Chapter 2 - The Storage Unit
Claire called her mother six times before they reached the parking garage.
No answer.
On the seventh call, voicemail.
“Mom, call me.”
She stopped walking.
Dominic nearly collided with her.
Claire turned on him.
“No. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Your mother entered a storage facility tied to your father fifteen minutes ago.”
“And somehow you know that?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make me feel safer.”
“It shouldn’t.”
Claire stared at him.
Dominic’s expression remained controlled, but she had begun recognizing tiny changes.
His jaw tightened when he was worried.
His eyes became colder when he was angry.
Right now he was both.
“How are you tracking my mother?”
“We aren’t.”
“Then how do you know?”
“The storage unit is monitored.”
“By you?”
“By someone who works for me.”
Claire almost laughed.
“You understand how insane every sentence you say sounds?”
“Yes.”
The parking garage beneath the hotel was nearly empty.
A black sedan waited near the elevator.
Claire backed away from it.
“I’m taking a cab.”
Dominic nodded.
“Fine.”
That surprised her.
“But Marco rides with you.”
The broad-shouldered man from the dining room stepped forward.
Claire shook her head.
“No.”
“Then I ride with you.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“I met you thirty minutes ago.”
“And thirty minutes ago you believed your father died in a car accident.”
She hated that he kept saying things she could not dismiss.
Claire pulled out her phone.
Her mother’s contact photograph filled the screen.
Margaret Bennett.
Sixty-two.
Retired librarian.
Volunteer at St. Luke’s twice a week.
Owner of three cardigans in almost identical shades of blue.
The woman who hated driving after dark.
The idea that she had secretly gone to a storage unit connected to organized crime sounded ridiculous.
Claire called again.
Voicemail.
She looked at Dominic.
“Where is the unit?”
“Queens.”
Claire walked toward the sedan.
“I’m driving.”
Dominic handed Marco the keys.
“Follow her.”
Claire stopped.
“I said I’m driving.”
“I heard you.”
Dominic gestured toward a silver SUV parked across the garage.
Claire had arrived in it earlier.
Her equipment was still inside.
She narrowed her eyes.
“How do you know which car is mine?”
“You parked in a reserved space.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting right now.”
Twenty minutes later, Claire was speeding toward Queens with Dominic in the passenger seat.
Marco followed in the black sedan.
Claire kept both hands tightly on the steering wheel.
“Start talking.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
“That could take a while.”
“My father.”
Dominic looked through the windshield.
“He was stubborn.”
Claire glanced at him.
“That part I believe.”
“He hated expensive restaurants.”
Claire nearly smiled.
Then remembered where they were going.
“He said anybody who charged forty dollars for pasta should be arrested.”
Dominic nodded.
“That sounds like him.”
Claire looked at Dominic again.
“You really knew him.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Eleven months.”
“That’s it?”
“It was enough.”
Claire swallowed.
Her father had existed in two separate worlds.
The one she knew.
Pancakes on Sundays.
Bad jokes.
Camera straps hanging from every doorknob.
A habit of singing old Motown songs while washing dishes.
And this other world.
Warehouses.
Sources.
Evidence.
Mafia families.
Murder.
“Why didn’t he tell us?”
“He was trying to protect you.”
“That line always sounds noble when men use it to justify lying.”
Dominic looked at her.
“You’re right.”
The answer silenced her.
They reached the storage facility at 9:02.
The gate stood open.
Dominic noticed first.
“That’s wrong.”
Claire’s pulse quickened.
“What?”
“It should be locked after nine.”
She drove inside.
Rows of concrete buildings stretched beneath fluorescent lights.
Marco’s sedan stopped behind them.
Dominic got out.
Claire followed.
“Which unit?”
“C building.”
They moved quickly.
Claire ignored Dominic when he told her to stay behind.
Unit C-117 stood open.
The metal door was raised halfway.
Claire stopped.
Her mother’s car sat nearby.
“Mom?”
No answer.
Claire ducked beneath the door.
The unit was small.
Cardboard boxes lined the walls.
A metal desk stood in the center.
One lamp burned.
Margaret Bennett was sitting beside it.
Alive.
Claire rushed forward.
“Mom.”
Margaret stood.
Her face collapsed with relief.
“Claire?”
“What are you doing here?”
Then Margaret saw Dominic.
Everything changed.
She became pale.
“No.”
Dominic stopped near the entrance.
“Hello, Margaret.”
Claire looked between them.
“You know him.”
Margaret’s eyes filled with something Claire had almost never seen.
Fear.
“Claire, come here.”
“Mom.”
“Now.”
Claire did not move.
Margaret looked at Dominic.
“You promised.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“I promised Daniel.”
“You promised me.”
“What did he promise?”
Neither answered.
Claire slammed her hand onto the desk.
“What did he promise?”
Margaret flinched.
Dominic spoke first.
