Chapter 3 - The Hidden Room Beneath Maison GreerMaison Greer opened at five.
We arrived at four.
Nathaniel came with two security men.
I used my employee access card.
Preston wasn't there.
Neither was his father.
The dining room looked innocent in the early morning.
No guests.
No music.
No candles.
Just tables waiting.
Nathaniel walked toward the old fireplace.
“What happened here?”
“Nothing.”
“I don't believe that.”
He pointed.
“Your father's private meetings happened here.”
I knelt.
There were scratches beneath the wood.
A concealed latch.
I opened it.
A staircase descended.
Cold air rose.
Nathaniel stared.
“Did you know this existed?”
“No.”
We went down.
The basement stretched beneath the restaurant.
Old wine racks.
Storage rooms.
Then another door.
Locked.
Nathaniel forced it.
Inside were files.
Boxes.
Photographs.
A desk.
And a wall covered with names.
Some crossed out.
One name circled.
JULIAN WHITMORE.
I felt sick.
Nathaniel stood frozen.
His brother's photograph was pinned beside it.
Underneath:
TRANSFERRED.
“Transferred where?”
I searched the desk.
An old ledger.
Payments.
Cars.
Hotel rooms.
One recurring destination.
Kansas City.
Nathaniel called his security team.
“Find everything connected to Kansas City.”
The team moved.
I continued searching.
Then I found a photograph of Preston.
Young.
Standing beside Julian.
I stared.
“They knew each other.”
Nathaniel looked at the photograph.
“Preston was seventeen.”
“How?”
“Maybe they grew up together.”
“Or Preston was involved.”
Nathaniel looked at me.
“You think he helped take my brother.”
“I think your mother's memory deserves to be investigated.”
He nodded.
Then we found something else.
A handwritten note.
The boy knows about the account.
Nathaniel frowned.
“What account?”
I turned the page.
A number.
Millions of dollars.
Hidden overseas.
And a reference:
Rose Whitmore.
Nathaniel went pale.
“My mother?”
We searched deeper.
The account had been opened in her name.
But it had never been used.
“Why would someone create an account under your mother's name?”
Nathaniel asked.
“To hide money.”
“From whom?”
“Your father?”
He shook his head.
“My father would never hide money from himself.”
“Then from the government?”
“Maybe.”
Then a sound came from upstairs.
Footsteps.
Nathaniel signaled his men.
We turned off the lights.
Someone entered the restaurant.
Preston.
He walked to the fireplace.
Then opened the hidden latch.
He descended.
Nathaniel stepped from the shadows.
“Looking for something?”
Preston froze.
His face went white.
“Mr. Whitmore.”
“You know this room.”
“No.”
“You used it.”
“No.”
“You've been here before.”
“I manage the restaurant.”
“You lie badly.”
Preston looked at me.
“You shouldn't have come.”
“Why?”
“Because now you're involved.”
Nathaniel stepped forward.
“What happened to Julian?”
Preston's eyes filled with fear.
“I don't know.”
“Where is he?”
“I told you, I don't know.”
Nathaniel grabbed his collar.
“Twenty-five years.”
“My life is over if I tell you.”
“Your life ends anyway if you keep lying.”
Preston swallowed.
“Julian wasn't taken by your father.”
Nathaniel froze.
“Then who?”
Preston looked at me.
“Your grandfather.”
I stared.
Nathaniel's face changed.
“My grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He knew Julian had discovered the accounts.”
“What accounts?”
“The family trust.”
“The money?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Preston whispered:
“Two hundred million.”
Silence.
“That money belonged to victims of your grandfather's criminal operations.”
Nathaniel stepped back.
“My father inherited it?”
“He tried to return it.”
“And Julian?”
“He helped.”
“What happened?”
“They caught him.”
“Who?”
Preston looked at me.
“Marcus Hale.”
My blood went cold.
“My father's father?”
“No.”
“His father.”
The restaurant manager from today.
The man who currently owned Maison Greer.
The man who was Preston's father.
Nathaniel looked at me.
“Your manager's father took my brother.”
Preston nodded.
“But he didn't kill him.”
“Then where is Julian?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I swear.”
Then Preston pulled a small photograph from his pocket.
Julian.
Older.
Alive.
Taken yesterday.
Nathaniel's hands shook.
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Who took this?”
Preston whispered:
“Your brother sent it.”
Nathaniel stared.
“Why?”
“He wants you to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Opening the trust.”
“Why?”
“Because if you open it, people will die.”
Before Nathaniel could ask more, the basement lights went out.
A gunshot echoed.
Preston collapsed.
I screamed.
Nathaniel grabbed my hand.
“Stay behind me.”
His security returned fire.
The shooter disappeared.
Preston was bleeding.
He looked at me.
“Don't trust Marcus.”
Then he died.
Nathaniel stared at the body.
My hands were shaking.
“What now?”
He looked at me.
“Now we find Julian.”
I nodded.
May you like
Then he said:
“And we find out what my grandfather did with the missing two hundred million.”
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