Chapter 3 - The Locked RoomWhen the lights came back, the library was empty of one person.
Adelaide.
Salvatore turned so quickly his chair crashed behind him.
"Mom?"
Nothing.
His men spread through the room.
Windows locked.
Doors locked.
Nobody had passed him.
Yet she was gone.
Ella was still under the table, clutching her rabbit.
Salvatore crouched beside her.
"Did you see Grandma?"
Ella nodded.
"Before the lights went out?"
Another nod.
"Who took her?"
Ella looked toward the fireplace.
"Grandma walked by herself."
"Where?"
She pointed.
"Behind the wall."
Salvatore's face tightened.
He stood and examined the fireplace.
Old stone.
Wooden panel.
A painting of his father hung above it.
He had seen that painting a thousand times.
Never noticed the strange brass hinge hidden beneath the frame.
He pulled.
The painting moved.
A narrow opening appeared.
A tunnel.
Salvatore's men raised their weapons.
"Stay here," he said.
They followed him.
The passage was barely wide enough for one person.
Dust covered the floor.
At the end stood a steel door.
Locked.
Salvatore heard something on the other side.
A soft knock.
"Mom?"
Three knocks came back.
He broke the lock.
The door swung open.
Adelaide was inside.
She was standing in a small room filled with shelves.
Boxes.
Old photographs.
Documents.
A large safe.
And on the floor, beside the wall, was the old black ledger.
Salvatore stared.
"You said you didn't have it."
Adelaide looked at the book.
"I said they didn't know where it was."
She walked toward it.
Then stopped.
"I knew you'd find this room one day."
Salvatore lifted the ledger.
"Why hide this from me?"
"Because your father wanted it hidden."
"Why?"
"Because he believed knowledge would get you killed."
Salvatore opened the cover.
The first pages contained names.
Hundreds.
Money transfers.
Shipments.
Political donations.
Police contacts.
Judges.
Corporations.
Bank accounts.
Some names belonged to men Salvatore had known personally.
Others belonged to people who had attended his childhood birthday parties.
He turned another page.
His mother's handwriting appeared.
One line had been circled in red.
DO NOT TRUST NOLAN.
Salvatore looked up.
"Mom."
She said nothing.
"Why did you write this?"
"I didn't."
He froze.
The handwriting looked exactly like hers.
Adelaide approached.
Her face had gone pale.
"I never wrote that."
Salvatore looked at the page again.
The date beside the note was twenty-two years old.
His father had been alive.
And Nolan had been a teenage employee at the estate.
"What happened twenty-two years ago?"
Adelaide shook her head.
"You don't understand."
"Then explain."
She stared at the ledger.
"Your father discovered that someone inside the family was selling information."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Mom."
"I truly don't."
Salvatore turned pages faster.
Every transaction was coded.
Names replaced with initials.
Locations reduced to numbers.
Then he saw something impossible.
A list of dates.
Five consecutive days.
The same five days Adelaide had been starved.
Beside each date was one phrase.
PRESSURE.
THREATS.
ISOLATION.
TRANSFER.
CONFESSION.
Salvatore stared.
"These aren't old."
Adelaide stepped closer.
"No."
"Who wrote them?"
She looked at the ledger.
Then at the locked door.
"Someone who knew what was happening to me."
Salvatore's pulse quickened.
"Someone was recording the five days."
"Yes."
He turned another page.
A photograph fell out.
It showed Adelaide sitting alone at a table.
Her hands were tied.
Her head was lowered.
On the back of the photograph was a time.
2:17 A.M.
Salvatore looked at his mother.
"When was this taken?"
Adelaide whispered, "Last night."
He stared.
Impossible.
The photograph was developed on glossy paper.
Still fresh.
Still carrying the scent of chemical processing.
Then his phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
YOU ARE LOOKING IN THE WRONG HOUSE.
Salvatore frowned.
Another message arrived.
YOUR MOTHER WAS NOT THE TARGET.
He looked at Adelaide.
"What does that mean?"
Her eyes widened.
Before she could answer, Ella spoke from the doorway.
"Uncle Salvatore?"
He turned.
The child was pale.
She held up her stuffed rabbit.
"There's a camera inside Bunny."
Silence.
Salvatore slowly walked toward her.
"Who told you that?"
Ella whispered.
"Grandma."
Adelaide covered her mouth.
Salvatore took the rabbit.
There was a tiny seam beneath one ear.
He opened it.
Inside was a microcamera.
Still recording.
He looked at the lens.
Someone had been watching them.
Not just during the five days.
For much longer.
Then the recording indicator blinked.
And suddenly, from the camera speaker, a woman's voice played.
A woman's voice Adelaide recognized instantly.
"Salvatore..."
Adelaide stepped backward.
It was her own voice.
But Adelaide swore she had never made that recording.
May you like
The voice continued.
"By the time you hear this, I may already be dead."
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