Chapter 3 - I Disappeared Before Sunrise, but the Most Feared Mafia Boss in Chicago Refused to Let Me Go
By the time the sun rose over Lake Michigan, I had crossed into Wisconsin.
The guesthouse was small, with faded yellow walls, a narrow porch, and a kitchen that smelled faintly of cinnamon.
Natalie's aunt, Margaret Brooks, greeted me without asking questions.
She was sixty-eight, a retired schoolteacher with silver hair and the kind of steady gaze that made lying seem pointless.
Natalie had told her only that I needed privacy.
Margaret carried my suitcase upstairs.
"You look exhausted," she said.
"I am."
"There's soup in the refrigerator. The bedroom has fresh sheets. Nobody comes here without calling first."
I thanked her.
Then I closed the bedroom door and finally allowed myself to cry.
I cried for the woman I had been at twenty-four, standing in a white wedding dress beside a man who promised he would never let me face the world alone.
I cried for the six years I'd spent pretending that being loved occasionally was enough.
And I cried for the baby growing inside me, because I didn't know how to explain to a child that their father had been capable of loving them and still making the wrong choice.
When Natalie arrived that afternoon, she found me sitting beside the window with a mug of untouched tea.
She embraced me.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
Then she placed a folder on the table.
"I've started looking into the financial records."
"Already?"
"You married a man whose enemies apparently use shell companies like birthday cards. I wasn't going to spend the morning baking cookies."
Despite everything, I smiled.
Natalie opened the folder.
"Thomas Keller owned a logistics company called Keller Maritime Holdings. After his reported death, its assets were supposedly transferred to a trust."
"Adrian helped Serena manage her inheritance."
"That's what the public filings suggest. But last month, a dormant subsidiary received four million dollars from a company connected to Richard Voss."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"Could Serena be receiving money through her father's company?"
"Possibly. But the transfer was authorized with a digital signature associated with Thomas himself."
I stared at her.
"Someone forged it."
"That's one possibility."
"And the other?"
Natalie closed the folder.
"He's alive."
I looked away.
Adrian had carried Thomas Keller's death like a wound.
He had told me about the ambush only once.
They were driving back from a meeting when two vehicles blocked the road.
Gunmen opened fire.
Thomas pushed Adrian down and took a bullet meant for him.
By the time help arrived, Thomas was dead.
Adrian had never forgiven himself.
What if that memory was wrong?
What if someone had deliberately given him a reason to remain loyal to Serena forever?
My temporary phone rang.
Natalie checked the number.
"Unknown."
I answered.
"Hello?"
A familiar voice filled the room.
"Elena."
Adrian.
My entire body went still.
Natalie looked at me sharply.
"How did you get this number?" I asked.
"I've been trying to find you."
"That wasn't my question."
A pause.
"Your friend Natalie called my office years ago when you were in the hospital. Her number was still in the records. I asked her to pass along a message."
Natalie shook her head.
She hadn't spoken to him.
"You're lying," I said.
Silence.
Then Adrian exhaled.
"You're right. One of my men found the number."
I closed my eyes.
"That is exactly why I left."
"Elena, please."
"Don't."
"I came home and you were gone."
"You noticed."
His voice cracked.
"That's not fair."
I laughed once, without humor.
"Fair?"
"I know I made a mistake."
"A mistake is forgetting milk. You walked away from your pregnant wife because your ex-girlfriend called."
"I thought Serena was in danger."
"You always think Serena is in danger."
"Her father—"
"Don't finish that sentence."
He fell silent.
I looked at Natalie.
She nodded for me to continue.
"Adrian, did you ever see Thomas Keller's body?"
The silence changed.
"What?"
"Did you identify him?"
"Why are you asking?"
"Answer me."
"I was injured. Richard handled everything."
My pulse quickened.
"You never saw him?"
"No."
"Did you attend the funeral?"
"There was a private service."
"Did you see a coffin?"
"Elena, what is this?"
I gripped the phone.
"Something is wrong with the story you've been telling yourself for eight years."
Adrian's voice hardened.
"Who told you that?"
"I can't explain everything yet."
"Where are you?"
"No."
"Elena, you're carrying my child."
"And I am protecting our child."
"From me?"
I swallowed.
"I don't know anymore."
That hurt him.
I heard it in the silence.
Finally, he said, "I would never hurt you."
"You already did."
"I know."
"No, Adrian. You know I left. That's different from understanding why."
He said nothing.
I continued.
"I needed one evening. One hour. One moment when our family mattered more than Serena's next emergency."
"I should have stayed."
"Yes."
"I should have turned off the phone."
"Yes."
His voice became rough.
"I looked at the ultrasound all night."
I pressed a hand over my stomach.
"I looked at it alone."
Another silence.
Then he whispered, "I'm sorry."
For six years, those words had been followed by flowers, promises, and another broken evening.
This time, I didn't let them become the ending.
"I'm not coming home."
"Tell me what I can do."
"Find out what Richard Voss has been hiding."
The line went quiet.
Then Adrian asked, "What does Richard have to do with this?"
"More than you think."
I ended the call.
Natalie stared at me.
"He's going to investigate."
"I know."
"Will he believe you?"
I looked at the phone.
"That's the question."
Back in Chicago, Adrian summoned his head of security, Marcus Reed.
Marcus had served him for twelve years.
He was quiet, disciplined, and one of the few men in Adrian's organization who never seemed impressed by power.
Adrian placed Thomas Keller's old case file on his desk.
"I want everything."
Marcus frowned.
"Everything about what?"
"The ambush. The funeral. The medical records. Every payment made to Serena since Thomas died."
"Richard manages those files."
"Then get copies without telling Richard."
Marcus studied him.
"Are you questioning Mr. Voss?"
"I'm questioning everyone."
Three hours later, Marcus returned with the first disturbing discovery.
The hospital that supposedly treated Thomas Keller had no record of his admission under that name.
The funeral home had been paid through a company controlled by Richard.
And the police report contained the signature of a detective who had retired six months before the ambush.
Adrian stared at the documents.
"How did nobody notice?"
Marcus answered carefully.
"Because nobody was allowed to question Richard."
Adrian looked toward the photograph of Thomas Keller on his office wall.
For eight years, he'd believed he owed his life to a dead man.
Now he was beginning to wonder whether the debt had been manufactured.
That evening, Serena arrived at his penthouse uninvited.
She wore a cream coat and carried a small overnight bag.
"Adrian, thank God," she said.
He didn't stand.
"Why are you here?"
She blinked.
"I was frightened."
"Of what?"
"Someone followed me."
"Did you call the police?"
"No."
"Did you call your security team?"
"I wanted you."
Adrian studied her.
"Serena, when did your father die?"
Her face changed.
"What?"
"Tell me the date."
She answered.
He asked another question.
"Where was he buried?"
"Adrian, why are you doing this?"
"Because I want to visit his grave."
Serena's fingers tightened around her handbag.
"You know the family requested privacy."
"Then give me the cemetery."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"After everything Daddy sacrificed for you, you're interrogating me?"
Once, that sentence would have ended the conversation.
Not anymore.
Adrian stood.
"Your father deserves the truth."
Serena stepped backward.
"What truth?"
He looked directly at her.
"The truth about whether he died at all."
Her face went white.
And Adrian finally understood that his wife had not been imagining things.
May you like
Someone had been lying to him.
For years.
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