Chapter 3 - The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Derek Lawson did not make it to the police station.
He disappeared halfway there.
Not literally.
The officer transporting him received a call, pulled over because of an emergency involving a road closure, and found the rear door of the transport vehicle open when he returned.
Derek was gone.
By morning, Vincent knew.
By noon, Vincent knew something worse.
The blood found at the warehouse belonged to Amelia.
But it had been planted.
The hospital had samples.
The warehouse had a small amount of blood mixed with chemical preservatives.
Someone had taken a vial from the hospital lab.
Someone wanted Vincent to believe Amelia had been kidnapped.
Instead, Amelia was sitting in his kitchen eating toast.
She frowned at him over the plate.
“You're staring.”
“I know.”
“You're making me uncomfortable.”
“I know that too.”
She sighed.
“You're terrible at pretending you're calm.”
“I never pretended.”
He sat across from her.
Sunlight came through the kitchen windows of the Castellano townhouse.
It was the first morning Amelia had spent somewhere that felt secure since she had arrived in Brooklyn.
She did not trust security.
She did not trust locked doors.
But she trusted Vincent's silence.
That frightened her more than anything.
“Tell me about my father,” she said.
Vincent looked at the table.
“My father admired him.”
“Why?”
“Because your father could walk into a room full of criminals and still believe numbers mattered more than guns.”
She almost smiled.
“That sounds like him.”
“He helped my father build legitimate businesses.”
“Then what went wrong?”
“Thomas Fletcher.”
Amelia's face tightened.
“Raymond's father.”
“Yes.”
Vincent leaned back.
“He started stealing from everyone.”
“Why wasn't he stopped?”
“He had help.”
“From who?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Someone in my father's inner circle.”
“Who?”
“My father never told me.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because I found the financial trail after he died.”
She was quiet.
“Did my father know he was going to die?”
“I think so.”
Vincent opened a drawer and removed a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
He placed it between them.
It showed her father standing outside a church.
On the back was handwriting.
ELENA MUST NEVER KNOW.
Her hands trembled.
“He wrote that?”
Vincent nodded.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
She turned the photograph over again.
There was another line.
TRUST THE MAN WHO REFUSES THE CROWN.
She looked up.
“What does that mean?”
Vincent's expression changed.
“It means my father didn't want me running his organization.”
Amelia studied him.
“But you're the boss.”
“Because everyone else died.”
That answer silenced her.
Vincent's father had died.
His older brother had been killed.
Two cousins disappeared.
Vincent inherited the business because there was nobody left willing to stand between the Castellanos and the people who wanted to destroy them.
He had spent twelve years eliminating threats.
He had become feared because fear was safer than grief.
Amelia touched the photograph.
“Maybe the man he meant wasn't you.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I am not the man who refuses the crown.”
“Then who?”
“My younger brother.”
She stared at him.
“You have a brother?”
“Had.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
The answer came too fast.
She knew there was more.
Before she could ask, the front door opened.
Marco entered.
He carried a phone.
“Boss, we found Raymond.”
Amelia stood.
“Where?”
Marco looked at Vincent.
“In a private clinic in Queens.”
Her knees weakened.
“He's alive.”
“Yes.”
Vincent rose.
“We're going.”
“No.”
Amelia stared at him.
“I need answers.”
“You need distance.”
“He ruined my life.”
“I know.”
“He almost killed me.”
“I know.”
“Then take me to him.”
Vincent's eyes held hers.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Finally he nodded.
“Fine.”
The clinic looked ordinary.
That was the point.
Raymond was in a private room upstairs.
Two security men stood outside.
Vincent entered first.
Amelia followed.
Raymond was sitting in a wheelchair.
He looked thinner.
Older.
But the eyes were the same.
Cold.
Calculated.
Amelia stopped in the doorway.
Raymond smiled.
“Elena.”
Her entire body froze.
Vincent moved instantly, positioning himself between them.
Raymond laughed softly.
“You always did hide behind powerful men.”
Amelia stepped around Vincent.
“You told me you were dead.”
“I needed you to believe it.”
“You made me think I had escaped.”
“You did.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“You let me run.”
Raymond's smile disappeared.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed to know whether the police were still watching you.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“Where's the ledger?”
Raymond looked at him.
“You still sound like your father.”
“And you still sound like a coward.”
Raymond smiled again.
“You don't understand what you're protecting.”
Vincent took one step forward.
“Then educate me.”
Raymond looked at Amelia.
“Tell him about the basement.”
She went pale.
“What basement?”
“The house in Connecticut.”
Her heart stopped.
She remembered.
Three years ago, Raymond had taken her to a house outside Stamford.
He had locked her downstairs.
She had escaped through a basement window.
But she had never told anyone about the room.
Because she thought she was imagining things.
There had been boxes.
Photographs.
Documents.
And a red metal safe.
Raymond watched recognition cross her face.
“You remember.”
She whispered, “What was inside?”
“You.”
She frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Raymond leaned forward.
“Your father didn't die because of the ledger.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“He died because of you.”
Silence.
Amelia's breath caught.
Raymond continued.
“Your father discovered that Thomas Fletcher was laundering money through a network of charities. He copied the evidence.”
Vincent watched him carefully.
“But Thomas didn't kill him,” Raymond said.
“Who did?”
Raymond stared at Vincent.
“Giovanni Castellano.”
Amelia gasped.
Vincent did not move.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
Amelia turned toward Vincent.
“Is that true?”
Vincent's face hardened.
“I don't know.”
Raymond laughed.
“That is the problem with dead fathers. They leave their secrets for their sons to inherit.”
Suddenly the lights went out.
Gunfire erupted in the hallway.
Vincent grabbed Amelia and pulled her behind the wall.
Marco shouted.
Glass shattered.
Raymond ducked.
Someone screamed outside.
Vincent drew his weapon.
“Stay here.”
Amelia grabbed his sleeve.
“Vincent.”
He looked at her.
“Your father killed mine?”
“I don't know.”
“Then find out.”
Another shot rang out.
Vincent moved.
When the emergency lights came on, Raymond was gone.
The wheelchair remained.
Empty.
May you like
And on the floor beside it was a small brass key.
Stamped into its side was a single number.
