Chapter 3 - The Photograph Hidden Behind My Mother's Bed
Dominic shoved me behind him.
The bathroom door opened.
A terrified orderly stepped out with both hands raised.
“Please don't shoot.”
Dominic wasn't holding a gun.
Not visibly, anyway.
The orderly looked about nineteen.
His face was gray.
“What happened?” Dominic asked.
“A man came in.”
“What man?”
“I don't know.”
“Where is Mrs. Holloway?”
“He took her.”
My knees weakened.
“She's sick.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you let him take her?”
The boy flinched.
Dominic looked at me.
“Grace.”
“No. My mother can barely stand.”
The orderly swallowed.
“He had hospital credentials. I thought he was a doctor until he locked me in there.”
“Did you see his face?”
“Yes.”
Dominic showed him Calvin's photograph.
The orderly nodded immediately.
“That was him.”
I turned away.
Calvin had my mother.
The man who hired me.
The man connected to my dead father.
The man who deliberately placed me inside Dominic Mercer's penthouse.
Dominic spoke into his phone.
“Lock every exit. Pull traffic cameras. Calvin Rooke has Eleanor Holloway.”
He listened.
“Alive.”
Another pause.
“Because if he wanted her dead, she would already be dead.”
I hated the calmness of that sentence.
I hated more that it made sense.
Police arrived.
Dominic's attorneys arrived almost as quickly.
That told me something about his life.
Ordinary people called lawyers after trouble.
Dominic Mercer apparently had lawyers who traveled at the same speed as ambulances.
I spent an hour answering questions.
Then another.
Nobody found Mom.
At 6:42 a.m., Dominic handed me coffee.
I didn't take it.
“You need something.”
“I need my mother.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
His expression hardened slightly.
“My mother died when I was seventeen.”
I looked at him.
He hadn't said it for sympathy.
That somehow made it worse.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
“I'm sorry.”
He nodded once.
We stood silently.
Finally, I took the coffee.
“Thank you.”
At seven, Mateo arrived.
He was Dominic's security chief.
Tall.
Forties.
Calm eyes.
He carried a leather folder.
“We found Crane.”
“Rooke,” Dominic corrected.
Mateo glanced at me.
“Rooke.”
“Where?”
“Not him physically. His history.”
He opened the folder.
“Calvin Rooke worked for Mercer Shipping from 1994 through 1999.”
“My father?” I asked.
Mateo looked at Dominic.
Dominic nodded.
“Daniel Holloway worked there too.”
“What did they do?”
“Internal logistics.”
“That sounds deliberately vague.”
Mateo almost smiled.
“It is.”
Dominic took the folder.
“April seventeenth.”
Mateo's expression changed.
“The fire.”
I leaned forward.
“Tell me.”
Mateo looked uncomfortable.
Dominic didn't.
“Tell her.”
Mateo opened another page.
“On April 17, 1999, Warehouse Four caught fire after midnight. Three employees were listed as killed.”
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Calvin?”
“No. Calvin disappeared four months later.”
“And the third?”
Mateo looked at Dominic.
“Anthony Mercer.”
Dominic's uncle.
I understood from his face.
“Your father's brother?”
“Yes.”
“Was his body found?”
“Yes.”
“And my father's?”
Mateo shook his head.
“No.”
The room went silent.
I stared at the report.
Daniel Holloway.
Presumed dead.
No remains recovered.
My entire life suddenly rested on the word presumed.
“Could he be alive?”
Dominic answered carefully.
“Yes.”
I stood.
“Then maybe Calvin knows.”
“He probably does.”
“Why take Mom?”
“To make someone move.”
“Who?”
Dominic looked at me.
“Possibly you.”
I laughed without humor.
“I'm a maid.”
“You're Daniel Holloway's daughter.”
“That means nothing.”
“To you.”
He closed the folder.
“Someone else disagrees.”
We left the hospital shortly afterward.
I refused to return to Dominic's penthouse.
He refused to leave me alone.
We compromised on a Mercer-owned hotel suite guarded by Mateo.
I hated that this felt reasonable.
I showered.
Changed into clothes someone bought from a nearby store.
Jeans.
Sweater.
Sneakers.
No designer labels.
I appreciated that.
Dominic arrived an hour later.
He had changed too.
Dark shirt.
Charcoal trousers.
No jacket.
He placed my plastic pasta container on the table.
I stared.
“You brought it?”
“You wouldn't stop talking about it.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
A real laugh.
It felt wrong.
Then it felt necessary.
Dominic sat opposite me.
“We found something else.”
The laughter disappeared.
“What?”
He placed an old ledger on the table.
“After my father died, I inherited private records.”
“Criminal records?”
“Business records.”
“That's not a denial.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
He almost smiled.
Then he opened the ledger.
Daniel Holloway appeared twelve times.
Payments.
Dates.
Locations.
The final entry was April 16, 1999.
One day before the fire.
Beside Daniel's name:
TRANSFER — E.H. + CHILD.
My throat tightened.
“E.H.”
“Eleanor Holloway.”
“My mother.”
“And you.”
I stared at the page.
“What transfer?”
“We don't know.”
“Your father did.”
“Yes.”
“Did he help us?”
