Chapter 2 - Locker 417 Held the Secret My Father Died Protecting
I did not sleep that night.
Lorenzo gave me a guest room in the penthouse.
I locked the door.
Then dragged the dresser in front of it.
It was irrational.
The door was probably stronger than my entire apartment.
But I needed to feel as though I had some control.
At 3:14 a.m., I found the key.
It was exactly where my father had told me to keep it.
Inside a sewing box.
Under old photographs.
He had never said what it opened.
Only:
“Never lose this.”
I held it in my palm.
Then remembered what Lorenzo had said.
Somebody else is looking for you.
At 7:00 a.m., Victor knocked.
“Mr. Moretti wants breakfast.”
“I want a bus ticket.”
“He doesn't provide bus tickets.”
“I noticed.”
Victor almost smiled.
We left at eight.
Two SUVs followed us.
Lorenzo rode beside me in the back seat.
He looked pale.
“You should still be resting.”
“You should stop giving medical advice.”
“You were shot less than eighteen hours ago.”
“You're my doctor now?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I looked out the window.
“Why do you trust me?”
“I don't.”
“That helps.”
“But I trust what you did.”
“What does that mean?”
“You could have let me die.”
“You had a gun pointed at me.”
“You still could have let me die.”
I looked at him.
“Would you?”
He considered the question.
“No.”
“Then don't ask me to be worse than you.”
A strange expression passed over his face.
Respect.
The warehouse stood near the river.
Rusting doors.
Broken windows.
A chain-link fence.
Victor opened the lock.
Inside was an old freight office.
Locker 417 was at the back.
My key turned easily.
Inside were three things.
A metal box.
A notebook.
And an envelope with my name.
My hands trembled.
I opened it.
Mia,
If you're reading this, I failed to disappear quietly.
Do not trust anyone who tells you I abandoned you.
I did not.
I left because men much more dangerous than me learned what I knew.
Inside the metal box you will find the reason.
I looked at Lorenzo.
He stood back.
“Read it.”
I opened the box.
Inside was a flash drive.
A photograph.
And a ledger.
The ledger was small.
Black.
Handwritten.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
I turned pages.
Some names I knew from Chicago hospitals.
Others belonged to companies.
One name repeated more than all others.
Moretti.
I looked at Lorenzo.
“What is this?”
He took one step closer.
“My father.”
“Your father?”
“Marco Moretti.”
“Who was he?”
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
“He built the organization.”
I looked down.
“And my father worked for him.”
“Yes.”
The flash drive contained videos.
The first showed my father.
He looked terrified.
He spoke directly into the camera.
“If anything happens to me, it wasn't because of gambling.”
I stopped breathing.
He continued.
“I owe money. That's true. But the debt is not what they care about.”
The video glitched.
Then another person appeared.
Lorenzo's father.
Marco Moretti.
My father looked at him.
“You promised me she'd be left alone.”
Marco said:
“She will be.”
My father shook his head.
“You don't understand.”
“What?”
“She already knows.”
Marco turned.
“Who?”
“My daughter.”
The recording ended.
I stared at Lorenzo.
“He knew about me.”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
Lorenzo took the flash drive.
“About something I have spent ten years trying to uncover.”
“What?”
“My father's hidden operation.”
“What operation?”
Lorenzo looked toward the open warehouse door.
Before he answered, gunfire erupted outside.
Victor shouted.
“DOWN!”
Lorenzo pulled me behind the concrete wall.
Bullets tore through the metal doors.
Men shouted.
Victor returned fire.
I dropped to my knees.
Lorenzo pressed against the wall beside me.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Stay here.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Your stitches.”
“I know how to manage them.”
He almost smiled.
Then he moved.
The next thirty seconds were chaos.
Three men came through the side entrance.
Lorenzo dropped the first.
Victor dropped the second.
The third escaped.
I stayed behind cover.
Then I noticed blood.
Lorenzo's hand moved to his side.
The wound had reopened.
“Lorenzo.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're bleeding.”
“I've noticed.”
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Sit.”
He stared at me.
Then slowly sat.
I checked the stitches.
“They're tearing.”
“I'll survive.”
“Not if you keep moving.”
He looked at me.
“This feels familiar.”
“Except now you're listening.”
“For you.”
I paused.
Then stitched the wound in the middle of an abandoned warehouse.
Afterward, he looked at me.
“I think someone knew we were coming.”
I nodded.
“They followed us.”
“No.”
He looked at the ledger.
“They knew about locker 417.”
I understood.
“Someone close to you.”
“Very.”
The ride back was silent.
At the penthouse, Lorenzo gathered his men.
“Only family knew about this locker.”
Victor frowned.
“Who?”
Lorenzo's eyes hardened.
“My uncle.”
Silence.
“Rafael Moretti.”
I remembered seeing the name.
In the ledger.
Beside several payments.
But there was something else.
A second name.
Gabriel Shaw.
Lorenzo's attorney.
I pointed.
“This man.”
Victor looked.
Lorenzo stared.
“Gabriel has been with me for fifteen years.”
My voice dropped.
“So has the person who betrayed my father.”
Lorenzo looked at me.
“What?”
I turned the page.
May you like
My father's handwriting appeared beneath Gabriel's name.
The man you trust with the books is the man I fear most.
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