Chapter 3 - The Man in Scrubs
Dante hit the locked door with his shoulder.
Nothing.
The live image continued on the projector.
Samuel Kane entered Harper's room.
Harper looked toward him.
Dante struck the door again.
"Open it!"
No response.
On-screen, Samuel raised one hand.
Not threatening.
A warning.
Harper's nurse stepped between them.
Samuel said something the camera couldn't capture.
Then Harper suddenly pushed herself higher against the pillows.
She recognized something.
Dante searched the room.
No windows.
One vent.
Projector.
Chair.
Table.
The entire setup was designed to hold his attention.
He seized the projector and slammed it to the floor.
The image vanished.
Beneath the projector sat a small black device.
A signal jammer.
Dante crushed it beneath his shoe.
His phone immediately lit with notifications.
He called security.
"Harper's room. Now."
Then Vincent.
"Get Luca."
Silence.
"Dante."
"Get my brother."
"I can't."
"What does that mean?"
"Luca isn't home."
"Find him."
"His security detail says he dismissed them at midnight."
"Why?"
"He received a message."
"From who?"
"We don't know."
Dante's hand tightened.
"Find him."
He ended the call.
The lock on Room 417 clicked.
Dante opened it.
The hallway was empty.
He moved fast.
When he reached Harper's floor, two of his security men were already outside her room.
Dante pushed past them.
Harper was still in bed.
Samuel stood beside the window.
Dante crossed the room and grabbed him by the front of his scrubs.
"You have one opportunity to explain why you're still breathing."
Samuel didn't resist.
"Because killing me won't find Luca."
Harper said, "Dante."
He ignored her.
"Where is my brother?"
"I don't know."
Dante tightened his grip.
Samuel's voice stayed steady.
"But I know who took him."
"Name."
"First, you need to understand something about the night your father died."
"I don't need history."
"Yes, you do."
Dante shoved him backward.
Samuel struck the wall.
Doctors shouted.
Harper said more sharply, "Dante!"
He stopped.
Not because Samuel deserved mercy.
Because Harper was looking frightened.
And he refused to make her afraid of him.
Dante released Samuel.
"Talk."
Samuel straightened his clothing.
"Your father didn't die because of a rival family."
Dante said nothing.
"He died because he was leaving them."
"Leaving who?"
Samuel looked toward the medical staff.
"Not here."
Dante laughed once without humor.
"You've used that line already."
Harper spoke.
"Tell us."
Samuel looked at her.
"You shouldn't be involved."
"I became involved when someone put me in this bed."
Samuel considered that.
Then nodded.
"Northstar wasn't just a shell company. It was a network. Judges. Police officers. Port officials. Businessmen. Politicians. Criminal organizations."
Dante's face hardened.
"My father controlled it."
"No."
"Then who did?"
"Nobody knew."
"Convenient."
"Your father discovered Northstar was using his shipping infrastructure without his knowledge. Weapons. Money. People."
Harper's expression changed.
"Human trafficking?"
Samuel nodded.
"Dante's father wanted out. More importantly, he wanted evidence."
Dante stared at him.
"You expect me to believe my father suddenly developed a conscience?"
"No. I expect you to believe he loved his sons."
That struck harder.
Samuel continued.
"He knew Northstar would eventually use Luca and you as leverage. So he collected records."
"The missing archive pages."
"Yes."
"Where are they?"
"That's what Harper almost discovered."
Everyone looked at her.
Harper whispered, "The invoices."
"Not invoices," Samuel said. "Coordinates hidden inside invoice numbers."
Harper closed her eyes.
Numbers.
Dates.
Amounts.
She suddenly remembered.
"Storage facilities."
Samuel nodded.
"Across the city."
Dante asked, "What's at 417?"
"The final location."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
Dante stepped closer.
"Then how useful are you?"
"I know who does."
"Who?"
"Your brother."
Dante froze.
Samuel continued.
"Luca has known for six months."
"No."
"He found your father's second ledger."
"Why didn't he tell me?"
"Because he didn't trust you."
Dante's eyes darkened.
Samuel corrected himself.
