Chapter 6 - The File My Father Left Behind
My father had not died of a heart attack.
That was the first truth that destroyed the version of my childhood I had carried into adulthood.
The second was worse.
Dominic had known.
We returned to his penthouse before dawn.
Rachel remained under Anthony’s protection.
I stood beside Dominic’s windows while Manhattan glittered below like nothing in the world had changed.
“Tell me everything.”
He did.
My father, Thomas Bennett, had been Salvatore Caruso’s accountant.
Not a soldier.
Not a criminal in the conventional sense.
But he had balanced books designed to hide criminal money, and that made him part of the machine whether he carried a gun or not.
When Dominic began taking control from his father, Thomas quietly helped him separate legitimate companies from the old organization.
That made enemies.
“Your father kept records,” Dominic said.
“Insurance?”
“Yes.”
“Against your family?”
“Against everyone.”
“Including you?”
“Yes.”
At least he did not lie.
“Six years ago, he called me. Said somebody had discovered the archive.”
“What archive?”
“No one knew.”
I thought about Enzo’s words.
You have something I want.
“My father died two days later.”
Dominic nodded.
“His official autopsy showed cardiac arrest.”
“And the real one?”
“Poison.”
I turned away.
Anger made my hands shake.
“You let us bury him believing it was natural.”
“Your father asked me to.”
“He was dead.”
“He left instructions.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“No.”
Again, no defense.
It almost made being furious harder.
“Did Marcus kill him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Enzo?”
“I suspected him. Never proved it.”
“And you hired me because Marcus marked my résumé?”
“Your application was routed directly to executive recruitment. Marcus had flagged your name.”
“For what?”
“I didn’t know. So I hired you where I could watch you.”
The words cut.
“Watch me.”
“At first.”
“So I was never qualified?”
Dominic looked offended.
“You were excessively qualified.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
“Then why keep me?”
His eyes held mine.
“You know why.”
I did.
That frightened me.
Anthony arrived with news at seven.
They had traced Marcus’s call to a warehouse in Red Hook.
Empty.
Blood on the floor.
No body.
One broken chair.
And a message painted on the wall.
BENNETT KNOWS THE KEY.
I did not.
Or thought I didn’t.
Then Rachel called.
“Diana, I remembered something.”
“What?”
“Dad’s chess set.”
I froze.
Our father had loved chess.
After he died, Rachel took most of his books.
I kept the wooden chess set because it had sat on his desk my entire childhood.
“Why?”
“Before he died, Dad told me something weird. He said if you ever got lost, remember the queen always protects the king.”
Dominic and I looked at each other.
The chess set was in storage in Queens.
Anthony retrieved it.
We examined every piece.
Nothing.
Then Dominic picked up the white queen.
He twisted the base.
It opened.
Inside was a tiny brass key.
No label.
No address.
Just three engraved numbers.
“Safe-deposit box?” I asked.
Dominic shook his head.
“Could be.”
I remembered something.
“Grand Central.”
“What?”
“My father used to take me there every Christmas. We’d rent a locker while we walked around.”
Public lockers had disappeared years ago.
But the old private luggage storage company nearby still operated secure boxes for long-term clients.
Box 317 existed.
It had been paid annually for fourteen years.
Under my name.
Inside sat one envelope.
One photograph.
One ledger.
The photograph showed my father with Salvatore Caruso.
Dominic.
Marcus.
Paolo.
And Enzo Vitelli.
On the back my father had written:
The five men who knew. One will eventually betray them all.
The ledger contained dates, accounts, names and transactions.
Enough to destroy multiple criminal organizations.
But one page had been removed.
Dominic flipped through it twice.
“What?”
“The page covering the month your father died.”
My stomach sank.
Then I saw an envelope addressed to me.
I opened it.
Diana,
If you are reading this, then I failed to keep this world away from you. Trust evidence, not loyalty. Loyalty is the easiest emotion for dangerous men to counterfeit.
Below it was a sequence of numbers.
Dominic recognized them.
“A bank account.”
“Whose?”
He typed them into Anthony’s secure system.
The account had received regular transfers for six years.
The recipient appeared.
Marcus Santoro.
I stared at the screen.
Then another transaction appeared.
One made only four days before my father died.
The sender:
Thomas Bennett.
$500,000.
I whispered, “My father paid Marcus.”
Dominic looked grim.
“Or Marcus was blackmailing him.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Marcus’s voice came through weakly.
“Diana.”
“Marcus?”
“Don’t believe the ledger.”
“Where are you?”
“I got away.”
“Tell me where.”
He gave an address.
Dominic shook his head immediately.
“No.”
Marcus heard him.
“Of course he’s there.”
“You’re injured.”
“I’ll live.”
“Marcus, did my father pay you?”
Silence.
“Ask Dominic what happened to the missing page.”
I looked at Dominic.
Marcus continued.
“Ask him why your father’s blood was found in Dominic’s car.”
The line went dead.
May you like
I stared at Dominic.
He did not deny it.
