Chapter 5 - The Secret Behind the Cellar Wall
Nobody spoke.
I felt as though the floor had shifted beneath me.
Lorenzo looked at me.
“I don’t know what he means.”
The voice behind the wall laughed.
“Of course she doesn’t.”
Vincent aimed his weapon toward the hidden door.
“Gray?”
“Still loyal, Russo?”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Open the door.”
“You first.”
Lorenzo stepped toward the keyhole.
“You have the key.”
“No.”
That surprised everyone.
“If you don’t, how did you get inside?”
“There’s another entrance.”
“Where?”
“You think Carlo trusted one door?”
My mouth had gone dry.
“What does my father have to do with this?”
Silence.
Then Gray answered.
“Everything.”
Lorenzo said, “Come out.”
“Not until I know Isabella is safe.”
Vivien had not come downstairs with us.
She was guarded upstairs.
Lorenzo replied, “She is.”
“And Emma?”
My heart stopped.
“How do you know my daughter?”
Gray laughed quietly.
“That child is the reason this started.”
I stepped toward the wall.
Vincent reached for me.
I pulled away.
“What did you do to her?”
“Nothing.”
“You photographed her.”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“That photograph was not mine.”
“Then whose?”
“Ask Vivien.”
“She says you asked about Emma.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
Gray went silent.
Lorenzo spoke.
“If you know something about Sophia’s father, say it.”
“Open the door.”
“We don’t have the key.”
“Yes, you do.”
Lorenzo looked around.
Gray continued.
“Carlo never trusted metal keys alone.”
Vincent examined the brass plate.
There was a small recessed scanner beneath it.
Biometric.
Lorenzo pressed his thumb against it.
Red light.
ACCESS DENIED.
Gray laughed.
“I said Carlo didn’t trust you.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
Then Gray said my name.
“Sophia.”
I stared at the scanner.
“No.”
Lorenzo looked at me.
“You don’t have to.”
But I needed answers.
I pressed my thumb against it.
Green.
A lock clicked.
Nobody moved.
The hidden wall opened two inches.
I could hear my own heartbeat.
Vincent whispered, “How?”
I had no answer.
Lorenzo pulled the door wider.
A narrow passage led into darkness.
Gray stood twenty feet away.
Late fifties.
Brown-gray hair.
Long coat.
No weapon visible.
He raised his hands.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“You expect us to believe that?”
“No.”
Gray looked at me.
“But Sophia deserves to know why her fingerprint opened Carlo Duca’s room.”
I could barely speak.
“Tell me.”
Gray nodded toward the chamber behind him.
Inside were metal cabinets, old medical refrigerators, boxes of records.
And photographs.
Hundreds.
Children.
Hospitals.
Doctors.
I felt sick.
Gray removed one folder.
SOPHIA MARINO.
My maiden name.
Lorenzo looked at me.
I shook my head.
“I’ve never seen that.”
Gray opened it.
There was a photograph of my father.
Michael Marino.
Dead eleven years.
Standing beside Carlo Duca.
Lorenzo’s father.
My knees weakened.
“No.”
Gray held out the file.
“Your father worked for Carlo.”
“My father was an accountant.”
“Yes.”
“For a construction company.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
Gray continued.
“He audited Carlo’s medical network.”
“What network?”
“The medication program.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“You mean smuggling.”
Gray looked at him.
“Sometimes.”
Lorenzo’s voice became dangerous.
“My father sold illegal drugs?”
“He imported medications people could not otherwise get.”
“And made money.”
“Sometimes.”
“You’re defending him.”
“No.”
Gray looked at Sophia.
“Michael discovered someone was diverting medication away from sick children and reselling it privately.”
My stomach twisted.
“Who?”
Gray shook his head.
“That is what Carlo was trying to prove.”
“Where does Emma fit?”
He opened another page.
A medical trial number.
Then Emma’s diagnosis.
My breath disappeared.
“How do you have that?”
“Because her medication exists partly because of research funded through this network.”
I stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“Michael Marino helped expose the diversion. Carlo protected him. When Michael died, Carlo created a private fund for your family.”
I laughed bitterly.
“I grew up broke.”
“Because the fund disappeared.”
Lorenzo looked at Vincent.
“The eight million?”
Vincent shook his head.
“Too recent.”
Gray nodded.
“The theft started years ago.”
“Who stole it?”
He looked toward the doorway behind us.
Vivien stood there.
One guard beside her.
Lorenzo’s face became furious.
“I told you to keep her upstairs.”
The guard said, “She said you called for her.”
“No.”
Vivien looked at Gray.
“You liar.”
Gray smiled sadly.
“Hello, Vivien.”
She rushed toward him.
Vincent blocked her.
“You told me the records were about Lorenzo.”
“They are.”
“You said Carlo murdered people.”
“He did.”
Lorenzo’s face tightened.
Gray said, “But not Michael Marino.”
I stared.
“What happened to my father?”
Gray looked at me.
“Michael discovered the person stealing from the medical fund.”
“Who?”
“He planned to expose them.”
“Who?”
Gray hesitated.
Then Vivien screamed.
“He’s manipulating you!”
She pulled away from the guard.
“He planted the medicine!”
Gray’s expression changed.
“No.”
“You threatened Isabella.”
“No.”
She pointed at him.
“The photograph in the car!”
“I didn’t put it there.”
“Liar!”
Lorenzo stepped between them.
“Enough.”
He looked at Gray.
“Who framed Emma?”
Gray answered quietly.
“I know who accessed the system.”
“Name.”
“Not until Sophia understands what is at stake.”
I stepped forward.
“No more games.”
He studied me.
Then nodded.
“Your father found out Carlo’s medical charity had been infiltrated by someone inside the Duca organization.”
“Who?”
“Someone trusted.”
“WHO?”
“Vincent’s father.”
Silence.
Vincent’s face went white.
“My father died twenty years ago.”
Gray nodded.
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I were.”
Lorenzo looked at Vincent.
Vincent stepped back.
“My father was a driver.”
“He was Carlo’s logistics director.”
“No.”
“He rerouted medication.”
“No.”
“He stole money.”
“Stop.”
“And when Michael discovered it—”
Vincent grabbed Gray by the coat.
“What did he do?”
Gray stared into his eyes.
“He tried to kill him.”
I could not breathe.
“My father died in a car accident.”
Gray looked at me.
“That was not an accident.”
The room tilted.
Lorenzo caught my arm.
I pulled away.
“Who killed him?”
Gray reached inside his coat slowly.
Vincent raised his gun.
Gray stopped.
“Photograph.”
Lorenzo nodded.
Gray removed it.
A wrecked car.
My father’s.
Standing beside the wreck were two men.
One was Carlo Duca.
The other was Vincent’s father.
On the back was a handwritten date.
The day my father died.
Vincent stared at it.
“He was there.”
Gray nodded.
“But he didn’t kill Michael.”
I looked at him.
“Then who did?”
Gray’s expression changed.
“That person is still alive.”
A phone began ringing inside one of the cabinets.
Everyone turned.
Gray whispered, “That phone has not rung in eleven years.”
Lorenzo opened the cabinet.
An old black phone vibrated beside a stack of files.
The screen showed no number.
Only a saved contact name.
May you like
MICHAEL MARINO.
My father.
