CHAPTER 5: MY FATHER'S VOICE
“Son…”
The voice came from outside the shattered doorway.
I couldn't move.
For eleven years, I had carried the memory of my father's funeral.
The black suit.
The closed coffin.
The priest's voice.
The photographs.
The condolences.
My mother collapsing against the church pew.
I had watched them lower an empty coffin into the ground.
At least, that's what I had believed.
Now his voice was standing on the other side of my front door.
Alive.
Real.
And telling me not to let them take my daughter.
“Dad?”
Isabella's voice brought me back.
I pulled her closer.
Adrian was already moving.
“Down!”
A burst of gunfire tore through the hallway.
Glass exploded from the windows.
I dropped to the floor with Isabella beneath me.
Beatriz screamed.
The lights flickered.
Someone outside shouted.
“GET THE GIRL!”
My blood ran cold.
Not me.
Not Beatriz.
The girl.
Isabella.
I looked at Adrian.
He was crouched behind the wall.
“Who are they?”
“Black Meridian.”
“How many?”
“Enough.”
“Where's my father?”
Adrian glanced toward the doorway.
“He's outside.”
“Then why isn't he coming in?”
“Because he can't.”
“Why?”
“Because he's the reason they're here.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Adrian looked directly at me.
“Your father has been running from them for eleven years.”
Another burst of gunfire struck the wall.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
Isabella buried her face against my chest.
I whispered:
“Don't look.”
She nodded.
Adrian pointed toward the hallway.
“There.”
I followed his finger.
A narrow corridor led toward my father's old study.
The door was barely visible behind a fallen bookshelf.
“What's in there?”
“The key.”
“To what?”
“Everything.”
I grabbed Isabella's hand.
“Move.”
We ran.
Another gunshot cracked behind us.
We reached the study.
I pushed the door open.
The room smelled exactly as it had eleven years ago.
Old books.
Leather.
Dust.
And something faintly metallic.
My father's desk stood against the far wall.
I hadn't entered this room in years.
I suddenly remembered sitting beneath that desk as a child while my father worked.
He used to put one hand on my head and say:
“Whatever happens, never trust anyone who knows too much about you.”
At the time, I thought he was talking about business competitors.
Now the memory felt like a warning.
Adrian locked the door.
“They'll find us.”
“How long?”
“Not long.”
I looked around.
“Where is the key?”
Adrian pointed toward the desk.
“Your father designed this room himself.”
“So?”
“He built a compartment beneath the floor.”
I frowned.
“How do you know?”
“I helped him.”
I stared at him.
“You knew my father?”
“For twenty-seven years.”
“Then why did he fake his death?”
Adrian's expression darkened.
“Because they found him.”
“Who?”
“Black Meridian.”
“And what is Black Meridian?”
Adrian opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
Footsteps thundered outside.
He looked at the door.
“We don't have time.”
He dropped to his knees and ran his fingers along the floorboards.
“Here.”
He pressed one.
Nothing happened.
He pressed another.
Still nothing.
Then he looked at me.
“Your father said only you could open it.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at the floor.
Then I remembered something.
My father had a habit.
Whenever he was nervous, he tapped his wedding ring against his desk.
Three times.
Always three.
I walked toward the desk.
I knocked three times on the wooden surface.
Nothing.
I knocked again.
Three times.
A click sounded beneath us.
The floorboard shifted.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a small metal key.
And beneath it, a photograph.
I picked up the photograph.
My father was standing beside a woman I had never seen before.
She was holding a newborn baby.
I looked closer.
The baby had a tiny bracelet.
I recognized it.
Isabella had worn that same bracelet when she was born.
My hands began shaking.
“Who is she?”
Adrian didn't answer.
I turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
HER MOTHER MUST NEVER KNOW WHAT THE CHILD IS.
My heart stopped.
“Who is Isabella's mother?”
Adrian looked at Beatriz.
Beatriz was staring at the photograph.
Her face had become completely expressionless.
I turned toward her.
“You knew.”
She shook her head.
“I didn't.”
“You knew.”
“I knew there were secrets.”
“You knew my daughter wasn't what I thought she was.”
“She is your daughter.”
“Then why does this photograph exist?”
Beatriz started crying.
“Because your father wanted you to believe that.”
I stared at her.
“Believe what?”
“That Isabella was yours.”
Silence.
Then the door shook violently.
Someone was trying to break it down.
Adrian grabbed the key.
