Chapter 4 - The Secret His Mother Buried
Dominic called back immediately.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Caleb already had his phone pressed to his ear.
“Three men are eight minutes from the Lake Forest house.”
“Make it four.”
“I’m working on it.”
Dominic walked toward the far end of the train.
Grace followed.
He turned sharply.
“You should stay here.”
“That’s becoming your favorite sentence.”
“This isn’t the time.”
“That’s exactly why I’m coming.”
Dominic lowered his voice.
“My mother just told me she signed something connected to my brother’s death.”
“And you’re about two seconds from deciding everything is your responsibility again.”
“You don’t know what I’m deciding.”
“I teach teenagers. Reading a man who communicates mostly by glaring isn’t difficult.”
Dominic stared at her.
Grace held his gaze.
“Call her again.”
He did.
Voicemail.
Five minutes later Caleb received confirmation that his men had reached the Carver residence.
The house was empty.
No Lillian.
No intruder.
The kitchen showed signs of a struggle, but there was no blood.
Dominic felt a pressure behind his ribs he had not experienced since the morning police told him Michael was dead.
“Sal took her.”
“Maybe,” Caleb said. “Or someone wants us to think he did.”
“Why?”
“To control where you go next.”
Dominic looked toward the darkening window.
New York was less than three hours away.
Locker 417 waited there.
So, almost certainly, did Salvatore.
Grace touched Dominic’s sleeve.
The contact lasted less than a second.
Yet it stopped him.
“Your mother wanted to tell you something.”
“She had twelve years.”
“So did my father.”
Dominic looked at her.
Grace’s expression was sad rather than accusatory.
“Fear makes people complicated.”
“She signed the order.”
“You don’t know what the order was.”
“She said it sent Michael onto this train.”
“That still doesn’t tell you why.”
Dominic looked away.
Grace had an infuriating habit of taking emotional conclusions and forcing them through the inconvenience of logic.
Michael would have liked her.
The thought hurt.
When the train reached New York shortly after nine, Car Nine entered the platform under tight security.
Dominic had ignored Salvatore’s attempt to redirect his men and arranged a secondary team through Caleb.
Grace emerged carrying the canvas bag.
Dominic looked at it.
“You’re not carrying the key.”
“Correct.”
“Where is it?”
She gave him a small smile.
“If someone grabs my bag, they’ll find student essays and two peppermint candies.”
“You hid it?”
“I’m an English teacher taking thirty-two adolescents to museums twice a year. Hiding valuables is a survival skill.”
Dominic almost asked where.
Then decided he preferred not knowing.
They moved through the station.
Caleb led.
Two security men followed at a distance.
Grand Central Annex had once connected postal rooms, storage corridors, and private rail offices beneath street level. Much of it had been renovated or sealed.
Locker 417 existed behind a row of metal doors in an abandoned baggage corridor.
Dominic examined the lock.
Grace produced the key from inside her shoe.
He looked at her.
She shrugged.
“I told you.”
She inserted it.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a narrow steel box.
Dominic pulled it forward.
For twelve years, he had imagined answers.
None had felt real until that moment.
Grace stood beside him as he lifted the lid.
Inside were three objects.
A black ledger.
A small digital audio recorder.
And a photograph.
Dominic picked up the photograph first.
Michael stood outside a diner with Thomas Hart.
Grace inhaled sharply.
“My dad.”
Michael looked tired.
But he was smiling.
On the back, Michael had written:
Thomas—if Dom is still the man I remember, trust him. If he isn’t, burn everything.
Grace pressed her fingertips over her father’s face.
Dominic opened the ledger.
Pages of dates.
Shipment numbers.
Payments.
Initials.
Political donations.
Police badge numbers.
Names Dominic recognized from newspapers and government offices.
Then he reached a page dated twelve years earlier.
M.C.
A handwritten note beside it:
Contain before NY. S approved. L signed transport.
Dominic stared at the letter L.
Lillian.
Grace saw it too.
“That could mean anything.”
“It means my mother signed something.”
Caleb examined the audio recorder.
“Battery’s dead.”
“We take everything.”
A sound came from the corridor.
Caleb raised one hand.
Everyone froze.
Footsteps.
Dominic’s security men moved toward the entrance.
The lights went out.
Grace whispered, “Dominic?”
“I’m here.”
A crash.
Then shouting.
Caleb shouted, “Down!”
Dominic grabbed Grace and pulled her behind the storage wall as something struck metal nearby.
No gunfire.
