Chapter 4 - The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
For the rest of the drive, Isabella said nothing.
Her father's name had become a ghost in her life long ago.
Rafael Sinclair died when she was twenty-two.
At least that was what she had been told.
The official story was a boating accident.
A body had been recovered.
A funeral had been held.
Her grandmother had spent the next year wearing black.
Isabella had never questioned it.
Until now.
"You're saying my father is alive?"
"I'm saying I don't believe he died."
"That's impossible."
"Impossible is a word people use when they haven't found the right file."
She looked at him.
"How do you know?"
"Because my father received a letter two months after Rafael's death."
"What did it say?"
"He is alive. Do not look for him."
"Who wrote it?"
"We never knew."
They arrived at an old Vukov property outside the city.
The house was smaller than Lorenzo's residence, but heavily guarded.
He took her inside.
A man sat near the fireplace.
Isabella stopped.
The man was older.
Thinner.
His hair was gray.
There was a scar across his eyebrow.
But she knew the eyes.
She knew those eyes.
"Dad?"
The man stood.
Neither spoke.
Then his face broke.
"Isabella."
Her knees nearly failed.
She crossed the room.
He held her.
She cried the way children cry when they have finally found the person they thought they lost forever.
Lorenzo turned away.
Rafael held his daughter tightly.
"I wanted to come home."
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because staying away kept you alive."
"You let me believe you were dead."
"I thought grief was safer than a funeral."
She pulled back.
"You don't get to say that."
"I know."
"You watched me grow up without you."
"I know."
"You let Grandma suffer."
Tears filled his eyes.
"I know."
Lorenzo finally spoke.
"Tell her everything."
Rafael nodded.
"The ledger wasn't a ledger."
Isabella stared.
"What?"
"It was a list of people."
"People?"
"Children."
She frowned.
"What children?"
"Children taken from families by organized crime networks. People used false identities, changed names, moved children between countries, and erased records. The money trail was in the ledger, but the names were the real secret."
Isabella felt sick.
"My father was involved in that?"
"I was involved in stopping it."
"And Anton Vukov?"
"Your father helped me."
Rafael looked at Lorenzo.
"Your father wanted to stop his brother."
Lorenzo's expression was unreadable.
"Why didn't you?"
Rafael gave a bitter smile.
"Because Viktor killed everyone who tried."
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out an envelope.
"For you."
Isabella opened it.
Inside was a Christmas card.
Her grandmother's handwriting.
For Isabella, when Christmas finally tells the truth.
She stared at it.
"She knew?"
"She knew where I was."
"When did she write this?"
"The week before she died."
Isabella's fingers shook.
There was something else inside.
A key.
Small.
Brass.
Stamped with the number 12.
Lorenzo took it.
"Warehouse twelve."
Rafael nodded.
"At the old river port."
"Is the ledger there?"
"No."
"Then what's there?"
"The truth about who ordered my death."
Lorenzo's gaze sharpened.
"Viktor."
Rafael shook his head.
"Not Viktor."
The room went silent.
"Then who?"
Rafael looked directly at Lorenzo.
"Your father."
Lorenzo's face changed.
Isabella stared at him.
"What?"
Rafael stood.
"Anton didn't order my death."
"Then why did you disappear?"
"Because Anton tried to protect me. Viktor discovered the plan. He attacked us. I escaped. Anton believed I was dead. By the time he realized I had survived, too many people were hunting me."
Lorenzo said nothing.
Rafael continued.
"I stayed hidden because the person running the operation was closer than anyone realized."
"Who?"
Rafael looked at the door.
Then at Isabella.
"Your husband."
Silence.
Isabella stepped back.
"No."
"He was recruited by Viktor through a shell company."
Adrienne.
Her husband.
The man who had kissed her goodnight for six years.
The man who had said he was stuck in traffic.
The man who had missed Christmas.
"He knew where I was?"
"Not at first."
Rafael took a breath.
"Then he found out."
The phone rang.
Lorenzo answered.
Mael's voice came through.
"We have a problem."
"What?"
"We traced the transfer documents."
Lorenzo's eyes hardened.
"Where?"
"To a trust registered in Switzerland."
"Whose name?"
A pause.
"Isabella Sinclair."
Her stomach dropped.
Lorenzo looked at her.
"That's impossible."
"I know," Mael said.
"Anything else?"
"Yes. The account was created eleven years ago."
Rafael closed his eyes.
"The night I disappeared."
Isabella sat down.
Everything was connected.
Her father's death.
The missing ledger.
Adrienne.
Viktor.
Her name.
The Christmas party.
Lorenzo.
And suddenly she understood one terrifying possibility.
Maybe she had not accidentally married the wrong man.
Maybe Adrienne had married her on purpose.
She whispered, "Why me?"
Rafael answered.
"Because your father trusted you."
"I was twenty-two."
"You had no idea what he gave you."
"What did he give me?"
Rafael looked at the key.
"Your memory."
Her breath caught.
"You remember the old Christmas tree?"
She nodded.
"Every year."
"Your father used to hide gifts under it."
"Yes."
"He hid something else."
Isabella's mind raced.
A childhood Christmas.
A red wooden train.
Her grandmother singing.
Her father kneeling beside the tree.
His voice.
Look carefully, Bella. Some things only look ordinary because people are afraid to see them.
She covered her mouth.
"I remember."
Lorenzo came closer.
"What?"
"My father gave me a music box."
"Where is it?"
"I don't know."
Rafael smiled sadly.
"That's the point."
Outside, a car stopped.
Mael entered.
"We've been found."
Lorenzo looked at Isabella.
"This ends tonight."
She stared at him.
"You're going after Viktor."
"No."
He looked toward the dark windows.
"Viktor is the distraction."
"Then who?"
May you like
Lorenzo said the name quietly.
"Adrienne."
