Chapter 2 - The Photograph From Seven Years Ago
Elena stepped backward.
The lock clicked again.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She dialed 911.
Before she could press call, the apartment door opened.
Rachel stood there holding a lamp.
“Elena?”
Elena nearly screamed.
“What are you doing in my apartment?”
Rachel’s eyes widened.
“You gave me the spare key.”
“Why are the lights off?”
“Your breaker tripped.”
Elena lowered the phone.
“Jesus.”
“I’ve been trying to call you.”
Rachel noticed the bakery box.
“What’s that?”
Elena carried it inside.
Five minutes later, Rachel sat at the kitchen counter staring at the photograph.
“That’s Adrian.”
“Yes.”
“Seven years ago?”
“Yes.”
Rachel looked up.
“But you said you met him tonight.”
“I did.”
“You’re sure?”
“I think I would remember him.”
Rachel turned the photograph over.
HE CHOSE YOU.
“This is creepy.”
“Thank you for the professional assessment.”
Rachel ignored the sarcasm.
“Call him.”
Elena stared at Adrian’s business card.
She didn’t want to.
Which was exactly why she did.
He answered after one ring.
“Elena?”
“There was a package outside my apartment.”
His tone changed immediately.
“What package?”
She explained.
Silence.
“Adrian?”
“I’m here.”
“Were you outside Golden Hearth seven years ago?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
The answer landed harder than a denial.
“Why?”
“I need to explain in person.”
“No. You need to explain now.”
“I was there because of your grandmother.”
Elena gripped the phone.
“My grandmother?”
“Rose Brooks.”
“You knew her?”
“Yes.”
Rachel mouthed, What?
Elena held up a hand.
“My grandmother died eight years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then why were you outside my bakery a year later?”
“Because she left something with my father.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Elena laughed bitterly.
“That’s convenient.”
“My father refused to tell me.”
“And now?”
“He died four years ago.”
Elena’s anger weakened.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
She hated that his grief sounded genuine.
“What did my grandmother leave?”
“I’ve been trying to find out.”
“And the blind date?”
“Was supposed to be a blind date.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No. I expect you to question everything.”
That answer stopped her.
Adrian continued.
“But Rachel really did arrange it. I recognized your name afterward.”
Rachel whispered, “That’s true.”
Elena glared at her.
“You knew?”
“Only that he liked your bakery!”
Adrian heard.
“Rachel didn’t know.”
Elena closed her eyes.
“What was your father’s connection to my grandmother?”
“Rose once saved his life.”
“How?”
“I don’t know the whole story.”
“You seem to know very little for a terrifying criminal mastermind.”
Rachel’s eyes bulged.
Adrian was silent.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
It was brief.
Low.
Human.
“Fair criticism.”
Elena sat down.
“Someone wants me frightened.”
“Yes.”
“Mason?”
“Possibly.”
“Your family?”
“Possibly.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I’m not trying to reassure you with lies.”
For some reason, that mattered.
The following morning, Elena opened Golden Hearth at five.
She refused Adrian’s offer of security.
At 5:17, however, she noticed a black sedan parked half a block away.
She called him.
“You said you’d respect my decisions.”
“I do.”
“Then why is one of your cars outside?”
“It isn’t.”
Elena looked again.
The sedan pulled away.
Her stomach dropped.
“If that isn’t yours—”
“Lock the door.”
This time she obeyed.
Twenty minutes later Adrian arrived personally.
No entourage.
No suit.
Dark trousers, gray sweater, black coat.
He looked almost ordinary.
Almost.
They checked the bakery together.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
Then Elena noticed flour on the office floor.
A cabinet had been opened.
Inside were tax records, old recipes, employee files.
Nothing valuable.
Adrian crouched.
“They were searching.”
“For what?”
“Probably what Rose left.”
Elena stared at her grandmother’s old desk.
“My grandmother didn’t keep secrets.”
“Everyone keeps something.”
“Not from me.”
Adrian said nothing.
She hated him for that silence.
Because it sounded like doubt.
They spent the morning sorting through old boxes.
At eleven, Elena found a false bottom in a wooden recipe chest.
Inside was a brass key.
A number had been engraved into it.
Adrian went still.
“You recognize it.”
“Union Harbor Bank.”
“What?”
“They used numbered private boxes decades ago.”
Elena looked at him.
“Your family’s bank?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“It belonged to my mother’s family.”
“Less good.”
They drove there together.
The bank manager initially refused access.
Then Elena showed Rose Brooks’s death certificate and identification.
The manager disappeared.
He returned pale.
“Ms. Brooks, Box 317 was placed under a special joint authorization.”
“With whom?”
He looked at Adrian.
“Moretti.”
Elena slowly turned.
Adrian seemed genuinely surprised.
The vault smelled like steel and old paper.
Box 317 contained three objects.
A sealed envelope.
A ledger.
And a photograph.
Rose Brooks stood beside Adrian’s father.
Between them was a much younger Mason Vale.
Elena’s hands began trembling.
“No.”
Adrian took the picture.
“Mason knew Rose?”
“He told me he never met her.”
Elena opened the envelope.
Rose’s handwriting filled one page.
My Elena,
If you are reading this, someone has forced the past back into your life.
Trust evidence, not names.
Do not assume a Moretti is your enemy.
Do not assume a Vale is your friend.
And if they come for Golden Hearth, open the ledger.
Elena looked at Adrian.
He opened it.
Rows of dates.
Payments.
Property addresses.
Shell corporations.
Then Elena saw Golden Hearth.
Next to it was a notation.
Protected indefinitely.
R. Brooks / S. Moretti agreement.
“Your father protected my bakery?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Adrian turned several pages.
His jaw tightened.
“What?”
“These properties were purchased through criminal loans decades ago.”
Elena stared.
“You mean mafia money.”
“Yes.”
“And my grandmother knew?”
“She documented it.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
Against the Morettis?
Adrian shook his head.
“Maybe against someone else.”
A sound came from outside the vault.
The manager shouted.
Then something crashed.
Adrian immediately pushed Elena behind him.
Footsteps approached.
The vault door began closing.
Someone was locking them inside.
Adrian grabbed the edge, but the heavy steel door kept moving.
Before it sealed, a phone slid across the floor.
Mason’s phone.
Its screen lit up.
May you like
A message appeared from a contact named only BOSS.
GET THE LEDGER. KILL THE MORETTI IF YOU HAVE TO.
