Chapter 4 - The Photograph That Was Never Supposed to ExistDominic ordered the mansion locked down before midnight.
Every entrance was guarded. Every vehicle was checked. Marcus stationed two men outside the room where I slept, though I insisted that I didn't need babysitters.
“Call them bodyguards,” Marcus suggested.
“Call them whatever you like. I'm still not paying them.”
For the first time that evening, he almost smiled.
“Believe me, Miss Carter, neither are you.”
The guest room was larger than my entire apartment. Cream-colored walls, polished furniture, a fireplace, and windows overlooking manicured gardens. The bed looked as if nobody had ever slept in it.
I sat on the edge of the mattress and studied my mother's letter.
Do not trust the man who wears my husband's ring.
Why had she hidden it? Why had she placed it inside a phone box that ended up in Dominic's mansion?
And why had someone waited fifteen years to threaten me?
At two in the morning, there was a soft knock.
I opened the door to find Dominic standing in the hallway with a glass of water.
“Sorry to disturb you.”
“Do mafia bosses usually deliver refreshments personally?”
“Only when their guests are asking questions nobody else can answer.”
He handed me the glass.
“I found something.”
We walked downstairs to his study. A laptop stood open beside a stack of old documents.
Dominic showed me a photograph from a surveillance archive.
It showed my father standing outside a warehouse in Brooklyn. He wore a dark overcoat and held a briefcase.
Behind him stood a younger Silas Vale.
The date on the image was October eighteenth, fifteen years earlier.
I recognized my father's face immediately.
He looked older than he appeared in the few pictures I remembered. His dark hair was streaked with gray, and a faint scar crossed his chin.
But it was the expression on his face that caught my attention.
He was afraid.
“He was meeting your uncle?” I asked.
“According to the original report, Daniel Carter was a bookkeeper who worked for my father. He disappeared the same night my father was murdered.”
“That's impossible. My mother said he died in a car accident.”
“Your mother may have believed that. Or she may have been protecting you.”
I stared at the image.
“Why would my father be working for your family?”
Dominic leaned against the desk.
“My father owned a shipping company. Several of its operations were legitimate. Others were used to move money and goods without attracting attention. Daniel kept the financial records.”
“You mean he was an accountant for a criminal organization.”
“Yes.”
“And my mother was a nurse who treated criminals.”
“Yes.”
I exhaled sharply.
“My family sounds delightful.”
Dominic's mouth twitched.
“I'm beginning to understand why you became a waitress instead.”
I shot him a look.
“What's wrong with being a waitress?”
“Nothing.”
“Good.”
“Though your coffee could kill a man.”
“That man ordered it black and drank the whole cup.”
“I noticed.”
I blinked.
“You were watching me?”
“I'm watching everything that happens in my establishments.”
“This is a diner, not one of your establishments.”
“Frank's landlord owes me money.”
I stared at him.
“You own the building?”
“I own the company that owns the building.”
“Of course you do.”
For one absurd moment, I almost laughed. Then I looked at the photograph again.
“Can you enlarge the briefcase?”
Dominic zoomed in.
A small silver clasp gleamed against the leather. Engraved on it were three letters.
C.V.
“Claire Vale?” I asked.
“No. My mother's initials were A.V.”
He stared at the screen.
“Claire used to mark important documents with her initials. She said it was the only way to remember which ones she'd already read.”
He opened another archive.
After several minutes, a scanned photograph appeared.
My mother stood beside a hospital bed. A young Dominic lay beneath the sheets, bruised and bandaged. My mother had one hand resting against his forehead.
Behind them, partly obscured by the curtain, stood my father.
He wasn't looking at the camera.
He was looking directly at Dominic.
And his expression was not that of a man visiting an injured patient.
It was the expression of someone saying goodbye.
My throat tightened.
“Why would my father be there?”
“I don't know.”
Dominic enlarged the image again.
This time, I noticed something in the corner. A second person stood behind my father, wearing a dark suit and a gold ring.
The same serpent-and-crown design.
Silas.
I felt the room tilt.
“My father knew your uncle.”
“He knew everyone in my father's organization.”
“But my mother warned me about the ring.”
Dominic nodded.
“Which means Silas may have been wearing your father's ring for a reason.”
“Or he killed my father and took it.”
Dominic said nothing.
The silence was answer enough.
Then we heard footsteps outside the study.
Marcus appeared in the doorway.
“Boss, I need you to see this.”
He placed a printed document on the desk.
It was a copy of a hospital discharge form dated fifteen years earlier. My mother's signature appeared at the bottom.
I leaned closer.
The patient listed at the top was Daniel Carter.
My father.
Status: deceased.
But beneath that, someone had handwritten a different note.
TRANSFERRED UNDER PROTECTIVE CUSTODY. NEW IDENTITY APPROVED.
I gripped the edge of the desk.
“My father was alive after the date they said he died.”
Marcus nodded.
“According to the hospital's internal records, he was transferred at 11:42 p.m. on October eighteenth.”
“Where?”
“That's the problem.”
He handed Dominic the final page.
The destination had been erased.
Dominic's expression became unreadable.
Then Marcus added one final detail.
“The transfer was authorized by a doctor who died six months ago. But the digital signature was entered into the system yesterday.”
I stared at him.
“Someone changed the records yesterday?”
“Someone wanted us to find them,” Dominic said.
He picked up his phone.
“Seal every file related to Daniel Carter. Nobody accesses the archive without my authorization.”
Marcus nodded and disappeared.
I looked at the hospital form once more.
“Dominic, what if my father is still alive?”
He met my eyes.
“Then someone has spent fifteen years making sure you never find him.”
His phone rang.
He answered, listened, and went utterly still.
“What do you mean, she checked in?”
A pause.
Then his voice dropped to a whisper.
“Tell me exactly what room she's in.”
He hung up.
“Who was that?” I asked.
Dominic looked at me with an expression I couldn't read.
“St. Agnes Hospital.”
My heart lurched.
“Why?”
May you like
His answer was barely audible.
“Because a woman using your mother's name just checked herself into the emergency department.”
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