Chapter 3 - The Key Behind the Old Station Wall
Roman did not want Alina going to Union Station.
That became obvious within thirty seconds.
"No."
Alina stared across the back seat of the SUV.
"It's my key."
"No."
"My father left it for me."
"No."
"You seem to have a limited vocabulary when you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"You're gripping the door handle hard enough to leave fingerprints in the leather."
Roman looked down.
He released it.
Alina smiled without humor.
They were parked beneath an abandoned printing warehouse owned by Vescari Holdings.
Apparently Roman used the underground garage when he wanted privacy.
Marcus, the driver, sat twenty feet away pretending not to listen.
Henderson occupied the passenger seat.
He pretended less successfully.
Roman leaned forward.
"Serrano has spent twelve years looking for whatever is behind that key."
"So we should get there before him."
"Or leave it buried."
"And continue waiting for people to throw bricks through windows?"
Roman's jaw tightened.
Alina lowered her voice.
"My father died because of this."
"Exactly."
"Then I deserve to know why."
Roman looked at Henderson.
The older man nodded.
That irritated Roman.
"Wonderful. Democracy."
Alina held up the key.
"I'm going."
Roman studied her for several seconds.
"Then I'm going with you."
"I assumed."
"And you do exactly what I say."
"No."
"Alina."
"I'll consider reasonable suggestions."
Roman looked toward the ceiling.
"Your father was exactly like this."
The words stopped her.
"You remember him?"
"Very clearly."
"What was he like?"
Roman looked through the windshield.
"Annoying."
Henderson laughed.
Roman continued.
"Suspicious. Stubborn. Incapable of following orders."
Alina smiled slightly.
"You're describing yourself."
"That's offensive."
"What else?"
Roman's expression softened.
"He believed people were worth saving even after they'd proven otherwise."
Something in the way he said it made Alina wonder whether he was talking about himself.
An hour later they entered Union Station through a maintenance corridor.
Henderson knew the route.
That raised more questions.
Roman's security men moved ahead.
Alina followed through tunnels smelling of dust, concrete, and old rain.
The modern baggage lockers had disappeared years earlier, but beneath the station existed storage rooms dating back decades.
Henderson led them to a steel door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Behind it waited rows of narrow deposit boxes.
317 was near the floor.
Alina knelt.
Her hand trembled as she inserted the key.
It turned.
Inside lay a small metal cash box.
Roman crouched beside her.
"Don't open it here."
"You think it's trapped?"
"No."
"Then why?"
"Because if someone is watching this room, we've already stayed too long."
Alina looked around.
"Comforting."
They carried the box back through the corridor.
Halfway to the exit, Roman stopped.
Alina nearly walked into him.
"What?"
He raised one hand.
Everyone froze.
Footsteps.
Several.
Approaching from ahead.
Roman's men drew weapons.
Alina's stomach dropped.
Roman pulled her behind a concrete support.
"Stay here."
"What about Henderson?"
"I've survived three marriages," Henderson whispered. "I can survive a hallway."
Roman looked irritated enough to argue, but the footsteps grew louder.
Three men appeared.
Dark jackets.
One recognized Roman.
"Oh, hell."
He reached for something.
Roman's security team reacted.
"Hands!"
The tunnel erupted in shouting.
No shots.
The men surrendered surprisingly quickly.
Roman approached the first.
"Who sent you?"
The man said nothing.
Roman looked toward the cash box in Alina's hands.
"They knew."
Henderson shook his head.
"Impossible."
"Apparently not."
Roman searched the man's pocket.
He removed a phone.
The lock screen showed a photograph.
Alina.
Leaving Belle's.
Taken three nights earlier.
Roman's face went cold.
Alina felt sick.
The thug smiled.
"Serrano says hello."
Roman punched him.
Once.
Hard.
The man dropped.
Alina stared.
Roman flexed his hand.
"I'm working on restraint."
"That's restraint?"
"You should have known my father."
They left through another exit.
Back at Roman's residence, Alina realized he had technically told the truth.
It wasn't a mansion.
It was a fortress disguised as an expensive house.
Stone walls.
Tall windows.
Security cameras.
A courtyard protected by iron gates.
Inside, however, the place felt unexpectedly human.
Books.
Photographs.
An old piano.
A kitchen that smelled like garlic and bread.
A gray-haired woman named Teresa ignored Roman completely and hugged Alina.
"So this is Thomas's girl."
Alina stiffened.
"You knew him too?"
Teresa glared at Roman.
"You didn't tell her anything?"
"We had limited time."
"You always have limited time because you spend half of it brooding."
Alina immediately liked her.
They opened the metal box in Roman's study.
Inside lay four objects.
A photograph.
A flash drive.
A sealed envelope.
And a silver locket.
Alina picked up the photograph first.
Her father stood beside a much younger Roman.
Roman couldn't have been older than seventeen.
They were outside Belle's Diner.
Her father's arm rested across Roman's shoulders.
Roman looked furious about it.
Alina smiled despite herself.
"He made you take a picture."
"He said criminals needed evidence they occasionally experienced happiness."
