Chapter 3 - The Locked Room Beneath the Voss Mansion
I didn't sleep that night.
How could I?
My best friend had sold me to criminals.
Someone had tried to murder me.
And the father I had mourned for eight years might still be alive.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the photograph.
The gray hair.
The familiar watch.
The impossible date.
At four in the morning, I gave up trying to rest.
I walked downstairs barefoot, following the faint sound of voices.
Nolan was in his study with Daniel.
The door stood slightly open.
“We can't keep her here indefinitely,” Daniel said.
“I know.”
“Victor knows she's alive.”
“I know that too.”
“Then we need to move her before sunrise.”
Nolan sounded exhausted.
“She isn't a package, Daniel. She makes her own decisions.”
I stopped outside the doorway.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“What about the basement?”
A long silence followed.
Then Nolan said, “She doesn't need to know about that yet.”
My pulse quickened.
The basement.
I stepped away before they could discover me.
Back upstairs, I found Mrs. Bell preparing breakfast.
She looked startled when she saw me.
“Miss Carver. You're awake early.”
“Couldn't sleep.”
“I imagine not.”
She poured tea into a porcelain cup.
I watched her carefully.
“How long have you worked here?”
“Twenty-seven years.”
“So you knew Nolan's father?”
Her expression tightened.
“Yes.”
“And Victor Voss?”
“Yes.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Do you know what happened to my father?”
Mrs. Bell placed the teapot down.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she asked, “Did Nolan tell you about the shooting?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you what happened afterward?”
“No.”
She closed her eyes.
“Then perhaps you should ask him why there is a room beneath this house that nobody has entered for eight years.”
I stared at her.
“What room?”
She looked toward the hallway.
Then whispered, “The one your father built.”
Before I could ask another question, Nolan entered.
Mrs. Bell immediately returned to her work.
Nolan looked between us.
“Everything all right?”
“Perfect,” I said.
He didn't believe me.
Neither did I care.
After breakfast, Nolan received a call and left for a meeting with his attorney.
He offered to arrange a secure ride anywhere I wanted.
I told him I needed time to think.
He left two guards outside the property, explaining that they were there to watch for attackers, not to prevent me from leaving.
I waited until his car disappeared.
Then I went looking for the basement.
The mansion had three staircases.
The first led to a wine cellar.
The second ended near the laundry room.
The third was hidden behind a narrow door beside the library.
It descended into darkness.
At the bottom stood a heavy steel door.
A keypad glowed beside it.
I examined the lock.
Six digits.
I tried my father's birthday.
Nothing.
My birthday.
Nothing.
The date of his supposed death.
A red light flashed.
Then I remembered something from childhood.
My father had a habit of using the same six numbers for everything important.
The date my parents met.
April 12, 1996.
041296.
The keypad turned green.
I stood motionless.
Then the lock clicked.
The room beyond smelled of dust and old paper.
Shelves lined the walls.
A desk stood beneath a covered window.
And on the far wall hung a large photograph of my father.
Not the cheerful man I remembered.
This photograph showed him wearing a dark suit beside three men.
One was Nolan.
One was Victor Voss.
The third was unfamiliar.
Below the picture sat a locked filing cabinet.
I searched the desk.
Inside the top drawer, I found an old cassette recorder.
Beside it was an envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Olivia.
My hands began shaking.
I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
My dearest girl,
If you're reading this, then something has gone terribly wrong.
There are things I never told you because I wanted you to grow up believing the world was safer than it is.
I made mistakes.
I trusted the wrong people.
And when I tried to fix what I had done, I put everyone I loved in danger.
But remember this above everything else.
Nolan Voss is not the man you think he is.
He made a terrible choice.
So did I.
And one day, you may have to decide whether the truth matters more than revenge.
I love you.
Dad.
I sank into the chair.
For eight years, hatred had given my grief somewhere to go.
Now every certainty I possessed was collapsing.
I turned on the cassette recorder.
A burst of static filled the room.
Then my father's voice emerged.
“If this recording is being played, I need whoever finds it to understand that the shipping records are only part of the evidence.”
