Chapter 2 - The Ledger Beneath My Grandmother’s Floorboards
Adrian did not drive like a man who feared traffic.
He drove like traffic feared him.
The black sedan moved through Manhattan with Gabriel in front and two vehicles behind us.
I sat in the back, staring through the window.
My phone kept buzzing.
Messages from Evan.
Calls from numbers I didn’t recognize.
A text from Sloane.
You have no idea what you’re doing.
I showed it to Adrian.
He read it once.
“Did she threaten you before?”
“No.”
“Did you threaten her?”
“No.”
He handed the phone back.
“Then she’s frightened.”
“Everyone seems frightened.”
“You should be.”
I looked at him.
“That’s comforting.”
“I’m not trying to comfort you.”
“I noticed.”
He glanced at my cheek.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I assumed you had other emergencies.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“You’re difficult.”
“I’ve had a difficult week.”
“That explains the attitude.”
“That explains nothing.”
For the first time, he actually laughed.
It startled me.
The dangerous Adrian Bellandi apparently had a real laugh.
It lasted only a second.
Then the expression vanished.
His phone rang.
Gabriel answered.
“Boss.”
A pause.
“Understood.”
He hung up.
“Someone accessed Evan Cole’s private server.”
“When?”
“Fourteen minutes ago.”
“From where?”
“My office.”
That made me sit upright.
“Your office?”
“Yes.”
Adrian leaned toward me.
“Whatever Evan is hiding, someone believes you have enough information to expose it.”
We arrived at my apartment.
Nothing looked disturbed.
The door was intact.
No broken window.
No missing television.
Nothing.
I walked inside.
My grandmother’s old furniture stood exactly where it always had.
The kitchen clock ticked.
The refrigerator hummed.
Everything felt normal.
Too normal.
Gabriel moved through the rooms.
Then stopped.
“Here.”
A thin scratch marked the edge of the floorboard beneath the old dining table.
I swallowed.
“That’s where Grandma kept things.”
Adrian looked at me.
“Open it.”
I knelt.
Using a butter knife, I pried up the board.
Beneath it was a narrow metal box.
The lock had already been broken.
My heart sank.
Inside were old bank statements, handwritten ledgers, photographs and a small brass key.
The first ledger was covered in my grandmother’s handwriting.
I opened it.
Names.
Numbers.
Dates.
Companies.
Payments.
I turned page after page.
These were not ordinary payroll records.
They were construction accounts.
But some payments were impossible.
Millions moving between developers.
Political donations.
Private security firms.
Shipping companies.
Then I saw a familiar name.
Bellandi.
I looked at Adrian.
He stepped closer.
“Show me.”
I handed him the ledger.
He read one page.
Then another.
His face changed.
“My father.”
I nodded.
“Was he involved?”
“Yes.”
Adrian looked stunned.
“For thirty years I was told he built Bellandi Shipping from nothing.”
“He didn’t.”
“Then what did he build?”
I pointed to a column.
“The network.”
“What network?”
“I don’t know.”
He stared at the pages.
My grandmother had written one phrase repeatedly in the margins.
THE CIRCLE.
Adrian read it aloud.
“The Circle.”
Gabriel looked uneasy.
“You’ve heard of it?”
Adrian nodded.
“Everyone in our world has heard rumors.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“That there was a group of businessmen who controlled contracts, elections and property development through private agreements.”
“Who?”
“Never confirmed.”
I opened another page.
A list of initials.
A.B.
C.R.
E.M.
D.C.
And one full name.
Lawrence Cole.
Evan’s father.
I stopped.
“Evan’s father was involved.”
Adrian looked at the page.
“How?”
The next page answered.
Loans.
Bribes.
Fake bids.
Insurance fraud.
And a transfer of $7.2 million into a private trust.
My grandmother had highlighted it.
Underneath she had written:
IF LAWRENCE FALLS, HIS SON WILL BE USED.
I whispered, “Evan.”
Adrian nodded.
“Or someone wants him to look guilty.”
We found a second document.
A photograph of five men standing outside a construction site.
My grandmother had circled one man.
Lawrence Cole.
The man beside him was Adrian’s father.
A third man was unmistakable.
Judge Marcus Vale.
A fourth was former mayor Thomas Riker.
The fifth man had his back turned.
His face was hidden.
On his wrist was a distinctive black watch.
Adrian stared.
“I know that watch.”
“Who?”
He looked at Gabriel.
“Your boss.”
Gabriel’s eyes widened.
“I don’t own a watch like that.”
“No.”
Adrian pointed to the photograph.
“The man beside them.”
I looked closer.
A sign behind the men gave the date.
Sixteen years ago.
The man turned slightly.
I could see his jaw.
A familiar jaw.
I knew that face.
My father.
I felt all the air leave my lungs.
Adrian looked at me.
“Your father.”
“My father died when I was fourteen.”
“No,” I whispered.
“He disappeared.”
My hands trembled.
My mother had always said he abandoned us.
That was why Grandma hated talking about him.
That was why the subject was forbidden.
I turned the photograph over.
One sentence was written on the back.
HE DIDN’T BETRAY US. HE TOOK THE FALL.
The apartment door slammed.
Gabriel drew his weapon.
Adrian pulled me behind him.
Three gunshots struck the wall.
Glass shattered.
The attackers disappeared before Gabriel reached the hallway.
One thing remained.
A black envelope.
Inside was a single photograph.
It was of my bakery.
And beneath the photo were six words.
STOP OPENING YOUR GRANDMOTHER’S BOOKS.
Or we open you.
I stared at it.
Adrian took it from my hand.
His expression had become lethal.
“You’re staying with me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I have a business.”
“You have a target on your back.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“You were slapped in a restaurant three hours ago.”
“I was angry, not helpless.”
That made Gabriel smile.
Adrian did not.
He looked at me for several seconds.
Then his voice softened.
“I know what helpless looks like.”
Something in the way he said it made me stop.
He knew.
Too well.
He put the envelope in his pocket.
“Get what you need.”
“Where are we going?”
“My house.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You have a better idea?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“My bakery.”
Adrian looked genuinely surprised.
“You want to hide in a bakery?”
“It’s open all night.”
Gabriel laughed.
Adrian stared at both of us.
Then sighed.
“Fine.”
We drove to the bakery.
At two in the morning, I unlocked the door.
The familiar smell of cinnamon and butter greeted me.
My grandmother’s old mixer sat against the wall.
Photographs of my earliest birthday cakes lined the shelves.
I had rebuilt the bakery after her death.
It was the one thing in my life that had never asked me to be thinner, richer or more impressive.
It only asked me to show up.
Adrian walked around the kitchen.
“You built this?”
“With Grandma.”
“You bake?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“You seem offended.”
“I’m offended that you’re surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m impressed.”
The word caught me off guard.
Before I could answer, someone knocked.
Three times.
I froze.
Adrian moved toward the door.
Gabriel blocked him.
“I’ll check.”
A young woman stood outside.
She was holding a paper bag.
“It’s for Maddie.”
I opened the door.
“Who are you?”
“Your grandmother’s old assistant.”
My heart jumped.
“Mrs. Alvarez?”
She nodded.
“She told me to bring you this if anyone ever came asking about the Circle.”
She handed me the bag.
Inside was another ledger.
But this one had my name on the cover.
MADDIE BENNETT.
Underneath was a date.
Tomorrow.
May you like
And beside the date, a note.
THE WOMAN WHO OWNS THE BAKERY WILL CHOOSE WHO LIVES.
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