Chapter 4 - Beneath the Restaurant Floor
Maison Étoile looked different after midnight.
Without customers, it felt almost haunted.
The chandeliers were dim.
The tables empty.
The kitchen silent.
Dominic walked beside me through the dining room.
“You worked here for how long?”
“Eight months.”
“And you never knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That there was another floor.”
He stopped beside a wine cabinet.
He moved three bottles.
A hidden mechanism clicked.
Part of the wall opened.
I stared.
“Of course.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Rich people really do build secret rooms.”
He almost smiled.
We descended.
The basement was older than the restaurant.
Brick walls.
Iron shelving.
Dusty wooden boxes.
Old ledgers.
Sealed documents.
My fingers ran over a shelf.
“Where is the register?”
Dominic handed me a flashlight.
“Find it.”
Hours passed.
We found nothing.
Then I noticed a discrepancy.
One shelf was newer than the others.
The wood had been replaced.
I touched the bottom.
“Here.”
Dominic called someone.
Two men arrived.
The shelf was dismantled.
Behind it was a narrow passage.
At the end stood a steel door.
Locked.
Dominic looked at me.
“Your pen.”
I laughed.
“You think my pen can open that?”
“No.”
He reached into his coat.
“I think the lock can.”
He pulled out an old key.
It fit.
The door opened.
Inside was a metal cabinet.
And inside the cabinet was a book.
Not a ledger.
A register.
Handwritten.
Signed.
Original.
I opened it.
The pages were filled with names.
Then I saw the last entry.
A handwritten note.
Thomas Russo had written it.
I read aloud.
“Should this record be discovered, the rightful beneficiaries must be restored.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
His father.
Still trying to protect people after his death.
I turned the page.
At the bottom was a second name.
Casey Miller.
I stopped breathing.
Dominic noticed.
“What?”
I turned the book toward him.
He stared at the name.
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Why is your name here?”
“I don't know.”
There was another entry.
Mary Miller.
My mother.
I felt dizzy.
Dominic caught my arm.
“Sit.”
I couldn't.
“Why is my mother here?”
He looked at the register.
Then at me.
“I don't know.”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Then I remembered something.
My mother had always told me my father died when I was a baby.
But she had never told me his name.
She had always said it was too painful.
I pulled out my phone.
Called her.
She answered weakly.
“Casey?”
“Mom.”
“What is it?”
“Who was my father?”
Silence.
Then she began to cry.
My entire body went cold.
“You knew,” I whispered.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From them.”
“Who?”
She breathed shakily.
“Your father worked for Thomas Russo.”
Dominic looked at me.
My mother continued.
“Your father discovered the trust.”
I closed my eyes.
“And then?”
“They killed him.”
I couldn't breathe.
Dominic took the phone from me.
“Mrs. Miller.”
My mother went silent.
“Who killed him?”
“I don't know.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever see Adrian Vale?”
Silence.
Then my mother whispered.
“Yes.”
Dominic's expression turned lethal.
“Where?”
“When Casey was six months old.”
I looked at him.
My mother continued.
“Adrian came to our house.”
“What did he want?”
“He wanted Casey.”
My blood turned cold.
“Why?”
“He said your father left something with you.”
Dominic looked at the register.
The answer was suddenly obvious.
I wasn't in the record because of my father.
I was in it because my existence itself was part of the protection structure.
I wasn't just a witness.
May you like
I was an heir.
And someone had spent twenty-six years making sure I never knew.
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