Chapter 2 - Eight Languages and One Dangerous Secret
Dominic dismissed everyone except three guards.
Charles was sent home.
The other interpreters were escorted away.
The room slowly emptied until only Dominic, Mave, Grigory, and the armed security remained.
Mave wished they had simply fired her.
Getting dragged into the world's most dangerous conversation was not part of her job description.
Neither was standing ten feet away from a loaded weapon while billionaire criminals stared at her like an unexpected puzzle.
Dominic gestured toward the empty chair.
“Sit.”
“I'd rather stand.”
“You've been on your knees for six hours.”
Mave blinked.
He had noticed.
“Sit.”
She sat.
Dominic placed a glass of water in front of her.
“Drink.”
“I don't want anything from you.”
“It's water.”
She stared at the glass.
Then drank.
Her hands were shaking.
Dominic noticed that too.
“What is your education?”
Mave gave a dry laugh.
“You're going to be disappointed.”
“I'll survive.”
“Two years of university.”
“Why didn't you finish?”
“My mother got sick.”
“What did you study?”
“Linguistics.”
Dominic's expression barely changed.
“You studied linguistics and became a cleaner.”
“Life is funny.”
“Who taught you the other languages?”
“People.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only answer.”
She set down the glass.
“My mother spoke French. My father spoke Arabic. My neighbors spoke Spanish. The processing center taught me survival Russian. I learned Portuguese from a woman who sold bread near the station. Italian from a retired chef. Georgian because I worked nights with migrants who spoke it.”
“And the eighth?”
“German.”
“Why?”
“Because the man who owned the shelter had a German wife.”
Dominic almost smiled.
Almost.
“Most people learn languages to become more important.”
Mave shrugged.
“I learned them because I was surrounded by people who didn't think I mattered.”
The statement landed harder than she intended.
Dominic's eyes stayed on her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Grigory laughed.
“You,” he said in English, “have no idea what you've stepped into.”
Mave turned toward him.
“I understood you perfectly.”
Grigory's smile disappeared.
Dominic's attention shifted.
“You know who you are dealing with.”
“I know enough.”
“No,” Mave said. “You know what people call you. I know what they say when they think nobody understands them.”
Dominic leaned back.
“And what do they say about me?”
Mave considered whether to answer.
“Depends on the language.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“In Spanish, they call you the wolf in the gray suit.”
She continued.
“In French, something worse.”
“What?”
“A king without a crown.”
“Russian?”
“The man who smiles before people disappear.”
Dominic's face remained still.
“And Italian?”
Mave looked at him.
“They say you're not as heartless as everyone thinks.”
That finally caught him.
“Who said that?”
“Your driver.”
Dominic's gaze flicked toward Marco, who was standing near the door.
Marco looked embarrassed.
Mave almost smiled.
Then Dominic returned to business.
“What did Grigory mean about our fathers?”
Mave turned to the large man.
He refused to answer.
Dominic spoke to him in Italian.
Grigory answered in Russian.
Mave translated.
“He says twenty-two years ago, your father took something from him.”
“What?”
“An account.”
Dominic frowned.
“What account?”
“A ledger.”
“What was in it?”
“Names.”
“Whose names?”
Mave's expression changed.
“Families.”
Dominic went silent.
“What kind of families?”
“The kind your father promised would never be harmed.”
Grigory leaned forward.
“He has it,” Grigory said.
Mave translated.
Dominic stared.
“Who has what?”
“The ledger.”
“Who?”
Grigory looked directly at Mave.
Then he laughed.
Her stomach dropped.
“What?”
Mave's voice went quiet.
“He says you do.”
“I don't.”
Grigory answered immediately.
“You have it. Your father hid it in the only place nobody would search.”
Dominic turned toward Mave.
“What place?”
Mave's mouth went dry.
“Your house.”
Dominic stood.
“No one leaves.”
The security system activated.
Doors locked.
Elevators stopped.
Mave stood as well.
“I need to go.”
Dominic looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because this is your problem.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“It became yours the moment Grigory recognized you.”
Mave shook her head.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
She looked at Grigory.
“He recognized my father.”
“Yes.”
“My father died seventeen years ago.”
“Yes.”
“My mother told me never to mention his name around men like your family.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because she said my father owed someone a debt.”
“What kind of debt?”
“I never knew.”
Dominic studied her.
“Your father’s name.”
Mave whispered it.
“Lucien Laurent.”
Grigory swore.
Dominic's jaw tightened.
He knew the name.
Mave saw it instantly.
“You know him.”
“My father mentioned him.”
“How?”
“He called him a courier.”
Mave's expression hardened.
“He was more than that.”
“What was he?”
“My father was a translator.”
Dominic waited.
“He translated for people who couldn't afford to make mistakes.”
“And?”
“And sometimes those people were criminals.”
Dominic nodded slowly.
“That doesn't explain why Grigory recognizes you.”
Mave's eyes dropped.
“Because my father's last assignment wasn't translation.”
“What was it?”
She looked up.
“He stole something.”
Grigory said something rapidly in his own language.
Mave translated.
“He says your father didn't steal the ledger.”
Dominic frowned.
“Then who did?”
Grigory looked at Mave.
“Your mother.”
Mave stopped breathing.
“No.”
Grigory repeated it.
“Your mother took it.”
Mave backed away.
“My mother died believing she had nothing.”
“She lied.”
Mave felt the room tilt.
Her entire childhood flashed through her mind.
Her mother's locked wooden chest.
The old apartment.
The strange arguments at night.
Her father's photograph turned face down every time visitors came.
The day her father died.
The sentence her mother repeated until it became a prayer.
We survive by forgetting.
Dominic saw the realization in her face.
“You know where it is.”
“I don't.”
“You do.”
“I don't.”
“You just remembered something.”
Mave's breathing quickened.
There was an image.
A box.
A blue box.
Hidden beneath loose floorboards.
She had been thirteen.
Her father had been alive.
He had knelt beside her and said, “If anyone ever asks about this, you never saw it.”
Mave had forgotten the rest.
Or convinced herself she had.
Dominic's voice pulled her back.
“Mave.”
She looked at him.
“The ledger.”
“I might know where something was.”
“Then we're going.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
She stared at him.
“You're taking me to my childhood home?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Dominic's eyes were cold.
“Because I have a feeling we have been searching for the same ghost for twenty-two years.”
Two hours later, a black SUV stopped outside a narrow apartment building in Queens.
Mave stared through the window.
She had not returned in thirteen years.
Her childhood home looked smaller than memory.
Dominic stepped out first.
Mave followed.
A strange sensation crawled beneath her skin.
The hallway smelled like dust and old paint.
Her hand trembled as she opened the apartment door.
The place was empty.
Then she saw it.
A scratch on the wall.
Exactly where she remembered it.
She walked to the bedroom.
Dropped to her knees.
Pressed her fingertips against the floorboard.
One board was loose.
Dominic watched as she lifted it.
Beneath it sat a small blue metal box.
Mave's heartbeat became thunder.
She lifted it carefully.
Inside was not a ledger.
There was a photograph.
An old key.
And a note written in her father's handwriting.
Mave read it silently.
Then she looked at Dominic.
“What does it say?”
Her voice broke.
“It says…”
She turned the note over.
There were seven words.
THE LEDGER WAS NEVER IN THE HOUSE.
A second line appeared beneath them.
ASK THE WOMAN WHO RAISED YOU.
Mave stared at the handwriting.
Her mother had lied to her.
But the worst part was still coming.
May you like
Because her mother's death certificate had been filed twelve years ago.
And Mave had personally watched her coffin lowered into the ground.
