Chapter 6 - LOCKER 204
Dominic refused to walk blindly into another Samuel Cross performance.
So he changed the rules.
Union Station security closed the corridor containing the old storage lockers.
Dominic’s people watched every entrance.
Chicago police were not invited.
I did not ask why.
I suspected the answer would be complicated.
Locker 204 was narrow and old.
The train ticket from my mother’s coat still opened it.
Inside sat a single brown suitcase.
No wires.
No traps.
No Samuel.
Dominic stared at it.
“He knew we’d come.”
“Obviously.”
“No.”
He glanced around.
“He knew Claire kept the ticket.”
That was different.
My mother had preserved it for eleven years.
Samuel had known.
The suitcase belonged to Margaret.
Her initials were stitched into the leather.
Inside were ordinary things.
A folded nightgown.
A hairbrush.
A pair of reading glasses.
A paperback mystery novel.
A child’s drawing.
Dominic picked that up.
His fifteen-year-old self had drawn a terrible picture of a sailboat.
Across the top, in blue marker:
MOM + DOMMY — SOMEDAY
He sat down on the bench.
For perhaps ten seconds, Dominic DeLuca was not a feared man.
He was a boy who had once believed he would sail somewhere with his mother.
I pretended not to notice his eyes.
Under the drawing was another cassette.
Different label.
THURSDAY — ST. AGNES
We found a station office with an old player.
Margaret’s voice began.
“My name is Margaret DeLuca. Claire Lane is with me. Samuel Cross is outside the room.”
My mother spoke.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes.”
“You can tell Dominic yourself.”
“No. Carlo will make him choose.”
Margaret took a shaky breath.
“If anything happens to me, Claire has the watch.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
Then Margaret said:
“Samuel helped me leave the Palmer Hotel. That part is true.”
Cassandra shifted.
“He believed Carlo would kill me if I stayed.”
A pause.
“He may even have been right.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“But Samuel did something I did not authorize. He took Dominic from school.”
I looked toward him.
“He told my son I had abandoned him.”
Margaret’s voice cracked.
“He believed if Dominic saw how frightened I was, Dominic would choose me over Carlo.”
Samuel had weaponized a child’s fear.
Just as he later weaponized Lily’s.
A pattern.
“He said Dominic needed to know the truth.”
Claire answered.
“He’s fifteen.”
“Samuel doesn’t understand the difference between truth and cruelty.”
Silence.
Then Margaret continued.
“Claire found Dominic in Samuel’s car. She brought him here.”
Dominic opened his eyes.
That was the missing memory.
Not gone.
Buried beneath years of what his father told him afterward.
“Carlo came at 2:17,” Margaret said.
“He promised Samuel would disappear.”
Claire asked, “You believe him?”
“No.”
“Then why are you going home?”
“Because Dominic is going home.”
My throat tightened.
Margaret had returned to the husband she feared because her son was there.
“And Samuel?” Claire asked.
“He will never forgive me.”
The tape clicked.
Then Samuel’s voice appeared unexpectedly.
Recorded later.
“I forgive Margaret.”
Dominic leaned forward.
Samuel continued.
“I never forgave Claire.”
My skin went cold.
“Claire destroyed the only chance I had to end Carlo before he buried everything.”
Then another voice.
Henry Vale.
Cassandra gasped.
“You should leave Chicago,” Henry said.
Samuel laughed.
“And let Carlo win?”
“You took his son.”
“I showed the boy the truth.”
“You terrorized him.”
Silence.
Then Henry said:
“I’ll arrange the accident. After that, you are dead.”
“So Carlo thinks.”
“Yes.”
“And what do you get?”
“My family stays out of this.”
Samuel laughed again.
“No one stays out.”
The tape ended.
Cassandra sat absolutely still.
Her father had helped Samuel fake his death not because they were partners.
Because Samuel had blackmailed him into it.
Answer one.
Then we found something underneath the cassette.
A sealed photograph.
Not hidden cleverly.
Just placed face down.
It showed Claire—my mother—standing outside St. Agnes eleven years ago.
In her arms was fifteen-year-old Dominic.
He was asleep or exhausted, his face buried against her shoulder.
Behind them stood Margaret.
Watching her son.
Crying.
On the back, Margaret had written:
Claire saved my boy when the men around him were too busy proving which of them owned him.
Dominic read it twice.
Then handed it to me.
“I spent eleven years believing your mother helped tear mine away.”
“She never told me.”
“She protected me and then protected you from what followed.”
A strange grief moved through me.
My mother had carried this story alone.
Dominic’s phone buzzed.
Not a mysterious caller.
His security chief.
He answered.
“Yes?”
A pause.
His expression sharpened.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Bring him to the estate.”
He ended the call.
“Owen?”
Dominic nodded.
“They found him at a bus terminal.”
“Did he talk?”
“Not yet.”
Cassandra whispered, “He’ll know where Samuel is.”
“Maybe.”
But Owen knew something more immediate.
Back at the mansion, he sat at the long kitchen table.
He looked twenty-eight.
Too young for the fear in his face.
His wrists were free.
Two guards stood behind him.
Dominic placed the missing black button on the table.
“Did you lock my daughter in the cellar?”
Owen stared at it.
“I closed the door.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Owen looked sick.
“The lock was supposed to release.”
“Did you lock her inside?”
“Yes.”
Lily’s hand found mine.
Dominic’s voice became quieter.
“Why?”
“Cross said she’d be alone for four minutes. Cassandra would discover the cellar. You’d find the button. That was it.”
Cassandra looked horrified.
“He told me Owen would show Lily an old necklace and bring her right back.”
Owen nodded rapidly.
“The door jammed. I panicked.”
“So you left?”
“Yes.”
“You heard my daughter calling?”
Owen’s face broke.
“Yes.”
Dominic looked away for one second.
That was all.
“Who issued your orders?”
“Cross.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
Owen swallowed.
“He didn’t want to hurt Lily.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“You should stop trying to improve this story.”
Owen’s mouth closed.
“What did he want?”
“You away from the estate.”
We all stared.
Dominic spoke first.
“Why?”
Owen looked at Hannah.
“Because while you were at Room 317, someone came here.”
My skin prickled.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did they take?”
Owen looked at Cassandra.
“Nothing from Dominic.”
Then at me.
“They went through Hannah’s personnel file.”
My heart sank.
“Why?”
Owen swallowed.
“They wanted her emergency contact.”
Aunt Beth.
Ben.
Dominic immediately turned toward security.
“Where are they?”
His chief answered.
“Upstairs. Safe.”
Relief nearly made my knees give out.
Owen shook his head.
“No.”
“What?”
“They weren’t looking for the address.”
“Then what?”
Owen’s eyes met mine.
“They were looking for the name of Hannah’s father.”
I felt the room tilt.
“My father left when I was young.”
Owen looked terrified.
“Samuel says he didn’t.”
A silence opened around me.
Then Owen said:
May you like
“He says Claire Lane spent eleven years lying about which man Hannah should be afraid of.”
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