Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT TRISTAN NEVER FORGOT
"Ask Tristan about the night."
Nomi held her father's letter in front of him.
"What night?"
Tristan stared at the words.
He knew.
And Marcus Bell knew that he knew.
The older man lowered himself into a chair, suddenly looking every one of his sixty-one years.
"Tristan," Marcus said quietly, "you need to tell her."
Nomi turned toward him.
"Tell me what?"
Tristan felt the old familiar pressure in his chest.
For eleven years, he'd buried that night beneath business meetings, violence, funerals, and the ordinary responsibilities of running his father's empire.
He'd told himself that what happened was unavoidable.
Necessary, even.
But looking at Nomi, he could no longer hide behind those words.
"I went to your father's house twice," he said.
Nomi frowned.
"You told me you went there looking for him."
"I did. That was the second visit."
"What happened during the first?"
Tristan walked to the window.
"It was three nights earlier. Daniel had requested a meeting."
"With you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"He said my father was planning something terrible."
Marcus closed his eyes.
Tristan continued.
"Daniel told me that money was being moved through the docks to finance a secret agreement with the Morettis. He said the arrangement would destroy people who had nothing to do with either family."
"Did you believe him?"
"No."
Nomi's expression tightened.
"Why not?"
"Because my father told me Daniel had been stealing from us."
"And you believed your father."
"Yes."
Tristan turned back.
"Daniel begged me to examine the shipping records. He said Raymond had discovered the same thing."
"What did you do?"
Tristan swallowed.
"I brought the accusation to my father."
Nomi went still.
"You told Anthony."
"Yes."
"Even though my father asked you not to?"
"Yes."
Her eyes filled with disbelief.
"Then you're the reason they knew."
Tristan looked directly at her.
"My decision put him in danger."
The silence afterward was unbearable.
Nomi stepped back.
For three months, Tristan had given her shelter.
For one night, he'd held her hand while she cried.
Now she understood that the man who made her feel safe had helped set the disaster in motion.
She wanted to scream at him.
Instead, she spoke quietly.
"Did you know what your father was going to do?"
"No."
"Would it have changed anything if you had?"
"I hope so."
"That's not an answer."
"No," Tristan said. "It isn't."
Marcus rose.
"Nomi, Anthony was already suspicious of Daniel. Tristan wasn't the only reason—"
"Stop."
She turned on Marcus.
"You had eleven years to speak. You don't get to make excuses for anyone now."
Marcus fell silent.
Nomi picked up her father's letter.
"I need some air."
Tristan stepped aside.
He didn't tell her to stay.
He didn't ask a guard to follow.
He watched her walk through the office and into the garden.
Then he looked at Marcus.
"Finish the story."
Marcus removed his glasses.
"Your father discovered Daniel had copied the port records."
"What records?"
"The original transfer records. Not the sanitized versions we used for taxes."
"And Raymond?"
"Raymond helped him."
Tristan thought about the old friend who had once taken a bullet intended for him.
"Why?"
Marcus looked toward the open door.
"Because they discovered what the agreement really involved."
"Which was?"
Marcus hesitated.
"Not merely money."
Tristan's patience thinned.
"Marcus."
"The Morettis were using freight containers to move people."
Tristan went completely still.
"People?"
"Undocumented workers. Men and women promised legitimate jobs. Their wages were seized to cover invented debts. Their papers were taken."
Tristan felt sick.
He knew his family's business had never been respectable.
But he had spent years removing the worst operations his father tolerated.
This was something else.
"Anthony knew?"
Marcus nodded.
"He told himself that the arrangement kept the unions funded and protected hundreds of ordinary jobs. He said shutting it down would destroy the local economy."
"And the Morettis?"
"They profited from it."
Tristan stared at the wall.
"Daniel found out."
"Yes. He and Raymond collected statements from workers. Daniel copied payment records. He planned to take everything to federal investigators."
"Then my father discovered it."
