Chapter 5 - The Man Behind My Father's Voice
I did not believe in ghosts.
I believed in recordings.
Voice cloning.
Manipulation.
Fear.
But hearing my father's voice come through the wall of my own home still made every childhood instinct inside me obey before my adult mind could intervene.
Matteo looked sick.
"That's him."
"Who?"
"The man who impersonated me on the phone."
"You recognize Dad's voice?"
"No."
He pointed at the speaker.
"The rhythm."
That was enough for him.
We went toward the wine cellar.
Ethan and Daniel arrived moments later.
Neither liked the plan.
Neither had a better one.
The cellar sat beneath the oldest section of the estate, built decades before my family bought the property.
There were two entrances.
One from the main kitchen.
Another through a service tunnel connected to the garage.
We split up.
Daniel and Ethan took the tunnel.
Matteo stayed with me.
"Adrian."
"What?"
"If this goes wrong—"
"No speeches."
"You've always hated speeches."
"I hate farewell speeches."
He looked at me.
"I'm sorry."
I kept walking.
"For which eighteen years?"
"All of them."
I stopped at the cellar door.
"Stay alive long enough to apologize properly."
Something passed across his face.
Hope, maybe.
Then I opened the door.
The cellar lights were on.
Rows of wine racks formed narrow aisles.
At the far end stood Sofia.
Lucy clung to her hand.
Gabriel sat on the floor nearby, one shoulder bleeding.
A man stood behind them.
Owen Price.
The detective we had brought into my home.
He smiled.
"Right on time."
I raised my gun.
"So you're Hale's man."
"No."
"Then choose your next words carefully."
Price pressed a handgun against Sofia's back.
"I am Hale."
Matteo went still.
I stared at the man.
"Victor Hale is seventy-two."
"Victor Hale is a public face."
I understood.
Not a name.
A title.
A structure.
Price smiled.
"The old man built the network. I improved it."
"Where is Victor?"
"Dead."
Ethan's father.
Dead?
"When?"
"Four months ago."
"Then Ethan doesn't know."
"Oh, Ethan knows exactly enough to be useful."
Price looked toward Matteo.
"And your brother has been useful too."
Matteo stepped forward.
"Let them go."
Price laughed.
"You've spent eighteen years saying that."
Lucy was staring at him.
Her little face had gone white.
"The bad man," she whispered.
There it was.
Shiny shoes.
Smoke.
Price wore polished black shoes.
A cigarette scent clung faintly to his coat.
I should have noticed.
"Where is Elena?"
Price smiled.
"Closer than you think."
A door opened behind the wine racks.
Elena stepped out.
Her hands were tied.
So much for the smiling photograph.
Photos could lie.
Fear couldn't.
Her eyes found Lucy.
"Baby."
"Mama!"
Lucy tried to run.
Sofia caught her.
Price lifted the gun.
"Nobody moves."
Elena stared at me.
"You found the drive?"
"Yes."
"Then you know."
"Enough."
"No."
Her eyes filled.
"You don't know the worst part."
Price sighed.
"Elena always did enjoy drama."
"What worst part?" I asked.
She looked at Matteo.
"The manifests weren't only Hale's network."
Matteo's expression changed.
"Elena."
She continued.
"Some shipments were authorized by a Moretti."
I looked at my brother.
"No."
Matteo stepped toward me.
"Adrian, listen."
"What did you do?"
"Not what you think."
"That's becoming the family motto."
Price grinned.
"Tell him, Matteo."
"Shut up."
"Tell your little brother why you've really stayed dead."
Matteo's face was full of shame.
And suddenly I knew there was something he hadn't told me.
"When I was hiding," he said, "I needed money."
My stomach sank.
"I worked for Hale."
"How long?"
"Three years."
Elena closed her eyes.
"You knew what he was moving?"
"Not at first."
"When did you know?"
"Year two."
"And you stayed another year."
"I was gathering proof."
Price laughed.
"No. You were surviving."
Matteo didn't deny it.
I felt something fracture between us.
Again.
Price leaned toward Sofia.
"Families are fascinating, aren't they? They can forgive murder faster than dishonesty."
"Let them go."
"You keep repeating that as if you're negotiating."
"I am."
"With what?"
"The evidence."
Price's smile faded.
"I have copies."
"So do I."
"Where?"
"Safe."
"You came here carrying nothing."
"Exactly."
He studied me.
"Bluffing never suited you."
"Neither did begging."
Lucy began crying quietly.
Not loudly.
That made it worse.
Elena looked at me.
"Adrian."
I met her eyes.
She looked toward Buttons.
The rabbit was still upstairs.
Then toward Sofia's robe pocket.
Something purple showed inside it.
Not Buttons.
A small piece of fabric.
Sofia saw me notice.
Her hand moved subtly.
Price didn't.
My sister pulled something from her pocket and dropped it.
A tiny electronic device slid under a wine rack.
Transmitter.
Good girl.
Gabriel, bleeding on the floor, saw it too.
He shifted.
Price turned.
"What are you doing?"
Gabriel smiled weakly.
"Getting comfortable."
Price kicked him.
That was his mistake.
Lucy screamed.
Sofia shoved her backward.
Gabriel grabbed Price's ankle.
Matteo lunged.
I fired once.
The bullet struck Price's gun hand.
His weapon flew.
Elena threw herself toward Lucy.
Chaos exploded.
Daniel and Ethan burst through the side passage.
Two of Price's hidden men emerged from behind the racks.
Shots.
Glass.
Screaming.
Then silence.
Price lay on the floor.
Alive.
My bullet had shattered his wrist.
His men were down.
Daniel had one at gunpoint.
Ethan stood frozen.
Because the second man was someone he knew.
"Uncle Robert?"
The older man dropped his weapon.
Ethan's face broke.
Apparently betrayal was contagious.
I went to Lucy first.
Elena held her.
Mother and daughter clung to each other so tightly neither seemed willing to breathe.
Sofia embraced me.
"You're bleeding."
I checked.
Not mine.
Gabriel.
He was conscious.
"Hospital," I ordered.
He protested.
I ignored him.
Matteo stood several feet away.
Waiting.
Not knowing whether he belonged with us.
I wasn't ready to decide.
Police sirens sounded outside.
Real police this time.
Federal agents followed.
Elena had arranged a contingency.
If her transmitter activated, everything went public.
Files.
Names.
Locations.
The network would not disappear quietly.
Price laughed from the floor.
"You think this ends with me?"
I crouched beside him.
"No."
His smile widened.
"Good."
"Because you're going to spend the rest of your life telling prosecutors who comes next."
His smile vanished.
Two agents dragged him away.
Ethan stared at Robert, his father's younger brother.
"Where's my father?"
Robert said nothing.
Ethan grabbed him.
"Where is he?"
Price began laughing again.
Robert finally whispered:
"Victor isn't dead."
Everyone stopped.
Ethan turned toward Price.
"You told me—"
"I told you what I needed you to believe."
Robert looked at us.
"Victor left Chicago this evening."
"Where?" I demanded.
He swallowed.
"He isn't running."
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
One photograph.
An airport hangar.
My private plane.
Beside it stood a seventy-two-year-old man I recognized immediately.
Victor Hale.
But he wasn't alone.
He had one hand resting on the shoulder of a woman whose face made Sofia scream.
May you like
Our mother.
The woman we had buried twelve years earlier was staring directly into the camera.
