Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT RAPHAEL FINALLY REMEMBEREDSloan spent the next day under armed protection.
She hated it.
Raphael hated it more.
“You're not leaving the house.”
“I work here.”
“You can work from the kitchen.”
“That isn't the point.”
“Then what is?”
She looked at him.
“You're treating me like a prisoner.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“There is a difference.”
“Yes.”
“What difference?”
Raphael's expression softened.
“A prisoner doesn't have a choice.”
He rolled closer.
“You do.”
Sloan stared at him.
“Then let me choose to stay.”
He went silent.
Something passed between them.
Something neither dared name.
That evening, Raphael's pain began earlier than usual.
1:56.
Sloan found him shaking.
“You're remembering.”
He nodded.
“Don't let me sleep.”
“Why?”
“Every time I sleep…”
He clenched his eyes.
“…I see the marina.”
“What happens?”
“Fire.”
“And then?”
“Marco turns.”
“Toward what?”
Raphael's breathing became ragged.
“Someone.”
“Who?”
“I can't see.”
“Try.”
He grabbed her wrist.
“Stay.”
“I am.”
The room blurred for him.
He whispered,
“Silver watch.”
Sloan's eyes widened.
“Charles.”
“No.”
Raphael's expression changed.
“Red scarf.”
“Victor?”
“No.”
He shook his head violently.
“Not them.”
“Who?”
A scream tore from him.
Sloan held his shoulders.
“Raphael!”
“I remember!”
“What?”
“The driver.”
“Marco?”
“He wasn't surprised.”
Silence.
“What do you mean?”
“He knew.”
Raphael's hands shook.
“He looked at me and said…”
His voice broke.
“He said, ‘I'm sorry, boss.’”
Sloan froze.
Then the memory sharpened.
Another image.
A red scarf.
A woman.
Standing near the marina.
Raphael's eyes opened.
“It was a woman.”
Sloan stared.
“Who?”
He whispered the name.
“Isabella.”
Sloan frowned.
“Who is Isabella?”
“My father's former accountant.”
“Dead?”
Raphael nodded.
“At least that's what I was told.”
Sloan felt a cold wave pass through her.
“Maybe she wasn't.”
They found Isabella's name buried in old property records.
She had disappeared eighteen months before Raphael's accident.
Officially, she had fled after stealing company funds.
Unofficially, she had been investigating the same financial network Daniel had discovered.
But there was more.
Three months before the accident, Isabella had sent Daniel a message.
ONE OF THEM IS LYING TO RAPHAEL ABOUT THE LEGACY.
Daniel's reply was only four words.
I KNOW WHO.
The message had been erased.
Except it wasn't erased from the backup.
The file was hidden inside an old server.
And the password was Daniel's birthday.
Raphael stared at the recovered message.
“Who did he know?”
Sloan said nothing.
Gus entered.
“Me.”
Raphael looked up.
“What?”
“I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Charles and Victor weren't alone.”
“Who else?”
Gus's eyes moved toward Sloan.
“Your father left something behind.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
“Where?”
Gus whispered,
“Inside the church.”
The Moretti family had an abandoned chapel on private land.
At midnight, Raphael, Sloan, Gus and Daniel Bishop entered it.
Under the altar was a hidden compartment.
Inside was a black leather ledger.
Raphael opened it.
Names.
Accounts.
Political donations.
Judges.
Port officials.
Police commanders.
And one final entry.
A name Sloan knew.
Margaret Ellis.
Her hospital patient.
Sloan's breath caught.
“What?”
Raphael looked at the page.
“The woman you were blamed for killing.”
“She wasn't supposed to die.”
“What?”
Sloan pointed.
“Her treatment was being altered before I touched the chart.”
Raphael read the note.
PATIENT ELIMINATED AFTER QUESTIONING.
Sloan covered her mouth.
“She wasn't a victim of an accident.”
“No.”
“She knew something.”
Raphael looked at another page.
The hospital.
The marina.
Daniel's death.
The financial transfers.
All connected.
Sloan's license had not been revoked because of incompetence.
It had been destroyed because the people behind the conspiracy needed her discredited.
Why?
Because Margaret had told Sloan something.
A week before she died.
Sloan suddenly remembered.
The old woman had squeezed her hand and whispered,
“Tell the Moretti boy his father was betrayed.”
Sloan had thought the patient was delirious.
She had forgotten.
Until now.
Raphael stared at her.
“She tried to tell you.”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember anything else?”
Sloan closed her eyes.
“She mentioned a room.”
“Which room?”
“Seven.”
Raphael looked at Gus.
“There was a warehouse seven.”
Gus nodded.
“Closed for years.”
Raphael's expression changed.
“We go now.”
Warehouse Seven contained no drugs.
No weapons.
No money.
Only an old wooden crate.
Inside were photographs.
Videos.
Audio recordings.
Daniel had been investigating for months.
And the final recording was dated two days before his death.
Daniel appeared on screen.
He looked exhausted.
“If you're watching this, I'm dead.”
Raphael stopped breathing.
Daniel continued.
“Rafe, I tried to tell you.”
A pause.
“Don't trust Charles.”
Raphael's face hardened.
“Don't trust Victor.”
Sloan glanced at him.
“But don't blame either of them for the whole thing.”
Daniel looked directly into the camera.
“They're working for the woman who started this.”
Raphael leaned closer.
Daniel said the name.
“Lucille Moretti.”
Silence.
Gus staggered backward.
“No.”
Raphael turned.
“Who is Lucille?”
Gus looked shattered.
“Your mother.”
Raphael's face went blank.
“My mother is dead.”
Gus whispered,
“She isn't.”
May you like
The screen went black.
And somewhere outside Warehouse Seven, a phone began ringing.
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