"Not because he thought you were part of Northstar. Because he knew what you'd do."
"And what would I do?"
"Start a war."
Harper looked between them.
The words from the attackers suddenly made sense.
They had wanted Dante angry.
They had wanted exactly this response.
She whispered, "They're provoking you."
Dante looked at her.
"If you mobilize everyone," she continued, "Northstar sees who is loyal to you. Where they go. Who they call. Every safe house. Every account."
Samuel nodded.
"They attacked Harper because they knew you'd activate the entire organization."
Dante stared at his phone.
Wake everyone up.
His own words.
He had done exactly what they wanted.
"Vincent," he muttered.
He called.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Dante turned toward Samuel.
"Where's my office?"
Samuel understood immediately.
"If they planned this correctly?"
"Yes."
"Compromised."
Dante called Marco.
Nothing.
Lena.
Nothing.
Then his main security line.
Disconnected.
Harper looked at him.
"What?"
"They cut communication."
Samuel shook his head.
"No. That's not their style."
"What is?"
"They don't cut communication."
He looked directly at Dante.
"They replace it."
At that moment Dante's phone rang.
Vincent.
Dante answered.
"Where are you?"
Vincent sounded breathless.
"Office. We had a breach."
"Who's there?"
"Marco's down. Lena's hurt. Security is locking the building."
"Where's the box?"
"Gone."
"The watch?"
"Gone."
"The letter?"
"I have it."
"Get out."
"I can't."
"What?"
"Building sealed automatically."
Dante looked toward Samuel.
"Vincent, listen carefully. Don't trust the internal system. Shut off—"
A gunshot cracked through the phone.
Harper flinched.
"Vincent!"
Heavy breathing.
Then Vincent whispered:
"Someone's in your office."
Dante's voice became deadly calm.
"Who?"
Another pause.
"No."
"What?"
"Dante..."
Vincent sounded terrified.
"Your father."
The call disconnected.
Nobody in Harper's hospital room spoke.
Dante stared at the dead screen.
Samuel looked pale.
Harper whispered, "Your father is dead."
Dante slowly raised his eyes.
"That's what I was told."
Twenty minutes later, Dante was in the rear of an armored SUV headed toward Moretti Tower.
Samuel sat opposite him.
Harper had insisted on answers before Dante left.
Dante had promised he would return.
She had responded, "That's not an answer."
It was the closest either of them had come to acknowledging that both feared he might not.
Moretti Tower appeared ahead.
Thirty-six floors of dark glass.
Every light was off.
Except one.
Dante's office.
Top floor.
Samuel stared upward.
"They're waiting."
"Good."
"That's not confidence, Dante. That's stupidity."
"Stay in the vehicle."
"You need me."
"No."
"You don't even know what your father discovered."
"I know enough."
"That's exactly why they can manipulate you."
Dante opened the door.
Samuel grabbed his arm.
"If you see him—"
Dante looked down at the hand.
Samuel released him.
"If you see your father, don't believe the first thing he tells you."
Dante stepped onto the pavement.
The lobby doors were unlocked.
Inside, two security officers were unconscious but alive.
The elevators had stopped.
Dante took the stairs.
Thirty-six floors.
By the time he reached the top, his breathing was heavy but controlled.
The corridor outside his office was dark.
Vincent sat against the wall.
Blood stained his shirt.
Dante knelt.
"Where?"
Vincent opened his eyes.
"Inside."
"Are you hit?"
"Shoulder."
"Who shot you?"
Vincent looked toward the office.
"I don't know."
Dante helped him lean against the wall.
"You said you saw my father."
"I did."
"Alive?"
Vincent swallowed.
"He looked exactly the same."
That was impossible.
Thirteen years had passed.
Dante stood.
His office door was partly open.
Warm light spilled through the gap.
Someone moved inside.
Dante approached.
His hand touched the door.
A familiar voice came from the darkness.
A voice he had not heard since he was twenty-one.
"You still lead with anger, son."
Dante stopped.
The door opened wider.
May you like
A man stepped into the light.
And Dante found himself staring at his father's face.
