Chapter 4 - The Accident That Never Made Sense
Emily couldn't sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the same headlights.
White.
Blinding.
Fast.
She was nineteen again.
Screaming.
Glass.
Her mother's hands.
Her father's voice.
Then darkness.
She woke before dawn in Gabriel's guest room.
Her heart racing.
Someone was sitting outside the door.
Gabriel.
"You heard me."
He stood.
"You were calling for your mother."
She swallowed.
"Did you find anything?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"The original accident file."
He placed it on the table.
"I had someone retrieve it."
She opened it.
Police reports.
Medical records.
Photographs.
Then she saw the first inconsistency.
The truck supposedly hit their vehicle at seventy miles an hour.
But there were no brake marks.
"Why didn't my father brake?"
"He did."
"What?"
"Look."
Gabriel showed her another photograph.
The brake line had been cut.
Emily covered her mouth.
"My father knew."
"He knew something was wrong."
"What happened then?"
Gabriel pointed to a second page.
"There was a second vehicle."
"A car?"
"An SUV."
"Following them."
Emily remembered.
A black vehicle.
She had seen it that night.
She had forgotten.
"Someone chased us."
"Yes."
"Who?"
"We're trying to identify it."
Emily stared at the report.
Then she saw something else.
A signature.
The investigating officer.
Gabriel recognized the name.
"Detective Harold Crane."
"Who is he?"
"Dead."
"When?"
"Three years ago."
"How?"
"Heart attack."
Emily looked at him.
"Nobody in this story dies naturally."
Gabriel's jaw tightened.
"Exactly."
They spent the day tracing old records.
Emily's mother had changed identities.
Her father had once worked for a financial network.
The accident had been part of a larger conflict.
And Matteo Rossi had been behind it.
But there was more.
Gabriel learned Matteo hadn't died when everyone thought he did.
He had escaped.
He had been building another organization.
And he wanted Emily.
Not dead.
Alive.
Because her father had hidden something inside her childhood memories.
Something that could destroy the organization.
"What could I possibly know?"
Gabriel asked.
"Maybe you saw something."
"I was nineteen."
"You might remember sounds."
"I don't."
"You remember more than you think."
That night, Gabriel brought her to the old family estate.
The place had been abandoned for years.
Dust covered the floors.
Portraits hung crookedly on the walls.
Emily walked through the hallway.
Something felt familiar.
She stopped.
"Wait."
Gabriel turned.
"What?"
"There was a room."
"Which one?"
"The library."
They entered.
She ran her fingers across the bookshelves.
One section clicked.
A hidden panel opened.
Inside was a small wooden box.
Gabriel stared.
"How did you know?"
"I don't know."
She opened it.
Inside was a cassette tape.
A photograph.
And a key.
Gabriel found an old player.
The recording began.
Emily's father's voice.
"If you're listening to this, then I failed."
Emily began crying.
"I need you to remember one thing. Never trust the man who says he loves your mother."
Gabriel looked at her.
The recording continued.
"Because the man who loves her is the man who sold us out."
A second voice appeared.
Her mother's.
"Run."
The tape stopped.
Emily stared.
"Sold us out."
Gabriel was silent.
"Who?"
They didn't know.
Then footsteps came from upstairs.
Gabriel reached for his weapon.
Emily whispered:
"Someone is here."
A man stepped into the doorway.
He was older.
Silver cuff links.
Scar across his eyebrow.
Victor had been right.
The man looked at Emily.
"Hello, sweetheart."
Gabriel stepped in front of her.
"Who are you?"
The man smiled.
"Matteo Rossi."
Gabriel froze.
His uncle.
Alive.
Matteo raised both hands.
"Easy."
Gabriel's weapon remained pointed at him.
"You killed my father."
Matteo smiled.
"Your father betrayed me first."
Emily stepped out from behind Gabriel.
"Where is my mother?"
Matteo looked at her.
"She is waiting for you."
"Where?"
"Where this began."
"What does that mean?"
Matteo's smile widened.
"Marseille."
Then he fired at the ceiling.
The lights went out.
By the time they returned, Matteo was gone.
On the floor lay one thing.
A photograph of Emily's mother.
Alive.
May you like
And beneath it, a handwritten message.
"Bring Gabriel."
