Chapter 8 - The CommissionerThe man in the photograph was Thomas Vane.
Former police commissioner.
Dead for ten years.
Or so the city believed.
I stared at the image.
Rafael's face had gone cold.
“He worked for your family?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“I don't know.”
He grabbed the photograph.
“I've seen him.”
“When?”
“Before Elena disappeared.”
I looked at him.
“What did he look like?”
“Older.”
“Where?”
“At a charity event.”
Three years ago.
A charity event connected to Rafael's foundation.
I remembered being there.
I had been standing beside Elena.
She had looked terrified.
I had assumed she was nervous around the press.
Now I understood.
She had seen Vane.
The supposedly dead commissioner.
Alive.
We searched every record we could find.
Thomas Vane had no recent bank accounts.
No driver's license.
No property.
No phone.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something.
His middle name.
Malcolm.
M.K.
My father's initials were Marcus Kane.
But his last name was not the only possible meaning.
M.K.
Could stand for Malcolm Kane.
A second person.
A person who had donated medical equipment to Bella's hospital.
I looked at Rafael.
“Your family doctor.”
“Dr. Kane?”
“You know him?”
“Yes.”
“First name?”
He thought.
“Malcolm.”
My heart stopped.
“That's him.”
I found the file.
Dr. Malcolm Kane.
My father.
I stared at the photograph.
My father's face.
Older than the last photograph I had seen.
But unmistakable.
I whispered:
“My father didn't die.”
Rafael said nothing.
I turned on him.
“You knew him.”
“No.”
“Don't lie.”
“I knew a Malcolm Kane.”
“That was my father.”
“I didn't know that.”
“You were paying him.”
“For security consultations.”
“He faked his death.”
“I didn't know.”
I stepped backward.
Everything I had believed about my life was collapsing.
My father had vanished.
My mother had refused to explain.
Three years ago, someone had shot me.
Now Bella had been kidnapped.
Elena was dead.
And Thomas Vane was supposedly alive.
Too many dead people were beginning to return.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One image.
Bella.
She was sitting inside a room.
Alive.
Beside her was Vincent.
And standing behind him was Thomas Vane.
Rafael saw the picture.
His expression changed.
“Call them.”
I did.
A voice answered.
Vincent.
“You finally found the commissioner.”
“You kidnapped my daughter.”
“Your daughter?”
Vincent laughed.
“You still don't understand.”
“Where is Bella?”
“Safe.”
“Let me speak to her.”
Silence.
Then Bella's voice came through.
“Sarah?”
My chest tightened.
“Bella.”
“I'm okay.”
I almost cried.
“Where are you?”
“I don't know.”
Vincent took the phone back.
“You have until midnight.”
“For what?”
“Bring the original ledger.”
“I don't have it.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“You've carried it for three years.”
I froze.
Rafael looked at me.
Vincent continued.
“Your father gave it to you.”
My blood ran cold.
“What ledger?”
“The one hidden in your scar.”
I looked down at my arm.
The scar.
The bullet wound.
No.
Impossible.
Vincent laughed softly.
“You never wondered why the bullet was never removed?”
I touched the scar.
Rafael stared at me.
Vincent continued.
“Because the bullet wasn't the only thing inside you.”
The call ended.
I looked at Rafael.
Neither of us spoke.
Then I remembered something from three years ago.
The surgeon.
The hospital.
The night I woke up after Warehouse Seven.
He had told me:
“There was metal embedded deeper than expected.”
But he had never told me what.
I ran to the bathroom mirror.
I examined the scar.
There was a tiny raised line beneath the skin.
A fragment.
Maybe.
I turned toward Rafael.
“We need a doctor.”
He nodded.
“Tonight.”
I looked at the clock.
11:17.
We had forty-three minutes.
Then a gunshot came from downstairs.
A guard screamed.
May you like
And someone shouted:
“They're inside!”
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