Chapter 6 - The Box Beneath the FloorWe reached my former apartment shortly before dawn.
I had not wanted to return.
The building had always smelled of damp plaster and burnt cooking oil. The staircase groaned beneath every step, and the apartment door still bore the splintered scars from the night Nathan's men had dragged me out.
But somewhere beneath those ruined floorboards lay the only thing my father had left me.
Elias insisted on coming with me.
“Your men can search the place,” I said as we approached the apartment. “You don't need to risk yourself.”
He glanced at the armed guards surrounding us.
“I'm not worried about the apartment.”
“Then what?”
“You.”
I didn't know what to say to that.
He entered first, checking each room while Luca stayed near the doorway. The living room had been overturned. My clothes were scattered across the floor, the curtains ripped down, and the little wooden cradle I'd bought secondhand lay broken near the radiator.
Nathan had destroyed everything.
Everything except the framed photograph on the mantel.
It showed my father holding me when I was six, his eyes crinkling as I laughed at something outside the frame.
I lifted it carefully.
“He used to tell me that a person's greatest mistake was believing money could buy loyalty.”
Elias studied the photograph.
“Your father sounds like a man who learned the difference the hard way.”
“He worked at the docks. He died in a warehouse fire when I was fourteen. Everyone said it was an accident.”
Elias went completely still.
“What warehouse?”
“I don't remember the number. It belonged to a shipping company. I was too young to understand.”
“Do you remember the name?”
I searched my memory.
“Cross Meridian.”
Luca turned sharply.
Elias stared at the photograph in my hands.
“That warehouse belonged to Nathan's company.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“My father worked for him?”
“Possibly. I need to check.”
I hurried toward the bedroom.
Beneath the loose floorboard beside the wardrobe was a small metal box. I'd kept it hidden since childhood, never managing to open it. My father had given it to me shortly before his death and told me to keep it safe.
A narrow symbol was engraved into the lid: a crescent moon surrounded by two interlocking circles.
I'd always assumed it was decorative.
Elias saw it and swore under his breath.
“What does that symbol mean?” I asked.
“It's an old mark used by a shipping organization that disappeared fifteen years ago.”
“Which organization?”
“People who controlled the ports before I did.”
He examined the box, searching the edges until his thumb found a concealed latch. It opened with a small click.
Inside lay a brass key, several folded documents, and a black envelope sealed with red wax.
My father's handwriting covered the top page.
For Ava. If Cross ever comes looking for this, do not trust the police. Do not trust his lawyers. And above all, never trust anyone who tells you the warehouse fire was an accident.
My hands began to shake.
I unfolded the next page.
It contained names, bank transfers, shipping numbers, and dates. Hundreds of entries were marked with the same crescent symbol.
Elias took one glance at the documents.
His expression changed.
“This is an original shipping ledger.”
“Is it valuable?”
He met my eyes.
“It could bring down half the criminal organizations on the East Coast.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Three soft taps.
Luca raised his weapon.
Then the apartment lights went out.
Someone fired through the doorway.
Elias dragged me behind the kitchen counter as glass shattered above us. His guards returned fire, and a man screamed somewhere in the corridor.
I clutched the metal box to my chest.
When the shooting stopped, Luca appeared in the doorway.
“Boss, we have a problem.”
Elias looked up.
“How many?”
“Four attackers. Three are down.”
“And the fourth?”
Luca's expression tightened.
“He escaped with something.”
“What?”
Luca held up a torn piece of paper he'd found near the window.
It contained only one handwritten sentence.
THE MARKED TWIN MUST NEVER REACH THE VANCE FAMILY.
I looked at the box in my hands.
Then at Elias.
“What does that mean?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he took out his phone and called someone whose number I couldn't see.
When the person answered, he spoke five words.
“Bring me the birth records.”
Then he ended the call and turned toward me.
“Ava, your father wasn't just keeping financial records.”
He looked toward the nursery photographs on my phone.
May you like
“He was protecting someone.”
And for the first time, I wondered whether my father's death had been the beginning of something far more sinister than a warehouse fire.
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