Chapter 3 - The Brother Who Never Had an Accident
Lucian’s safe house was not a house.
It was an entire floor above a law firm on Wacker Drive.
No family photographs. No art. No decorative objects except a black ceramic bowl containing exactly four green apples.
Harper stared at them.
“Do criminals get issued these?”
Lucian took off his coat. “Issued what?”
“Bowls of untouched fruit in intimidating apartments.”
“This is not my apartment.”
“Safe house.”
“Yes.”
“Which is somehow worse.”
“It belongs to my attorney.”
Harper looked around. “Your attorney has no personality.”
“He bills by the hour. Personality would be extra.”
Despite herself, Harper smiled.
Then her phone buzzed.
A text from Gideon.
SLOANE IS ALIVE. KYLE WAS GONE WHEN WE ARRIVED. SHE’S WITH POLICE.
Harper’s knees weakened.
Lucian read her face.
“She’s safe?”
Harper nodded.
“Good.”
She put the phone down.
“I don’t know what to do with the fact that I’m relieved.”
“You can be furious at someone and still not want them hurt.”
She looked at him.
“That sounded practiced.”
Lucian went to the bar but poured water instead of whiskey.
“My family gives me opportunities to practice.”
Harper accepted the glass.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then she said, “Tell me about Matteo.”
Lucian’s hand stopped on the second bottle of water.
Harper continued. “If I’m in danger because of something your brother hid inside a watch my fiancé stole, I deserve the whole story.”
Lucian turned.
“You won’t like it.”
“I haven’t liked anything since Tuesday.”
He almost smiled.
Then he sat across from her.
“Matteo was three years older than me. Smarter. Kinder. Terrible at pretending he didn’t care.”
The affection in his voice was immediate and unguarded.
Harper said nothing.
“He was supposed to inherit Moretti Maritime. Our father raised him for it from the time he could read a balance sheet. I was the spare.”
“You say that like your family was royalty.”
“Worse. Royalty has rules.”
Harper held the water glass between both hands.
“What did Matteo find?”
“First, money that didn’t belong anywhere. Then falsified container numbers. Then people disappearing from payroll records after asking questions.”
“And he blamed Vittorio?”
“He suspected Vittorio.”
“Different thing.”
Lucian nodded.
“He called me two nights before he died. Said he had copied enough evidence to destroy half the family and send the other half running.”
“What happened?”
“He never made it to the meeting.”
Lucian’s eyes went distant.
“His car went through a barrier on Lake Shore Drive at 1:38 in the morning. Police said speed. Rain. Alcohol.”
“Was he drinking?”
“He hadn’t touched alcohol in four years.”
“Brake failure?”
“Hydraulic line had been cut.”
Harper breathed in slowly.
“And nobody was charged?”
“The mechanic who inspected the car disappeared before he could give a second statement.”
“Jesus.”
Lucian’s face did not move.
“I spent six years looking for whatever Matteo had copied. I found references to the watch in one of his encrypted emails. By then, the watch was gone.”
“And Kyle had it.”
“At some point.”
Harper frowned. “How would Kyle get your brother’s watch?”
“That is the question I’ve been unable to answer.”
Lucian got up and crossed to a steel cabinet.
He unlocked it and removed a thin file.
“This is Kyle at a pawn dealer in River North nine months ago.”
Harper looked at the image.
Kyle stood at a glass counter holding the watch.
The dealer was examining it with a loupe.
“He tried to sell it?”
“No. He asked how to open the case without damaging the movement.”
“Why?”
“The dealer refused. The watch had a custom seal. Opening it incorrectly would destroy the mechanism.”
Harper looked closer.
On the underside of the strap, near the buckle, was a tiny embossed symbol.
A circle split by a diagonal line.
She froze.
Lucian noticed.
“What?”
“I’ve seen that.”
His posture changed.
“Where?”
Harper stood and paced.
She could see it in her mind.
A drawing.
A detail plan.
Not at Kyle’s apartment.
At work.
She snapped her fingers.
“The Moretti penthouse proposal.”
Lucian frowned.
“You said you’ve never worked there.”
“I haven’t. But Voss & Hart bid on a renovation two years ago. We didn’t win. Mara used the failed pitch as a training exercise for junior staff. I reviewed the old plans.”
“And the symbol?”
“It was on the original architectural set. I assumed it was a maker’s mark.”
Lucian’s face went pale.
Harper had not thought men like Lucian Moretti went pale.
“What room?”
“The library wall.”
He was already calling Gideon.
“Bring me the original penthouse construction drawings from 2001.”
Harper interrupted. “Not the digital files.”
Lucian looked at her.
“The symbol wasn’t visible on the scan unless you zoomed past normal scale. I only noticed because the vector file had a broken layer.”
He spoke into the phone. “Paper originals. Now.”
He ended the call.
Harper stared at him.
“Why would your brother’s watch symbol be on a wall built years before he died?”
Lucian looked toward the dark windows.
“Because Matteo designed that room with my mother.”
They returned to the penthouse after midnight.
This time, Lucian’s security swept every room first.
Harper stood in the library, surrounded by dark oak shelving and books that looked untouched.
“Your mother designed this?”
“She chose the wood. Matteo designed the cabinetry.”
Harper ran her fingers along the vertical trim.
The symbol appeared on the original drawing beside one narrow panel between two bookcases.
On the wall itself, there was nothing.
Gideon watched her examine the millwork.
“You know what you’re looking for?”
“No.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Interior design is mostly making expensive mistakes look intentional.”
Lucian leaned against the desk.
“I’m beginning to understand why you were promoted twice.”
Harper ignored him.
She measured seams with her fingertips.
Old custom cabinetry had patterns. Repeated dimensions. Symmetry.
The left side had one molding strip wider than the matching strip on the right.
Half an inch.
Almost nothing.
But deliberate.
Harper pressed it.
Nothing happened.
She pulled.
Nothing.
Then she looked at the watch photograph on Lucian’s phone.
Circle split by a diagonal line.
She traced a diagonal across the panel.
Her fingers found two tiny depressions hidden in carved leaves.
She pressed both at once.
There was a click.
The entire section of bookshelf moved forward two inches.
Nobody spoke.
Gideon muttered, “Well.”
Lucian stepped closer.
Harper pulled the narrow panel open.
Inside was a cavity no wider than her forearm.
Empty.
For one terrible moment, Lucian simply stared.
Then Harper noticed dust.
Not everywhere.
A clean rectangle sat in the center of the compartment.
Something had been there recently.
Something the size of a small document box.
Lucian reached inside.
His fingers touched the back wall.
He withdrew them.
A smear of fresh blood marked his fingertips.
Gideon instantly drew his weapon.
Harper stepped back.
Then a sound came from the hallway.
A groan.
They ran.
One of Lucian’s guards lay beside the service elevator, conscious but bleeding from the forehead.
The elevator doors were closing.
Inside stood a woman in a black coat.
Mara Voss.
Harper’s boss.
She held a small metal document case against her chest.
Their eyes met through the narrowing gap.
Mara’s face showed no guilt.
Only fear.
Then she said the last thing Harper expected.
May you like
“Harper, don’t trust Lucian.”
The elevator doors closed.
