Chapter 4 - The Door Beneath the Mansion
The old cellar smelled of wet stone, dust, and secrets.
I descended the stairs with two trusted guards, carrying Isabella's photograph in one hand and a pistol in the other.
The combination still worked.
The heavy steel door swung inward with a groan.
Behind it lay rows of empty wine racks and a workbench covered in canvas. My father had used this room for private meetings. I remembered coming down here as a child, sitting beneath the table while powerful men spoke in voices they thought children couldn't understand.
My father had taught me that the family survived by keeping its secrets buried.
Apparently, he had left more than money and a name behind.
I found the second door behind the workbench.
It had no handle.
Only a small keypad.
I entered the numbers from the photograph.
17-04-09.
The lock clicked.
Beyond the door was a narrow room with a single desk, an old filing cabinet, and a security monitor disconnected from its cables.
A second photograph lay on the desk.
Isabella stood beside my father.
She was holding a brown envelope.
Written across the envelope were the words:
VINCENT MUST NEVER SEE THIS UNTIL HE IS READY.
My hands went cold.
My father had died six years earlier. Isabella had found this room sometime before the explosion, and she had apparently decided to hide evidence here.
Evidence she believed I couldn't be trusted to see.
I opened the envelope.
Inside were bank statements, handwritten notes, and copies of contracts belonging to companies I thought I knew. Several payments had been routed through shell corporations, then transferred into accounts connected to private security firms.
The dates stretched back almost five years.
The largest payments were approved by Luca.
The final document was an insurance policy.
Isabella had highlighted one sentence.
In the event of the primary beneficiary's death, controlling interest transfers to the designated successor.
The successor was Luca Rossi.
I stared at the document.
My brother would have inherited control of our empire if I had died in the explosion.
That alone proved nothing. Business succession plans were common in our world.
But at the bottom of the page was Isabella's handwritten note.
Luca changed the vehicle schedule.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
A sound came from the stairs.
I drew my pistol.
“Who's there?”
“It's me, sir.”
Anton appeared in the doorway.
He was breathing hard, his face pale.
“How did you know I was down here?”
“You ordered the basement sealed. I thought you might need security.”
“I didn't call you.”
His gaze dropped to the papers.
Something inside him seemed to collapse.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered, “She found it.”
“You knew about this room.”
Anton closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
I aimed the pistol at his chest.
“How long?”
“Since three weeks before the explosion.”
“And you said you were at the east gate that night.”
“I was.”
“Then why are you frightened?”
His eyes filled with tears, a sight so unfamiliar that I nearly lowered my weapon.
“Because I should have stopped it.”
The admission struck the air between us.
“Stopped what?”
Anton looked toward the staircase.
“Sir, there are people in this family who will kill to keep what your wife discovered buried.”
“Names.”
“I can't give you names without proof.”
I stepped closer.
“You have ten seconds.”
He swallowed.
“Your brother wasn't the only person involved.”
I felt my grip tighten.
“Who else?”
“Someone who was there when the bomb was planted. Someone who had access to the vehicle before it left the garage.”
“Who?”
Anton stared at me.
Then he said a name I had never imagined hearing.
“Your wife knew the truth about your own security team. She found out that someone had been selling our movements to your enemies.”
“Who was it?”
Anton looked me directly in the eyes.
“Me.”
I raised the gun.
He didn't move.
“I never wanted Isabella dead,” he said. “I swear that on my children's lives. I gave someone our route. I thought they wanted to frighten you into surrendering territory. I didn't know there would be a bomb.”
For several seconds, all I could hear was the faint dripping of water somewhere behind the walls.
“You sold my family out.”
“Yes.”
“And my wife died.”
His knees buckled, but he remained standing.
“Yes.”
I wanted to shoot him.
I wanted to make him feel even a fraction of what I had felt when I saw Isabella's body at the hospital.
Instead, I asked the only question that mattered.
“Did Luca order it?”
Anton opened his mouth.
Before he could answer, the security monitor flickered to life.
A grainy image appeared on the screen.
The estate's underground garage.
The date was fourteen months earlier.
The night of the explosion.
A man walked toward Isabella's SUV carrying a small black case.
He wore a dark suit.
On his right hand gleamed a ring bearing a tiny eagle.
Anton whispered, “God help us.”
The man turned toward the camera.
And I recognized his face.
It was mine.
Not me as I looked now.
Me as I had looked fourteen months earlier.
The footage showed Vincent Rossi entering the garage, placing the case beneath the vehicle, and walking away.
May you like
My own face stared back at me from the screen.
And suddenly, I had no idea which of my memories could still be trusted.