Marcus nodded.
"And ordered him stopped."
Tristan closed his eyes.
Outside, Nomi was walking slowly along the garden path.
Her father's old coat hung over her shoulders despite the mild afternoon.
She held the letter against her chest.
Tristan watched her through the window.
"Did Anthony order Daniel killed?"
Marcus looked down.
"I never heard those words."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know."
Marcus's voice trembled.
"I heard him tell Salvatore Greco that Daniel couldn't be allowed to reach the authorities."
Tristan clenched his jaw.
"Where did the two million dollars come from?"
"A contingency fund. Anthony intended to pay Daniel to disappear. The Morettis insisted that wasn't enough."
"And what happened at Pier 9?"
Marcus leaned forward.
"Raymond was supposed to meet Daniel there with the evidence. But the Morettis intercepted him."
"Did they hurt him?"
"Yes."
"Then why did he live?"
"Because Daniel got him out."
Tristan frowned.
"How?"
Marcus shook his head.
"I only saw the end of it. Raymond was injured. Daniel was trying to get him medical treatment. Anthony arrived with Salvatore. Everything changed."
"Who was in the trunk?"
Marcus's eyes filled.
"Raymond."
Tristan stared at him.
"But the toll note said the injured man was in the trunk. Why hide him there?"
"Because Salvatore wanted him dead. Daniel convinced Anthony to move him somewhere Salvatore couldn't reach him."
"What happened to Daniel?"
Marcus swallowed.
"Daniel stayed behind with Salvatore."
"Why?"
"To give Raymond time to escape."
Tristan looked toward the garden again.
"Where did Raymond go?"
"That night, I don't know."
"And Daniel?"
Marcus's voice dropped.
"I heard a gunshot after the car left."
Tristan's stomach tightened.
"Did you see who fired?"
"No."
"Did you see a body?"
"No."
"Then stop talking as though you know he died."
Marcus looked ashamed.
"You're right."
For several minutes, Tristan stood silently.
Then he opened his father's archived financial records.
He searched the dates surrounding April 17.
There were payments for medical supplies.
Vehicle repairs.
A private ambulance.
And one unusual transaction.
A monthly deposit beginning eleven years earlier.
The payments had continued after Anthony's death.
Tristan frowned.
The money went to a charitable foundation called Harbor Light Recovery.
He had approved the annual budget without recognizing the connection.
"Marcus."
The older man looked up.
"Who authorized these payments?"
Marcus leaned toward the monitor.
His face changed.
"Raymond."
"For eleven years?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Marcus stared at the transaction history.
"I don't know."
Tristan checked the most recent transfer.
It had been made six weeks earlier.
Three days after Raymond died.
Someone else had continued the payments.
Someone with access to Tristan's accounts.
He opened the authorization record.
The signature was Marcus Bell's.
Tristan turned slowly.
"You've been funding this foundation."
Marcus's face drained.
"Tristan, listen—"
"Who are you paying?"
Marcus stared toward the garden.
Then he whispered, "A man who shouldn't still be alive."
Tristan stood.
"Daniel?"
Marcus shook his head.
"No."
"Then who?"
Marcus pressed his palms against the desk.
"Salvatore Greco."
Tristan's eyes narrowed.
"You're paying the Moretti lieutenant?"
"To keep him away."
"From whom?"
Marcus looked toward Nomi again.
"From the person who knows what really happened to her father."
Before Tristan could demand more, Nomi appeared at the garden doors.
She held her father's coat in one hand.
In the other was a small brass key.
"Tristan," she said, breathing hard, "there's something sewn inside the collar."
Tristan crossed toward her.
Nomi held out the key.
Attached to it was a narrow paper tag.
On one side was the Harbor Light Recovery emblem.
On the other was a room number.
417\.
Nomi looked from Marcus to Tristan.
"My father wasn't telling me to remember the night."
May you like
She raised the key.
"He was telling me where to find the person who remembers it."
