Chapter 3 - The Secret Beneath the Number Seventeen
The attack lasted twelve minutes.
It felt like an hour.
When it ended, the mansion was surrounded by armed security.
Three intruders were captured.
Two escaped.
One left a message.
A single envelope.
Inside was a photograph of me as a child.
On the back:
WHERE IS THE KEY?
I couldn't stop shaking.
Adrian noticed.
He poured me water.
“Sit.”
“I want to go home.”
“You can't.”
“This is because of you.”
“No.”
“Because of my father?”
“Yes.”
“I don't care.”
“You should.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because people are willing to kill for what your father left behind.”
“What did he leave?”
“A ledger.”
“You already said that.”
“No.”
His eyes hardened.
“I didn't tell you what was inside it.”
I waited.
“Politicians.”
“Police.”
“Judges.”
“Business owners.”
“People connected to three criminal families.”
I stared.
“And your family?”
“Yes.”
“What about you?”
“My name is in it.”
That surprised me.
“Doing what?”
“Paying people.”
My stomach turned.
“You're admitting it?”
“I don't deny my past.”
“Then what am I supposed to think?”
“That I'm trying to end it.”
“How?”
“By finding the person using the ledger to rebuild the network.”
He showed me a photograph.
A man I didn't recognize.
“Who is that?”
“Caleb Voss.”
“What does he want?”
“Control.”
The door opened.
Marco entered.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“We found the vehicle.”
“Where?”
“Two blocks away.”
“Anyone inside?”
“No.”
Marco handed Adrian a phone.
A message appeared.
Stop protecting the girl.
Adrian's jaw tightened.
Then another message.
She doesn't belong to you.
He stared at it.
I felt a strange chill.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
But his expression told me otherwise.
That night, I went to the library.
I found a box on the desk.
Inside were letters.
My father's handwriting.
One letter was addressed to me.
Ava,
If you're reading this, then they found you.
I know you may hate me.
You have every right.
But there are things I had to hide.
Your mother believed I was dead.
You believed I was dead.
That was the only way to keep you alive.
I started crying.
The letter continued.
The ledger contains proof that powerful people have been using Chicago's charities to move money and people.
I tried to destroy it.
I couldn't.
So I hid the key.
Where no one would think to look.
My daughter is the key.
I stared at the sentence.
Then at my pendant.
Adrian entered.
“You found the letter.”
“Yes.”
He read it.
“What does it mean?”
“I don't know.”
He looked at the pendant.
“Seventeen.”
I nodded.
He took out a map.
Chicago.
Then marked seventeen locations.
“One of these means something.”
“How?”
“Your father was obsessed with codes.”
We spent hours studying the map.
Then I saw something.
“Wait.”
I pointed.
“The seventeenth location.”
A church.
St. Vincent's.
“My grandmother used to take me there.”
Adrian looked at me.
“When?”
“Every Christmas.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“We go tomorrow.”
The next morning, we entered the church.
The priest recognized my name.
“You're Thomas's daughter.”
I froze.
“You knew him?”
“Yes.”
“What did he leave?”
The priest smiled sadly.
“A message.”
He led us to a small room.
Inside was a wooden box.
My name was carved into it.
Ava.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
My father.
My mother.
Me.
And Adrian's father.
On the back:
Trust the son when the world says not to.
I looked at Adrian.
“You think my father meant you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew me.”
“How?”
“My father killed him.”
I stared.
“What?”
Adrian's face was hard.
“My father ordered your father's death.”
My stomach dropped.
“Then why would my father trust you?”
“Because I turned against him.”
“You were involved?”
“Yes.”
“How old were you?”
“Nineteen.”
“That means you were a criminal before you were twenty.”
“Yes.”
I stepped away.
“You're exactly what I was afraid of.”
“I know.”
“And you think I can trust you?”
“No.”
He paused.
“I think you can choose.”
Then the priest entered.
“Mr. Kane.”
Adrian turned.
“What?”
“You should see this.”
The priest held an old security photograph.
A man standing outside the church.
Caleb Voss.
Watching us.
Adrian's face changed.
“We've been followed.”
The priest whispered:
“Not by him.”
“What do you mean?”
He pointed to the photograph's reflection in the window.
A woman.
I recognized her immediately.
My manager.
Samantha.
The person who had booked my hotel room.
The person who had given me my room key.
The person who had told me Room 414 was mine.
Adrian looked at me.
“She put you in Room 412.”
I felt sick.
“Why?”
He stared at the photograph.
“Because she wanted you to enter my bedroom.”
“For what?”
“To make it look like you were spying on me.”
May you like
“And why would she want that?”
“Because someone needed a reason to kill you.”