“That I would never contact you unless the evidence resurfaced.”
Claire looked at the battery in her hand.
“This?”
“Yes.”
Margaret stared at it.
She closed her eyes.
“Oh, Daniel.”
Claire stepped toward her.
“You knew.”
Margaret sat slowly.
“I knew enough.”
“You told me he died in an accident.”
“I told you what I had to.”
“No. You told me what was easier.”
Margaret looked up sharply.
“Nothing about burying your husband at thirty-four was easy.”
Claire stopped.
The pain in her mother’s voice was real.
That made the betrayal worse.
“What happened?”
Margaret looked toward Dominic.
He waited.
Finally she said, “Your father came home three nights before he died. He was terrified.”
Claire had never imagined her father terrified.
“He told me he had photographed something that could destroy powerful people. Not only criminals. Police. Politicians. Businessmen.”
“Who?”
“He wouldn’t tell me names.”
Dominic said, “He was protecting you.”
Margaret snapped, “You don’t get to speak for him.”
Dominic became silent.
Claire looked around the unit.
“What is this place?”
“Your father rented it under another name.”
“You knew?”
“Not until after his death.”
Margaret opened the metal desk drawer.
Inside were envelopes.
Receipts.
Photographs.
A small tape recorder.
Claire picked it up.
“Is that his?”
Margaret nodded.
“I found the key sewn inside his camera bag after the funeral.”
Claire stared at her.
“And you came here?”
“One week later.”
“What did you find?”
“Almost nothing.”
Claire gestured around them.
“This is not nothing.”
“Most of this appeared later.”
“Appeared?”
Margaret looked at Dominic.
Dominic answered.
“Daniel arranged for items to be delivered here at different dates.”
Claire’s frustration rose.
“From where?”
“We never found out.”
“Then why tonight?”
Margaret looked ashamed.
“I received a message.”
Claire froze.
“What message?”
Margaret handed her phone over.
One text.
Unknown number.
IF CLAIRE FOUND 17, GO TO THE UNIT BEFORE MIDNIGHT.
Claire read it twice.
“When did you get this?”
“Forty minutes ago.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“Did you respond?”
“No.”
“Did anyone follow you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Margaret glared at him.
Claire interrupted.
“What does B-4-C mean?”
Margaret looked at her.
Then at the battery.
Her expression changed.
“You found that?”
“Yes.”
Margaret stood quickly.
“Claire, we need to leave.”
Dominic blocked the doorway.
“No.”
Margaret’s voice sharpened.
“Move.”
“Not until you tell me what B-4-C means.”
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
Margaret’s eyes moved toward the far wall.
Dominic followed the glance.
So did Claire.
Boxes.
Old shelves.
A filing cabinet.
Nothing obvious.
Claire walked toward it.
Her mother grabbed her arm.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“Don’t.”
That was enough.
Claire pulled free.
She pushed aside two boxes.
Behind them was a narrow wooden panel.
Four brass hooks.
A painted letter C.
Claire stared.
“B-four-C.”
Dominic stepped beside her.
“Bay four. Section C.”
Margaret whispered, “Daniel told me never to open it.”
Claire turned.
“Why?”
“He said if anyone ever found number seventeen, it meant the people who killed him were looking again.”
Claire faced the panel.
A small keyhole sat beneath the letter.
Dominic looked at Margaret.
“You have the key.”
She did not answer.
“Margaret.”
Slowly, Claire’s mother reached beneath her blouse.
A thin chain hung around her neck.
At the end was a brass key.
Claire stared.
“You wore that my entire childhood.”
Margaret’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“And you never knew what it opened?”
“I knew.”
Claire felt something inside her break.
“You lied every day.”
“I kept you alive every day.”
Before Claire could respond, tires screeched outside.
Marco appeared beneath the half-open door.
“We have company.”
Dominic turned.
“How many?”
“Two vehicles.”
Margaret’s face went white.
Claire looked at the locked panel.
Dominic held out his hand.
“The key.”
Margaret hesitated.
Glass shattered outside.
Marco drew his weapon and moved toward the entrance.
Dominic grabbed Claire and pulled her behind the filing cabinet.
“Stay down.”
Claire shoved him.
“Don’t touch me.”
Another crash.
Then silence.
Not gunfire.
Something heavier.
Metal scraping concrete.
Dominic looked toward Marco.
The security lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the unit.
Claire heard her mother breathing.
Then a voice came from outside.
Calm.
Male.
Older.
“Margaret Bennett.”
Nobody moved.
The voice continued.
“You’ve kept Daniel’s secret long enough.”
Margaret whispered one word.
Claire barely heard it.
“Victor.”
Dominic’s entire body went rigid.
Claire looked at him.
“Who is Victor?”
Dominic did not answer.
Outside, footsteps approached the half-open door.
May you like
Then the man said something that made Margaret begin to shake.
“Bring me my daughter.”