Dominic looked uncomfortable.
“I don't know.”
That answer frightened me more than a lie.
I studied the ledger.
Then noticed something.
A symbol beside my father's name.
A small triangle.
“What's that?”
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“Protected asset.”
I looked up.
“Asset?”
“That was my father's terminology.”
“For people?”
“Sometimes.”
“So my father was working for yours.”
“Yes.”
“And your father was protecting my mother and me.”
“Possibly.”
“From Calvin?”
“We need proof.”
A knock sounded.
Mateo entered.
“We got the warehouse archive.”
He handed Dominic a flash drive.
Security footage from 1999 had been digitized years later.
Most was damaged.
One camera survived.
We watched.
Grainy black-and-white video.
11:51 p.m.
My father entered Warehouse Four.
I knew him immediately from the photograph.
My chest hurt.
I had never seen him move.
Never watched him turn his head.
Never seen him alive.
I covered my mouth.
Dominic said nothing.
At 11:58, Calvin entered.
At 12:04, Anthony Mercer arrived.
At 12:11, Dominic's father entered.
Four men.
The fire started at 12:26.
At 12:24, someone else appeared.
A woman.
My mother.
Pregnant with me.
I stopped breathing.
She ran toward the warehouse.
Dominic's father intercepted her.
They argued.
Then he physically pushed her into a car.
She fought him.
He pointed toward the warehouse.
Two minutes later, flames appeared.
The car drove away.
“My mother was there.”
“Yes.”
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
“What happened inside?”
Mateo advanced the footage.
At 12:28, Calvin ran from a side door.
Alone.
At 12:31, my father appeared.
Alive.
He stumbled outside.
Blood covered his shirt.
He looked directly toward the camera.
Then someone approached him from outside the frame.
Daniel froze.
A hand entered view.
Holding a gun.
The footage cut.
I stood.
“No.”
Dominic replayed it.
Same result.
“Who was holding the gun?”
“We don't know.”
“You have another angle.”
“No.”
“Find one.”
“Grace—”
“Find one!”
Dominic stood.
“Mateo.”
Mateo nodded and left.
I turned toward the window.
My father had survived the fire.
At least for five minutes.
“What if your father killed him?”
Dominic didn't answer.
I turned.
“You've thought about it.”
“Yes.”
“Would you tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it destroyed everything your family built?”
His eyes held mine.
“Yes.”
I wanted to believe him.
That was becoming dangerous.
My phone vibrated.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
A photograph appeared.
My mother.
Alive.
Sitting in a chair.
A newspaper beside her showed today's date.
Then a message.
COME ALONE.
I showed Dominic.
“No.”
“It's my mother.”
“Exactly.”
Another message arrived.
PIER 17. 11 P.M.
Dominic took my phone.
Then a third message appeared.
IF MERCER COMES, ELEANOR DIES.
I looked at him.
“I'm going.”
“So am I.”
“You can't.”
“I can.”
“He'll kill her.”
“Not if he doesn't see me.”
I stared at him.
“Why are you doing this?”
For once, Dominic had no immediate answer.
Then he said:
“Because somebody put a gun in my hand and you in front of it.”
“What?”
“That night in my closet wasn't random.”
His voice became quieter.
“Someone wanted me to kill you.”
The realization hit slowly.
If I had moved suddenly.
If Dominic had been less controlled.
If the phone hadn't rung.
I might have died.
And everyone would have believed the feared Dominic Mercer killed an intruder.
“Why?”
“To start something.”
“Between whom?”
“That's what we're going to find out.”
At 10:47 p.m., I stood near the abandoned waterfront where Warehouse Four had once existed.
Dominic was nowhere visible.
That was the arrangement.
I walked alone.
My phone buzzed.
KEEP WALKING.
I did.
An old warehouse door stood ahead.
It opened.
Calvin Rooke appeared.
He looked exactly like Elliot Crane.
Except now he wasn't pretending to be my supervisor.
“Grace.”
“Where is my mother?”
“Inside.”
“I want to see her.”
“You will.”
He stepped aside.
I didn't move.
“Why me?”
His expression softened strangely.
“Because you have your father's eyes.”
My heart stopped.
“You knew him.”
“Better than anyone.”
“Did you kill him?”
Calvin smiled.
“No.”
“Who did?”
He looked past me toward the darkness.
Then back at me.
“Dominic's father.”
I took one step backward.
Calvin held up his hands.
“You wanted the truth.”
“I want my mother.”
“You'll get both.”
He opened the door wider.
Inside, I saw a chair.
My mother was sitting in it.
Alive.
“Mom!”
She looked up.
“Grace, don't!”
Calvin shoved me inside.
The door slammed.
I ran to Mom.
Her hands weren't tied.
That confused me.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Why aren't you tied?”
Mom looked toward Calvin.
Then at me.
Tears filled her eyes.
“Because he didn't kidnap me.”
I froze.
“What?”
She reached for my hands.
“I came willingly.”
Behind us, Calvin locked the door.
My mother whispered:
“Grace, there is something I never told you about your father.”
A second door opened behind Calvin.
Footsteps entered.
Mom's face went white.
She looked past me.
May you like
And whispered a name I had never heard her say before.
“Daniel.”
