Chapter 7 - THE BRACELET IN THE WAREHOUSE
Camille stared at the bracelet for a long time.
Then she opened the plastic bag.
Declan stopped her.
“Fingerprints.”
She looked at him.
“After two years?”
“Humor me.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Tessa said she had found the bag behind shelving that normally sat flush against the laundry wall.
She had moved the unit while cleaning a leak.
“It wasn’t dusty,” she said.
“Meaning it was put there recently,” Declan said.
Tessa nodded.
Gavin looked genuinely disturbed.
“I didn’t put it there.”
Declan ignored him.
The brass token mattered more.
Pier 19 had once been a ship repair depot.
Now it belonged to a paper corporation controlled through three intermediaries.
Declan had known for years that Moretti used it for meetings requiring privacy.
That afternoon’s sit-down had been arranged there.
“You’re not going,” Declan told Camille.
She looked at him.
“We’ve been reunited for less than an hour and you’re already giving orders.”
“Two men died there.”
“That’s why I’m going.”
“You spent two years in a bed.”
“And eight months rebuilding myself so nobody would decide what I could survive.”
Declan opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Camille stepped closer.
“I understand you’re scared.”
The gentleness of the sentence hit harder than anger.
“But fear does not give you ownership of me.”
Declan looked at the floor.
“You’re right.”
Everyone in the room seemed surprised.
Including him.
He turned toward Tessa.
“You stay here.”
Tessa nodded immediately.
That was one order she had no interest in challenging.
Dr. Aris remained as well.
Gavin was locked inside the security office after Declan changed the manual access codes.
“I’ll get out,” Gavin warned.
Declan looked at him.
“Then I’ll know you were lying.”
Forty minutes later, Declan and Camille stood inside Pier 19.
Rain hammered the corrugated roof.
The bodies were gone.
Declan’s men had removed them before law enforcement could find the location.
He was not proud of that fact.
Camille seemed to understand without asking.
Dark stains remained on the concrete.
She looked away.
Declan noticed.
“This is what I became.”
Camille faced him.
“No.”
“It is.”
“You were already this man before the bombing.”
That hurt more.
She softened.
“But you weren’t only this man.”
They moved deeper inside.
The office where the meeting occurred had been partially cleared.
Chairs overturned.
Coffee spilled.
One broken saucer.
Declan recognized it.
He had watched it hit the floor when the first gun came out.
Camille found a locked cabinet.
Declan broke it open with a steel bar.
Inside were personal items.
Phones.
Keys.
Cash.
Objects confiscated from men who had worked around Moretti operations.
A gold chain.
Three passports.
Then Camille stopped.
On the bottom shelf sat a black leather case.
She opened it.
Inside were objects from the wrecked Mercedes.
A warped piece of chrome.
A burned key fob.
A section of cream leather upholstery.
And the missing clasp from Camille’s bracelet.
She pressed a hand against her mouth.
“They kept pieces.”
“Trophies,” Declan said.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Insurance.”
He understood.
Physical proof tying people to crimes.
Objects that could be used for blackmail.
Camille searched deeper.
At the back of the case was an old photograph.
Not a crime photograph.
A family photograph.
Gavin stood beside his wife, Elise.
She wore a scarf over her head.
Her face was thin from chemotherapy.
Beside them stood a man Declan recognized as a Moretti financial intermediary.
The date written on the back was four months before Elise died.
Camille whispered, “That’s how they found him.”
Declan nodded.
“Through the hospital.”
The photograph did not excuse Gavin.
But it explained the first crack.
Moretti had identified a frightened husband drowning in medical bills.
Then he had been converted into an asset.
Camille looked at the photo.
“They did to him what he tried to do to Tessa.”
“Yes.”
“But Tessa said no.”
“Yes.”
Neither spoke for a moment.
Then Declan noticed something in the corner of the case.
A small digital voice recorder.
Old.
Cheap.
He pressed play.
Static.
Then a male voice.
Gavin’s.
The recording was several years old.
“I gave you the route. That was the agreement.”
Another man answered.
“You gave us access. What happens with access belongs to us.”
Gavin swore.
“You said nobody would touch Camille.”
Declan froze.
The recording continued.
“Camille made herself part of the problem.”
Then Gavin again.
“What does that mean?”
The recording ended.
Camille looked at Declan.
“He knew.”
“Maybe not before.”
“He knew something.”
A metallic sound came from behind them.
Declan turned.
Gavin stood inside the warehouse entrance.
His shirt was stained with blood.
He had escaped the estate.
Declan drew his gun.
Camille stepped behind a steel support.
“How did you get out?”
Gavin ignored the question.
His eyes went to the open leather case.
Then the recorder.
His shoulders fell.
“I hoped they destroyed that.”
Declan raised the gun higher.
“What did they mean when they said Camille made herself part of the problem?”
Gavin looked at Camille.
Rain blew through the open warehouse door behind him.
“They found out about her meeting.”
Camille went pale.
“What meeting?”
“The one before the bombing.”
Gavin’s voice broke.
“The one where you started asking who inside Walsh security was selling information.”
Declan’s expression changed.
Gavin took one step forward.
“They knew you were getting close.”
Camille whispered, “How?”
May you like
Gavin looked at her.
“Because I told them.”
