Chapter 3 - The Man Who Knew Her Father
Julian ordered security to West Briar immediately.
Ava refused to stay behind.
“You’re not going.”
“I live there.”
“You’ll stay here until we know who entered the building.”
“My father is there.”
Julian stopped.
“You said he was home?”
“Yes.”
He grabbed his coat.
“Then we go.”
Noah followed.
The drive through Chicago was tense.
Rain blurred the windows.
Ava sat beside Julian in silence.
“You trust me?” he asked.
“No.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“That was quick.”
“I trust that you don't want your company exposed.”
Julian looked ahead.
“And?”
“And that makes you useful.”
For the first time, the corner of his mouth moved.
Ava noticed.
“You almost smiled.”
“I didn't.”
“You did.”
“Don't tell anyone.”
She almost laughed.
Then her phone rang.
Her father.
Ava answered.
“Dad?”
Nothing.
“Dad?”
A faint sound came through.
A crash.
Then silence.
Ava's face drained.
“Dad?”
Julian took the phone.
“Mr. Monroe?”
Nothing.
He looked at Noah.
“Faster.”
When they reached West Briar, the building entrance was empty.
Ava ran inside.
“Dad!”
Julian followed.
The elevator was broken.
They took the stairs.
Ava reached the second floor.
Her apartment door was open.
“Dad?”
No answer.
The living room was overturned.
A chair lay on its side.
A drawer had been pulled out.
Photographs were scattered across the floor.
Ava froze.
“My God.”
Julian moved carefully through the room.
“No blood.”
“That's supposed to make me feel better?”
He looked at her.
“I’m trying to.”
Then they heard a noise below.
A door slammed.
Julian immediately moved toward the stairwell.
Ava followed.
They reached the basement.
The corridor smelled of dust and old concrete.
At the far end stood a steel door.
It was open.
Ava pointed.
“That’s the storage room.”
Julian entered first.
Inside were boxes.
Old tenant files.
Photographs.
Maintenance records.
And dozens of envelopes.
Ava picked one up.
Her father’s name was written across it.
“Why would he be here?”
Julian opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Ava stared.
It showed the building twenty-six years earlier.
Her father stood outside.
Beside him was a younger man.
Ava didn't recognize him.
Julian did.
His expression changed.
“Who is that?”
Julian didn't answer.
Ava turned the photograph over.
There was a handwritten note.
Ask Julian Cross what happened in 1998.
Ava looked at him.
“You know him.”
Julian stared at the photograph.
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
Julian's voice was barely audible.
“My father.”
Ava stepped back.
“Your father?”
Julian nodded.
“My father owned this building before I did.”
The pieces collided in Ava's mind.
The acquisition.
The false reports.
The storage room.
Her father's warning.
And Julian's family.
“You knew my father?”
“No.”
“But your father did.”
Julian looked at the photograph again.
“I thought this building was sold in 1998.”
“It was.”
“To whom?”
Julian didn't answer.
Ava looked down.
Another document lay beneath the photograph.
She picked it up.
Her eyes widened.
It was a purchase agreement.
The buyer's signature was unmistakable.
Julian Cross Sr.
But beneath his signature was another name.
Ava whispered it.
“Thomas Monroe.”
Julian stared at her.
“Your father.”
Before either could speak, footsteps echoed outside.
Slow.
Heavy.
Someone was walking toward the storage room.
Julian stepped in front of Ava.
The footsteps stopped.
Then a man's voice came through the open doorway.
“Mr. Cross.”
Julian went completely still.
Because he knew that voice.
May you like
And the man outside whispered—
“Your father told me you would never find this room.”
