Chapter 2 - THE SECRET IN THE WALLI didn't sleep.
Neither did Hannah.
At three in the morning, she finally told me the truth.
Or at least part of it.
“His name was Caleb.”
She sat at my kitchen table with both hands wrapped around a mug of tea.
“He was Margaret's son.”
I stared at her.
“Margaret had another child?”
Hannah nodded.
“Older than Grant.”
“How old?”
“Thirty-four when he disappeared.”
I sat back.
“Disappeared?”
“That’s what they told everyone.”
“Everyone?”
She looked at me.
“You.”
My stomach tightened.
“What are you talking about?”
Hannah lowered her eyes.
“Grant told me Caleb died in a boating accident.”
“And?”
“He lied.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I met Caleb.”
Silence.
“You met him when?”
“When I was nineteen.”
I looked at the photograph again.
Hannah stood beside Caleb, smiling.
She looked young.
Happy.
Unafraid.
“He was kind,” she whispered.
“Why didn't you tell me about him?”
“Because Margaret made me promise.”
“Promise what?”
“That I'd never talk about him.”
“Why?”
Hannah's fingers tightened around the mug.
“Because Caleb was planning to expose the family.”
I stood.
“What family?”
She looked toward the dark window.
“The Holloways.”
Before I could ask another question, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice said:
“Mrs. Carter, you're making a mistake.”
I recognized the voice.
Grant.
“How did you get this number?”
“You should be asking how I got your daughter's location.”
My body went rigid.
“What do you want?”
“To remind you that you have sixty-seven hours.”
“I don't take orders from cowards.”
He laughed.
“You've always had a sharp tongue.”
“Where is Hannah?”
“She’s sitting ten feet away from you.”
I turned.
Hannah was staring at me.
Grant continued.
“I'm calling because you seem to think this is some little family disagreement.”
“What is it?”
“A warning.”
“No.”
He went quiet.
Then he said:
“You have no idea what Caleb discovered.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“You knew I knew?”
“We knew a long time ago.”
I froze.
“We?”
Grant hung up.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then I looked at Hannah.
“Pack a bag.”
“Why?”
“Because we're leaving.”
“Where?”
“A place Margaret doesn't know exists.”
Twenty minutes later, we were inside a storage facility on the west side.
Unit 318.
I'd rented it eleven years ago.
Nobody knew.
Not Hannah.
Not my accountant.
Not even Tony.
Inside was an old metal cabinet.
I unlocked it.
Hannah stared at me.
“What is that?”
“Insurance.”
I removed a dusty box.
Inside were dozens of handwritten notes, business cards, old restaurant receipts and photographs.
Hannah looked confused.
“Mom, what is all this?”
“People talk when they eat.”
I spread the papers across a table.
Names.
Dates.
Phone numbers.
Company records.
Political campaign donations.
Police contacts.
Lawsuit settlements.
One name appeared again and again.
Holloway Holdings.
I frowned.
Hannah leaned over.
“What is that?”
“I don't know yet.”
Then I saw a document.
A property transfer.
A warehouse on the Chicago riverfront.
Owner: Holloway Holdings.
Seller: Holloway Holdings.
Buyer: Holloway Holdings.
Three shell companies.
Same address.
Same lawyer.
I looked at the date.
Twenty-four years ago.
One year after my husband died.
Something about it felt wrong.
Then another document caught my attention.
A bank transfer.
$4.8 million.
Paid to a company called Crown Meridian Consulting.
I recognized the name.
Every server, dishwasher and cook in my diner had heard it.
Because ten years earlier, Crown Meridian had nearly purchased Carter’s Table.
They had offered me $1.8 million.
I'd refused.
Three weeks later, my health inspector suddenly found seventeen violations.
I fought.
They disappeared.
I had never understood why.
Now I did.
Someone had wanted my diner.
Why?
Hannah picked up a folder.
“Mom.”
I turned.
She opened it.
Inside was a blueprint.
The Holloway mansion.
She traced a finger along the lower level.
“What's this?”
I stared.
A hidden room.
Behind the wine cellar.
Then I saw something else.
A handwritten note.
Not mine.
Not Hannah's.
Caleb was here.
I looked at the date.
Nine years ago.
The same year Daniel Mercer disappeared from Chicago.
I heard a sound behind us.
A metallic click.
Hannah stopped breathing.
I slowly turned toward the storage unit door.
Someone was outside.
The lock moved.
Once.
Twice.
Then silence.
I motioned for Hannah to get behind the cabinet.
The door opened.
A man stepped inside.
Dark coat.
Black gloves.
He raised a gun.
“Where is the file?”
I stared at him.
“What file?”
He smiled.
Then he looked at Hannah.
“The one Caleb gave you.”
Hannah went white.
“He didn't give me anything.”
The man lifted the gun.
“You're lying.”
I stepped in front of her.
The gun came up.
Then somewhere outside, a car horn blared.
The man cursed.
He turned and ran.
I chased him into the corridor.
By the time I reached the parking lot, he was gone.
Only one thing remained.
A small silver key.
I picked it up.
There was a number engraved on it.
721.
Hannah came running.
“What does it mean?”
I looked at the key.
Then I understood.
Not a room.
Not an address.
A locker.
At Union Station.
And suddenly Daniel's warning made sense.
May you like
The next person who was going to betray me wasn't a stranger.
It was someone already inside my life.
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