“We have to go.”
“No.”
I stepped toward Beatriz.
“I'm not leaving until she tells me.”
Adrian grabbed my shoulder.
“If we stay, your daughter dies.”
That stopped me.
I looked at Isabella.
She was standing in the corner, terrified.
I took her hand.
“Come on.”
We moved toward the hidden passage behind the bookcase.
Adrian opened it.
A narrow tunnel descended into darkness.
I stared inside.
“Where does this lead?”
“To the old garage.”
“We have a garage.”
“Not that one.”
He stepped inside.
I followed with Isabella.
Beatriz came behind us.
The hidden door closed.
Darkness swallowed us.
We walked for what felt like several minutes.
Then we heard something.
A faint ringing.
My phone.
I pulled it out.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a man's voice whispered:
“You should have stayed in Dubai.”
I froze.
“Who are you?”
A pause.
Then:
“You already know.”
The call ended.
Adrian looked at me.
“Don't answer again.”
“Why?”
“Because they can track you through the call.”
I looked at the screen.
The number disappeared.
We reached the end of the tunnel.
Adrian pushed open a metal door.
We emerged into an underground garage.
A black SUV was waiting.
But nobody was inside.
Adrian opened the driver's door.
“Get in.”
I put Isabella in the back.
Beatriz followed.
I was about to enter when I noticed something.
A small red light under the dashboard.
Blinking.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I stopped.
“Adrian.”
He turned.
“What?”
I pointed.
He immediately pulled Isabella back out.
“Everybody out!”
We jumped away from the vehicle.
Seconds later, the SUV exploded.
The blast threw us across the concrete.
My ears rang.
Smoke filled the garage.
I searched frantically.
“Isabella!”
“Dad!”
I heard her voice.
She was alive.
I crawled toward her.
Then I saw Beatriz.
She wasn't moving.
I reached her.
“Beatriz!”
Nothing.
I checked her pulse.
There.
Weak.
Alive.
Then footsteps echoed through the smoke.
Someone was walking toward us.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Adrian grabbed my arm.
“Get up.”
“Who?”
“Not now.”
The figure emerged from the smoke.
An older man.
Tall.
Gray hair.
Blood running down one side of his face.
He stopped several feet away.
I stared at him.
My heart stopped.
He looked exactly like the man in my childhood photographs.
The same eyes.
The same scar above his eyebrow.
The same voice.
“Son.”
I couldn't speak.
He looked at Isabella.
Then at me.
“I know you have questions.”
I finally found my voice.
“Are you my father?”
The man nodded.
“Yes.”
My knees nearly gave out.
I took one step toward him.
“Why?”
He looked at Isabella.
“Because I had to keep you alive.”
I shook my head.
“You abandoned me.”
“I saved you.”
“You let me believe you were dead.”
“I had no choice.”
“You let me bury you.”
“I know.”
“You watched me grow up.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you come back?”
His eyes filled with something I had never seen in them before.
Fear.
“Because every time I came close…”
He looked at Isabella.
“They came closer to her.”
I stared at my daughter.
“What does Isabella have to do with them?”
My father didn't answer.
Instead, he looked at Adrian.
“Did he tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
My father closed his eyes.
Then whispered:
“The truth about Isabella.”
I tightened my grip around my daughter's hand.
“What truth?”
My father looked directly at me.
“She isn't being hunted because she's my granddaughter.”
He paused.
“She is being hunted because she is the only person alive who can unlock Black Meridian's entire system.”
I stared at him.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small photograph.
He handed it to me.
It showed Isabella as a baby.
But behind her crib stood three men.
One was my father.
One was Adrian.
And the third man…
I recognized immediately.
Beatriz's former husband.
A man I had been told died in a car accident before I ever met her.
I looked at my father.
“Why is he here?”
My father whispered:
“Because Beatriz didn't marry you by accident.”
I turned toward my wife.
She was still unconscious on the concrete.
My father's next words froze me.
“She married you because she was ordered to.”
Then, from somewhere in the darkness, a woman's voice spoke.
“She was ordered by me.”
I turned.
A woman stepped out from behind the concrete pillars.
She was holding a gun.
My father went completely still.
I recognized her face from the photograph.
The woman who had been holding Isabella as a newborn.
She smiled.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
I stared at her.
“Who are you?”
She looked at Isabella.
Then back at me.
May you like
And said:
“I'm Isabella's mother.”
