Chapter 2 - The Journal Opened Only for Me, and a Hidden Map Proved My Father Had Been Hiding a Secret Beneath ManhattanWhen the lights returned, the hidden page was still there.
Dominic had every door locked.
Nobody was allowed to leave.
His security team searched the room.
No one had touched the journal.
No one had tampered with it.
The mechanism had responded only when I placed my father's pendant against it.
Dominic looked at me.
"Where did you get that?"
"My father."
"When?"
"Before he died."
"Did he know what it did?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying again."
I crossed my arms.
"You keep asking questions like I'm the one who owes you answers."
He actually smiled.
It was the first time I had seen him do it.
"You have your father's temper."
"You knew him."
"Yes."
"How?"
Dominic sat down.
"Your father once saved my father's life."
I stared.
"What?"
"Twenty years ago."
He opened a photograph.
Two men stood beside an archaeological dig.
One was Dominic's father.
The other was mine.
I recognized William immediately.
My chest tightened.
"You said my father was a researcher."
"He was more than that."
"What?"
"An investigator."
"Of what?"
"Artifacts that had been stolen from private collections."
I frowned.
"Why would a billionaire need him?"
"Because someone was using ancient artifacts to hide financial records."
I didn't understand.
Dominic explained.
A network of wealthy families had been moving information through coded historical documents.
The journal was one of several keys.
My father had been hired to decipher them.
Then he discovered something dangerous.
The network wasn't just protecting money.
It was protecting identities.
People who had stolen billions could disappear by using false histories tied to ancient archives.
My father wanted out.
Dominic's father wanted him protected.
Then both men disappeared from the project.
Years later, my father died.
Or so I believed.
Dominic showed me the hidden map from the journal.
Manhattan.
Several circles.
One was beneath the Sterling.
Another beneath an old museum.
A third beneath a church.
And one beneath a building that no longer existed.
"The archive is under Manhattan," I whispered.
"Apparently."
"What is inside?"
"Something worth ten million."
"Only ten million?"
Dominic looked at me.
"The reward is a test."
"For what?"
"For the person capable of opening the archive."
I understood.
The ten million wasn't really money.
It was bait.
A way to attract experts.
A way to find someone who could read the journal.
Dominic had spent months searching.
He hadn't been looking for a translator.
He had been looking for William Hart's daughter.
I asked:
"Why didn't you know who I was?"
"Because your father hid you."
"From you?"
"From everyone."
The answer scared me.
Then one of Dominic's men entered.
"Sir."
"What?"
"We have a problem."
He handed Dominic a phone.
A photograph.
My apartment building.
Someone had been watching me.
"There are two men downstairs," the guard said.
Dominic's expression hardened.
"Who?"
"Unknown."
I looked at him.
"They followed me from the restaurant."
"Yes."
"Why?"
May you like
Dominic looked toward the journal.
"Because now they know you've found the key."
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