Chapter 3 - The Woman Behind the False Name
Victor took Maria to his private residence outside the city.
She objected.
He ignored her.
“You can't stay at your apartment.”
“Why?”
“Because someone entered it.”
She froze.
“When?”
“While we were in my office.”
“My mother?”
“No.”
“What did they take?”
“Nothing.”
“Then what?”
Victor looked at her.
“They left your mother's old photograph on your pillow.”
Maria's stomach dropped.
Someone wanted her to know they could reach her.
His house was enormous.
But unlike the hotel, it felt strangely empty.
No staff.
No parties.
No business associates.
Just silence.
Victor gave Maria a guest room.
Then he disappeared into his study.
She tried to sleep.
Instead she heard voices downstairs.
Victor and an unfamiliar man.
“She can't stay here.”
“She's safer here.”
“She'll become leverage.”
“She already is.”
Maria opened the door.
They stopped talking.
The man was older, dressed in black, with a scar across his cheek.
“This is Rafael Mercer,” Victor said.
Rafael looked at Maria.
“So you're the housekeeper.”
She lifted an eyebrow.
“Among other things.”
Rafael smiled.
“I like her.”
Victor frowned.
“That's not relevant.”
“It will be.”
After he left, Maria asked:
“Who is he?”
“Head of security.”
“He seems friendly.”
“He isn't.”
Maria sat across from Victor.
“What are you not telling me?”
Victor poured two cups of coffee.
He handed one to her.
“The account my father created wasn't just money.”
“What else?”
“Evidence.”
“Against Richard?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Victor sat.
“My father was preparing to expose a network.”
“What kind?”
“Corrupt contractors. Illegal transfers. Bribery. Fraud.”
“Why would a billionaire businessman care?”
“My father wasn't always a billionaire.”
“I thought Hartwell had always been huge.”
“Hartwell became huge after his death.”
Maria frowned.
“Because of the account?”
“Because of the network.”
“Who controlled it?”
Victor's face hardened.
“Richard Cole.”
Silence.
“Then why isn't he in prison?”
“Because my father's evidence disappeared.”
“Except for the account.”
“Exactly.”
Maria looked at the photograph.
“What happened to my mother?”
Victor hesitated.
“She helped my father hide the evidence.”
“Then she must have known where it went.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't she tell you?”
“I was seventeen.”
“You were his son.”
“He wanted me uninvolved.”
“And after he died?”
“My mother vanished.”
“My mother.”
“Yes.”
The connection was becoming impossible to ignore.
“My mother protected you?”
“Maybe.”
“Then why would someone send me a warning about her?”
Victor leaned forward.
“Because they want you to distrust her.”
“Why?”
“Because they want you to lead them to her.”
Maria looked down.
She suddenly remembered something.
A childhood lullaby.
Her mother had sung it whenever they moved apartments.
“Little bird, close your eyes. The hidden key is where truth lies.”
She had always thought it was nonsense.
She looked at Victor.
“My mother used to sing something.”
“What?”
She repeated the words.
Victor stood.
“Say that again.”
She did.
He grabbed a notebook.
“That's not a lullaby.”
“What is it?”
“A code.”
“For what?”
“My father's accounts.”
Maria's heart pounded.
“My mother taught it to me.”
“Did she ever mention a key?”
“No.”
“Think.”
She tried.
Then remembered an old brass key hanging inside their kitchen cabinet when she was a child.
Her mother had never let her touch it.
“I know where she kept something.”
Victor looked at her.
“Where?”
“My old apartment.”
“We're not going there.”
“Then where?”
“The storage unit.”
“What storage unit?”
“The one registered under your mother's maiden name.”
Maria stared.
“How do you know?”
“Because I looked.”
They found the storage facility the next morning.
The unit contained boxes.
Clothes.
Old photographs.
Documents.
A child's drawing.
And a small wooden chest.
Maria opened it.
Inside was the brass key.
And a letter.
For Maria.
She unfolded it with shaking hands.
My daughter,
If you are reading this, then I failed to keep you away from the truth.
I want you to know one thing.
Your father did not abandon us.
He was killed trying to protect you.
Maria covered her mouth.
Victor took a step closer.
The letter continued.
Daniel Hart trusted only two people.
Me.
And his son.
I need you to decide whether Victor is the man you believe he is.
There are people who will tell you he is dangerous.
They will be right.
But dangerous does not mean cruel.
And sometimes the man who looks like the villain is the only person standing between you and the real one.
Maria looked up.
The letter ended with a location.
A church.
And one sentence.
The key opens the truth beneath the altar.
Victor read the address.
“I know this church.”
“Where?”
“Three blocks from the first Hartwell office.”
They went that afternoon.
Beneath the altar was a narrow compartment.
The brass key opened it.
Inside was a small metal box.
Inside the box was a flash drive.
And a photograph of Richard Cole standing beside Maria's mother.
On the back were handwritten words.
He knows where she is.
Before Maria could ask who he was, the church doors slammed.
Men entered.
Rafael shouted:
“Down!”
Gunfire echoed.
Victor pulled Maria behind the altar.
The flash drive dropped.
A man reached for it.
Maria grabbed it first.
She ran.
Victor followed.
They escaped through a side door.
Only when they reached the car did Maria realize Victor's hand was bleeding.
“You're shot.”
“Just grazed.”
She grabbed a napkin and pressed it against his palm.
He stared at her.
“You're shaking.”
“So are you.”
“No.”
She looked into his eyes.
He was.
Barely.
But he was.
For the first time, she realized something.
Victor Torres wasn't afraid of dying.
May you like
He was afraid she might.
And the thought scared her more than the gunfire.
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