I covered my mouth.
Hearing his voice again was almost unbearable.
He continued.
“Victor Voss has been moving money through legitimate companies, but he isn't acting alone. There are federal officials involved. Judges. Police officers. People who are supposed to protect the public.”
A pause.
Then another voice spoke.
Nolan's.
“How many names?”
“Enough to bring down half the waterfront.”
“Then we take it to Evelyn.”
“We can't. Victor knows about her.”
“Who told him?”
My father hesitated.
“I think someone inside the investigation.”
The recording crackled.
Then my father said something that made my blood run cold.
“If they find Olivia, they'll use her to get the ledger.”
Nolan answered immediately.
“Then they won't find her.”
The tape ended.
I sat frozen.
A sound came from the doorway.
I turned.
Nolan stood there.
His expression was unreadable.
“How did you get in?”
I held up the letter.
“My father knew I'd come.”
Nolan stared at the paper.
Then slowly entered.
“I should have told you about this room.”
“Yes. You should have.”
He looked around.
“I haven't been down here since the night he disappeared.”
“Why?”
“Because this room is where I learned how badly I'd failed him.”
I stood.
“Stop speaking in riddles.”
Nolan nodded.
Then pulled a chair across from me.
“Eight years ago, your father uncovered evidence against Victor. We planned to deliver it to a federal investigator. But Victor intercepted our communications.”
“And the warehouse?”
“It was supposed to be our meeting place.”
“You were ambushed.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you turn away when my father begged you?”
Nolan looked down.
“Because he asked me to leave him and go find you.”
I remembered the moment.
My father kneeling.
Nolan walking away.
“I thought you abandoned him.”
“I did abandon him.”
His voice broke slightly.
“Not the way you believed. But I left him there because he made me promise I'd get you out.”
“What happened afterward?”
“Victor's men shot him. By the time I returned, he was gone.”
“Gone?”
“Someone had removed him from the warehouse.”
“Who?”
“We never found out.”
I stared at him.
“And you told everyone he was dead?”
“Victor announced it first. A body was identified using falsified records. I couldn't prove otherwise, and I believed exposing what I knew would put you in greater danger.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was twenty-five, frightened, and surrounded by men who had worked for my father. I thought silence was the only way to keep you alive.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You were frightened?”
“Yes.”
“The great Nolan Voss?”
He met my eyes.
“Fear doesn't disappear because people are afraid of you.”
For the first time, I saw something behind the reputation.
A man carrying guilt.
But guilt didn't excuse eight years of silence.
I placed the letter on the desk.
“You should have trusted me.”
“I know.”
“You should have told my mother.”
“I know.”
“She died believing her husband was murdered.”
Nolan flinched.
That hurt him.
I was glad.
Then he reached into his jacket.
“I received this two days ago.”
He handed me a photograph.
It showed my father outside the grocery store.
The same picture from the envelope.
But this copy had something written on the back.
Tell Nolan the daughter has the key.
I looked up.
“What key?”
Nolan studied me.
“That's what Victor has been searching for.”
I thought of the wooden music box.
The one my father had insisted I keep.
And I realized with sudden horror that Kara knew about it.
She had helped me pack the storage unit.
She knew where everything was.
I grabbed my phone.
Nolan watched me.
“Olivia?”
I called the storage facility.
No answer.
I tried again.
Finally, an automated message told me the office was closed.
I looked at Nolan.
“We need to go to Queens.”
“Why?”
“Because my father gave me something before he disappeared.”
“What?”
“A music box.”
Nolan stood immediately.
“Where is it?”
“In storage.”
He was already reaching for his phone.
But before he could make a call, mine vibrated.
An unknown number.
A photograph appeared on the screen.
My storage unit.
The door was open.
Boxes lay scattered across the floor.
And in the center stood Kara Bennett.
She was holding the wooden music box.
Beneath the photograph was a message.
You have until midnight to bring Nolan Voss to Pier Nineteen.
May you like
Come alone.
Or your father dies for real this time.
