Chapter 2 - The Promotion He Blocked Had Nothing to Do With Her WorkBy sunrise, Hannah was sitting inside Vincent Moretti's private office.
She hated the chair.
It was too expensive.
Everything in the office was too expensive.
The desk was dark walnut.
The walls were covered with abstract paintings that probably cost more than her apartment.
Even the water bottle Vincent had placed in front of her looked richer than her entire kitchen.
She stared at him across the desk.
He was reading a report.
“You're blocking my future.”
Vincent didn't look up.
“Yes.”
Hannah blinked.
“Well.”
He turned a page.
“You're not going to argue?”
“No.”
“That's incredibly irritating.”
His eyes lifted.
“You're welcome.”
She leaned back.
“You blocked my permanent position.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn't know who you were.”
“You know now.”
“That makes it worse.”
Hannah frowned.
Vincent slid a folder across the desk.
Inside was her employment history.
College records.
Addresses.
Bank accounts.
Medical information about her mother.
Hannah's face hardened.
“You investigated me.”
“Yes.”
“You had no right.”
“I have every right when someone is attacking my company.”
“I had nothing to do with that attack.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because the attack wasn't about the company.”
He opened another folder.
Photographs.
Warehouse fires.
Shipping containers.
Men entering buildings.
Numbers.
Dates.
Hannah's breath caught.
“What am I looking at?”
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
“Someone trying to recreate the events surrounding the warehouse explosion eighteen years ago.”
She looked up.
“Why?”
Vincent pointed to one photograph.
A blackened loading dock.
A red circle around a shipping container.
“This container arrived three days before the explosion.”
Hannah stared at the serial number.
She knew it.
Her mother used to write that number on old papers.
She didn't understand why until now.
“You recognize it.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“My mother kept a notebook.”
Vincent's expression changed.
“Where is it?”
“I don't have it.”
“You're lying.”
Hannah stood.
“Excuse me?”
“You do have it.”
“No.”
“You kept it after your mother died.”
“She had dozens of notebooks.”
“This one was blue.”
Hannah froze.
“How do you know that?”
Vincent didn't answer.
Her voice dropped.
“Did you know my mother?”
“Not well.”
“That's not true.”
Vincent stood.
“I knew what happened to her.”
“What happened?”
“She was going to expose someone.”
“Who?”
“My uncle.”
Hannah stared.
“Your uncle?”
“Matteo Moretti.”
She knew the name.
Everyone did.
Matteo Moretti had disappeared from Chicago seventeen years earlier.
Officially, he had retired overseas.
Rumors said something different.
“He caused the explosion?”
Vincent nodded.
“My father took the blame.”
Hannah's eyes widened.
“Why?”
“Because Matteo threatened to kill my younger brother if anyone talked.”
She swallowed.
“What happened to your brother?”
Vincent's eyes went empty.
“He died that night.”
Silence.
Hannah sat again.
For the first time, she saw the scar differently.
Not a symbol of power.
A reminder.
Vincent reached inside his desk and removed a small photograph.
A boy.
Maybe twelve.
Standing beside Vincent, smiling.
Vincent couldn't have been more than twenty.
“My brother Luca.”
Hannah stared.
“I’m sorry.”
Vincent took back the photograph.
“Don't be.”
She looked down at the file again.
“And my mother?”
“She helped my father discover what Matteo was planning.”
“Then why didn't she go to the police?”
“Because the police were already being paid.”
Hannah closed her eyes.
She suddenly understood why her mother had spent so many years looking over her shoulder.
Why she had never trusted unfamiliar cars.
Why she had never let Hannah tell anyone where they lived.
Why, after the explosion, she had changed jobs three times.
“Why did my mother never tell me?”
“Because she thought silence would keep you alive.”
Hannah stared at him.
“And now?”
Vincent's voice dropped.
“Now someone knows her daughter is alive.”
A chill moved through her.
“That's why they came.”
“Yes.”
“Because of my mother.”
“And something she left behind.”
“What?”
Vincent looked at her.
“The blue notebook.”
Hannah's mind raced.
Then a memory surfaced.
Her mother's old apartment.
A loose floorboard beneath the bedroom closet.
A blue notebook hidden inside a plastic bag.
Hannah had found it years ago and thrown it into storage because she thought it contained household expenses.
“I know where it is.”
Vincent's entire posture changed.
“Where?”
“At my apartment.”
“Daniel.”
The security chief appeared in the doorway.
Vincent didn't even turn.
“Send a team.”
Hannah immediately stood.
“No.”
Vincent looked at her.
“What?”
“It's my mother's notebook.”
“Exactly.”
“I'll go with you.”
“No.”
“I’m going.”
“Hannah.”
“You're not leaving me here while strangers break into my home looking for something I own.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
Then, surprisingly, he nodded.
“Fine.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
Vincent ignored him.
Hannah grabbed her coat.
As she passed the desk, she stopped.
“Vincent?”
“Yes?”
She glanced at the scar on his neck.
“Did your mother ever tell you what caused it?”
His expression changed.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“She wasn't there.”
Hannah studied him.
“Are you sure?”
Vincent said nothing.
And suddenly Hannah realized something terrifying.
The scar was not from the explosion.
At least not entirely.
May you like
Something else had happened that night.
Something Vincent had never told anyone.
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