Alina laughed.
Roman looked at her.
For the first time since this began, warmth entered his eyes.
She turned over the photograph.
Thomas's handwriting covered the back.
If Alina ever sees this, tell her I was trying to do one good thing before all the bad ones caught up with me.
Alina's smile vanished.
"What bad things?"
Roman stared at the photograph.
"Your father worked for mine."
"You said that."
"I didn't say what he did."
Alina waited.
"He hid money."
The words landed harder than expected.
"He designed shell companies. Moved funds. Made dirty income look legitimate."
"My father laundered money."
"Yes."
Alina set the photograph down.
"He wasn't some hero."
"People are rarely one thing."
"That's convenient coming from you."
Roman accepted the blow.
"He did terrible things before he decided to stop."
"What made him stop?"
"Your mother."
Alina looked up.
Roman continued.
"Then you."
She swallowed.
"He started collecting evidence because he wanted out."
"And your father?"
"Wouldn't let him."
The room cooled.
"So my father betrayed yours."
"Eventually."
"And yours wanted him dead."
Roman didn't answer quickly enough.
Alina understood.
"You knew."
"I knew there had been threats."
"Threats?"
"My father believed leaving the organization was betrayal."
"Was he involved in the crash?"
"I don't know."
"That isn't good enough."
"No."
Roman's voice sharpened.
"It isn't."
Silence.
Henderson stood near the fireplace.
Teresa had quietly left.
Alina picked up the envelope.
It was addressed to her.
Her hands shook.
She opened it.
One page.
Sweetheart,
If you're reading this, then I failed to keep this away from you.
I wish I could tell you I was a good man.
I wasn't.
I helped men hide things that should never have been hidden.
I convinced myself I did it to provide for you and your mother.
That's what cowards do. We rename our choices until we can sleep beside them.
Then your uncle David disappeared.
I learned who ordered it.
Victor Serrano.
I began keeping records.
Not because I was brave.
Because I was angry.
Later, I realized anger wasn't enough.
The records became insurance.
Then evidence.
If I died, Samuel Henderson was supposed to protect you until you were old enough to decide what to do with the truth.
Do not trust anyone simply because they tell you they loved me.
Especially a Vescari.
But also understand this: Roman is not his father.
He was seventeen when I pulled him from that warehouse.
He looked at me like he couldn't understand why I came back.
I came back because I had a daughter.
And once you become a father, every frightened kid becomes somebody's child.
If Roman grew into a better man than the one who raised him, give him the chance to prove it.
I love you.
Dad.
Alina read the final line three times.
Her tears came silently.
Roman turned away.
That small gesture—giving her privacy in a room full of people—hurt almost as much as the letter.
Henderson sat beside her.
"I'm sorry."
She wiped her face.
"You knew all of this?"
"Most."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because Thomas begged me not to."
"He was dead."
"Promises don't die when people do."
Alina looked at him.
"And if I had never been threatened?"
"I would've taken it to my grave."
She wanted to hate him.
Couldn't.
Not yet.
Roman picked up the flash drive.
"This is probably the archive."
They connected it to an isolated laptop.
Encrypted.
A password field appeared.
Henderson looked surprised.
"He never told me."
Alina stared at the silver locket.
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph of her mother holding Alina as a baby.
On the opposite side, scratched faintly into the metal, were four numbers.
319.
Alina typed them.
Wrong.
Roman leaned closer.
"What happened March nineteenth?"
"My parents' anniversary was October."
"Your birthday?"
"August."
Henderson suddenly stood.
"David."
"What?"
"Your uncle disappeared March nineteenth."
Alina typed DAVID0319.
The drive unlocked.
Hundreds of folders appeared.
Bank statements.
Audio files.
Scans.
Names.
Dates.
Transactions.
Roman stared.
"My God."
Henderson whispered, "Thomas actually did it."
Roman clicked one folder.
SERRANO, VICTOR.
Inside sat a financial structure large enough to fill the screen.
Businesses.
Accounts.
Payments.
One folder was labeled POLICE.
Another JUDICIARY.
Another CONTRACTS.
Alina felt nauseated.
Then Roman found one labeled VESCARI.
He stopped.
Alina looked at him.
"Open it."
"Alina—"
"Open it."
He did.
The first file contained scanned correspondence between Thomas and Salvatore Vescari.
The second contained payment records.
The third was an audio recording.
Roman clicked it.
Static.
Then her father's voice.
If anything happens to me, look at Gabriel.
Roman froze.
Alina frowned.
"Who's Gabriel?"
Roman didn't answer.
His face had changed completely.
Henderson stepped closer.
"Roman?"
The recording continued.
Gabriel knows I'm leaving. Gabriel knows about the ledger. Salvatore thinks he still controls him.
He doesn't.
If I disappear, don't believe the first story they tell you.
Roman closed the laptop.
Alina stood.
"Who is Gabriel?"
Roman stared at the dark screen.
Then he looked toward the door.
"My cousin."
"Where is he?"
Roman's expression turned grim.
May you like
"He's been my second-in-command for eleven years."
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