The attackers wanted something intact.
Probably the evidence.
Possibly Grace.
Dominic heard Caleb fighting in the darkness.
A flashlight beam swept across the corridor.
Dominic saw three men.
Then four.
One wore the same gray coat from the photograph.
The scarred man.
Dominic moved toward him.
Grace grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t.”
“He threatened your father.”
“And he wants you angry.”
She was right.
Again.
Dominic hated that.
Caleb shouted from the corridor.
“Exit behind you!”
Dominic found an old service door.
Locked.
Grace reached into her hair and removed a long metal pin.
Dominic stared.
“You’re going to pick it?”
“No. I’m going to press the emergency release that your shoulders are blocking.”
He shifted.
Grace pressed the recessed switch.
The door opened.
“Teacher,” Dominic muttered.
“You’re welcome.”
They escaped through a utility passage while Caleb and the security team slowed the attackers.
Minutes later they emerged onto a loading street behind the station.
Caleb followed with the ledger under his coat and the recorder in his pocket.
One guard had a bruised face.
Everyone was standing.
Dominic looked at Caleb.
“The photograph?”
“I have it.”
“The box?”
“Empty.”
Grace exhaled.
A black SUV pulled up.
They entered.
Dominic finally allowed himself to breathe.
“Where now?” Grace asked.
“My penthouse.”
“You think it’s safe?”
“No place connected to me is safe.”
“That’s comforting.”
“But it’s defensible.”
Twenty minutes later Grace stood forty-seven floors above Manhattan, staring through floor-to-ceiling windows at the city lights.
Dominic’s penthouse felt less like a home than a beautifully designed fortress.
Minimal furniture.
Stone.
Glass.
Security doors.
No photographs.
Grace turned.
“You live here?”
“When necessary.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Dominic ignored her.
Caleb found replacement power cables for the recorder.
The device illuminated.
Three audio files appeared.
The first was Michael’s voice.
Dominic could not press play.
Grace did.
Static filled the room.
Then Michael spoke.
“If anyone finds this, my name is Michael Carver. It’s October fifteenth. My brother Dominic does not know I’m recording this.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
Michael sounded young.
Too young.
The second recording contained voices.
Vincent Carver.
Salvatore.
Michael.
They were arguing about the missing accountant Elliot Crane.
Michael accused them of murder.
Vincent denied ordering it.
Salvatore laughed.
Then Michael said he had copied everything and was going to prosecutors.
The recording ended abruptly.
Caleb opened the third file.
At first there was only background noise.
A door closed.
A woman spoke.
Lillian.
“Michael, your father knows you’re leaving.”
Then Michael.
“Did you tell him?”
“No.”
“You signed the transfer authorization.”
“I signed because Sal said it would put you on the train instead of the company plane. If you fly, your father’s people will be waiting.”
Grace turned toward Dominic.
Dominic stopped breathing.
His mother had not sent Michael into danger.
She had been trying to get him away.
The recording continued.
Lillian was crying.
“Take the train. Get to New York. Go to the prosecutor. Don’t call anyone.”
Michael said, “What about Dominic?”
“I’ll protect him.”
The recording ended.
Dominic sat down.
Grace said softly, “She tried to save him.”
Before Dominic could answer, Caleb’s phone rang.
He listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
Caleb lowered the phone.
“Dominic, your mother just walked into the penthouse lobby.”
Dominic stood.
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
He crossed the room toward the elevator.
The doors opened before he reached them.
Lillian Carver stepped out.
Her silver hair was disheveled.
Her coat was torn near the shoulder.
Dominic stopped.
“Mom.”
She looked at him.
Then at Grace.
Then at the black ledger on the table.
Her face collapsed.
“You found it.”
Dominic approached her.
“Where were you?”
“I got away.”
“From Sal?”
Lillian nodded.
Dominic’s voice became dangerously calm.
“Did he kill Michael?”
His mother stared at him.
“No.”
Dominic frowned.
“Then who did?”
Lillian’s eyes filled with tears.
“Dominic, Salvatore didn’t plan Michael’s death alone.”
She looked toward the ledger.
“There was someone else.”
“Who?”
Lillian opened her mouth.
A red laser point appeared against the center of her chest.
Grace saw it first.
“DOWN!”
She threw herself into Lillian.
Glass exploded behind them.
May you like
And as Dominic dragged both women behind the stone wall, his mother screamed the name of the person who had helped Salvatore murder Michael.
“CALEB’S FATHER!”
