Chapter 3 - THE BOY WHO SAW THE WRONG MAN
At 6:03 that evening, Marin sat beside Eli in a guest bedroom she had never entered before.
Two armed guards stood outside.
A police cruiser waited beyond the gates.
Dominic had moved Isabella into the adjoining suite.
He had also taken Marin’s phone.
Not confiscated.
Protected.
At least that was what he called it.
“You’ll get it back after Carlo copies anything relevant,” Dominic had said.
Marin had wanted to argue.
Then Eli arrived.
Her nine-year-old son walked through the door wearing his blue backpack and immediately asked why there were men outside with guns.
Marin hugged him so tightly he complained.
Now he sat cross-legged on the bed eating grilled cheese while rain streaked the windows.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Are we in trouble?”
“No.”
“You say no too fast when the answer is yes.”
Marin looked at him.
Eli had inherited that from his father.
The ability to hear dishonesty in the space between words.
His father, Aaron Hayes, had died six years earlier when a drunk driver crossed the center line.
Since then, Marin had built their life from careful routines.
School.
Work.
Rent.
Asthma appointments.
Saturday pancakes.
No danger.
No men like Dominic Varelli.
Until now.
Eli reached into his backpack.
“I have to show you something.”
“What?”
He pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
A photograph had been printed across it.
Marin’s stomach tightened.
The picture showed Eli outside St. Francis Academy.
Taken from across the street.
Yesterday.
“What is this?”
“It was in my backpack.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“Who put it there?”
“I don’t know.”
On the back, someone had written four words.
YOUR MOTHER SHOULD LISTEN.
Marin stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
The bedroom door opened.
Dominic entered.
His eyes went from her face to the photograph.
“What happened?”
Marin handed it to him.
Dominic read the message.
His expression became colder with every second.
“Eli,” he said, “I need to ask you something.”
The boy stared at him.
Dominic removed his jacket.
It was such a small gesture that Marin almost missed its purpose.
Without the black coat and rigid posture, he looked less like the terrifying man people whispered about and more like somebody’s tired older brother.
He sat across from Eli rather than towering over him.
“Did you see anyone near your backpack today?”
Eli shook his head.
“Yesterday?”
Another shake.
Then he stopped.
“Maybe.”
Marin’s pulse jumped.
“Who?”
“There was a man outside school.”
Dominic remained calm.
“What did he look like?”
“Old.”
Carlo entered behind Dominic.
“How old?”
Eli shrugged.
“Like fifty.”
Carlo looked offended.
Dominic almost smiled.
“Hair?”
“Gray. He had a brown coat.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“No. But I saw him before.”
Marin frowned.
“Where?”
Eli pointed toward the floor.
“Here.”
Dominic’s eyes sharpened.
“At this house?”
Eli nodded.
“When?”
“The day you brought me because school closed early.”
Marin remembered.
Three weeks earlier.
A burst pipe had closed St. Francis.
She had brought Eli to the estate for two hours because she could not find childcare.
“Where did you see him?” Dominic asked.
“In the hall.”
“Which hall?”
“The one with all the paintings.”
Dominic looked at Carlo.
The west gallery.
Private offices.
Eli continued.
“He was talking to the lady.”
“What lady?”
“The one marrying you.”
Vivien.
Marin’s hands turned cold.
“What were they doing?”
Eli thought.
“She gave him a folder.”
“What color?”
“Red.”
Carlo immediately left.
Dominic stayed.
“Anything else?”
Eli hesitated.
“He saw me.”
Marin crouched beside him.
“What happened?”
“He asked if I was lost.”
“And?”
“I said no.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Did he ask your name?”
Eli looked guilty.
“He knew it.”
Dominic stood.
That ended the questions.
“Carlo!”
His security chief returned.
“Find every camera from that afternoon. West gallery, west entrance, service drive.”
“Already pulling them.”
“Eli,” Dominic said, “you did nothing wrong.”
The boy nodded.
Then his eyes settled on Dominic’s hand.
“You’re bleeding.”
Dominic looked down.
He had crushed the pearl earring so hard its metal backing had cut his palm.
He opened his fist.
“Occupational hazard.”
Eli smiled uncertainly.
For the first time all evening, Marin nearly did too.
Then Carlo’s radio crackled.
He listened.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Dominic asked.
“School footage came through.”
They moved to Isabella’s sitting room.
Carlo connected a laptop to the television.
Security footage appeared.
St. Francis Academy.
Yesterday.
3:08 p.m.
Children poured through the side gate.
Eli appeared.
Then a man in a brown coat crossed behind him.
The camera caught his face.
Dominic froze.
Marin noticed.
“You know him.”
Dominic did not answer.
Carlo did.
“Samuel Bell.”
Marin stared.
Dominic’s longtime attorney.
The same man who had dismissed Isabella’s concerns.
The same man Marin had trusted enough to tell about Vivien’s questions before eventually going around him to Daniel Price.
Carlo replayed the footage.
Bell did not approach Eli.
He merely watched.
Then he entered a black sedan.
Marin whispered, “Why would your attorney follow my son?”
Dominic’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Varelli.”
Silence.
Then a distorted male voice.
“You should have married the girl and kept your mother quiet.”
Dominic’s eyes met Carlo’s.
“Who is this?”
“You always were your father’s stubborn son.”
Dominic went still.
Very few people had known his father well enough to say that.
The voice continued.
“Tomorrow’s dinner goes forward.”
Dominic walked toward the window.
“And if it doesn’t?”
A pause.
Then:
“Ask Marin where her son is.”
Her heart stopped.
She spun.
The bed upstairs.
The guards.
“Eli!”
Marin ran.
Dominic and Carlo followed.
She reached the bedroom.
The guards were unconscious in the hall.
Not dead.
Drugged.
The door stood open.
The grilled-cheese plate remained on the bed.
The window was open.
Eli was gone.
Marin screamed his name.
Dominic grabbed the windowsill.
Outside, rain washed the lawn.
A security vehicle was disappearing through the lower service gate.
Carlo shouted into his radio.
Dominic’s phone remained connected.
The distorted voice spoke one final sentence.
“Bring Isabella’s journal to Pier Nineteen by midnight.”
The call ended.
Marin stared at Dominic.
“We don’t have the journal.”
Dominic looked toward the black water beyond the estate.
“No.”
May you like
His voice was terrifyingly quiet.
“But whoever took your son thinks we do.”
