to protect what's his?”
Dominic leaned forward.
“You entered my house, threatened my staff, and left blood outside my dead wife's bedroom. You have ten seconds to tell me who sent you before I stop asking politely.”
The man looked toward the ceiling.
“Your father was a better interrogator.”
Dominic went still.
“My father is dead.”
“That's what the papers say.”
Marcus stepped closer, but Dominic raised one hand.
“Who are you?”
“Daniel Voss. I worked for the Moretti family before you took over.”
Dominic remembered the name.
Voss had been a driver and occasional courier for his father. He disappeared after Michael's funeral, reportedly moving to Arizona.
“Why are you here?”
“Because Margaret Vale knows where the money went.”
“Where is she?”
“Somewhere you won't find her.”
Dominic slid the burner phone across the table.
“Your phone says otherwise.”
Daniel's smile disappeared.
The device contained an encrypted message with coordinates outside Chicago and a photograph of an old brick building.
Dominic recognized the location.
A private rehabilitation center where his mother had spent her final months.
“What is this?”
Daniel stared at the screen.
“Something you shouldn't have found.”
Dominic's pulse quickened.
“Was Margaret held there?”
“No.”
“Was Elena?”
Daniel said nothing.
Dominic slammed his hand onto the table.
“Was my wife taken to that building?”
Daniel flinched.
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.”
Dominic turned to Marcus.
“Get a team ready. Quietly. Nobody leaves this property until I return.”
Hannah stepped forward.
“Sir, please don't go without me.”
“No.”
“My mother may be there.”
“Which is exactly why you're staying here.”
“She's been missing for four years. If you find her and she sees strangers, she might run.”
Dominic looked at the bandage on Hannah's palm.
“You've already done more than I had any right to ask of you.”
“Then let me do one more thing.”
Her voice shook, but she didn't look away.
“I'm tired of being afraid of the people who took my mother from me.”
Dominic studied her for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“You stay with Marcus. You do exactly what he tells you. If anything feels wrong, you leave immediately.”
Hannah agreed.
But as Dominic turned away, she caught his sleeve.
“Sir?”
He looked down.
“Don't trust Vanessa.”
“I don't.”
Hannah swallowed.
“That's not what I mean. She told you the truth about helping cover up Elena's death. But she didn't tell you why.”
***
The rehabilitation center had closed three years earlier.
Its windows were boarded, the entrance chained, and weeds grew through cracks in the parking lot. Dominic's men searched the building room by room.
They found old medical records, rusted equipment, and evidence of recent activity in the basement.
In a locked office, Dominic discovered a ledger containing payments to a private security company. The money had come from the Moretti charitable foundation.
The final entry was dated October 19, 2021.
One day after Elena died.
Patient transfer: M. Vale. Destination confidential.
Dominic photographed the page.
Beneath it was another entry.
Infant transfer: female, newborn. Authorization: A. Moretti.
Dominic read it again.
A female newborn.
Authorized by Adrian.
His brother had arranged the transfer of a baby the day after Elena died.
The photograph of Elena holding the newborn flashed through his mind.
The child was never reported.
“Sir,” Marcus called from the hallway.
Dominic followed him into a small room at the rear of the building.
A faded mural of bluebirds covered one wall. In the corner stood a crib, its metal frame rusted and its mattress missing.
Someone had scratched words into the plaster.
SHE DIDN'T FALL.
Below the words was a date.
October 18, 2021.
Dominic felt his throat tighten.
His wife had not simply left him a mystery.
She had left him a warning.
A sound came from the next room.
Dominic drew his weapon and moved toward the doorway.
A woman sat on the floor, her wrists bound with plastic restraints. Her hair was streaked with gray, and her face had grown thin, but Dominic recognized her from Elena's photographs.
Margaret Vale.
She looked up.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Margaret began to cry.
“Dominic.”
He lowered his weapon.
“Where is the child?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
“Where is she?”
“I tried to protect her.”
“Who is she?”
Margaret looked at him with an expression that broke something inside his chest.
“She was Elena's daughter.”
Dominic stared.
“Elena never had a daughter.”
“She did. She was pregnant when she died.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Dominic had known Elena wanted children. They had discussed adoption, fertility treatments, and names during long nights when the world outside their bedroom ceased to exist.
But Elena had never told him she was pregnant.
Margaret continued.
“Your wife discovered the pregnancy six weeks before her death. She wanted to tell you after she secured the foundation evidence. She believed someone was monitoring her medical appointments.”
Dominic struggled to breathe.
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“Because she was afraid they would use the baby against you.”
He closed his eyes.
A thousand memories returned at once: Elena refusing wine at dinner, Elena asking him to postpone a dangerous business trip, Elena placing her hand over her stomach when she thought he wasn't looking.
He had missed every sign.
“Where is my daughter?”
Margaret shook her head.
“Adrian arranged the transfer. Richard Sterling paid for it. I was told the baby would be taken somewhere safe.”
“Where?”
“I don't know. I was unconscious when they moved me.”
Dominic gripped the edge of the table.
“Who ordered it?”
Margaret hesitated.
Then she whispered, “Your father.”
“That's impossible.”
“I heard his voice.”
“My father was dead.”
“Dominic, I know what I heard.”
He stepped back.
Margaret reached for him with trembling hands.
“Elena recorded a conversation. She said it would prove everything. She hid the recording somewhere only the baby would lead you.”
“Where?”
Margaret looked toward the old crib.
“Inside the thing Elena made for her daughter.”
Dominic searched the room.
Behind the crib, a small wooden music box sat on a shelf. He opened it.
A melody played softly.
Inside the lid, written in faded ink, was a name.
ISABELLA.
Dominic stared at the name of his daughter.
Then his phone rang.
Hannah's voice came through, panicked and breathless.
“Dominic, Vanessa is gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“She left the house. Marcus found her car abandoned near the river.”
Dominic's stomach tightened.
“Did you find anything else?”
Hannah swallowed.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A note on your desk.”
May you like
She began to cry.
“It says she has your daughter.”
