Chapter 3 - Thirty Thousand Dollars and a Missing Brother
Vincent read the message twice.
Enzo stood six feet away.
Nobody spoke.
Finally Enzo said, “That’s cute.”
Norah looked at him.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’ve spent twenty years around men who lie for a living.”
Vincent’s gaze stayed on his oldest friend.
“Where were you at two fifteen the night the kitchen footage disappeared?”
Enzo’s expression changed.
Not much.
Enough.
“Home.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“You should have told me that when we reviewed the footage.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Vincent’s jaw flexed.
Norah interrupted.
“This is what they want.”
Both men looked at her.
“They sent ‘trust Enzo’ because they knew we’d do exactly this.”
Enzo nodded.
“The cleaner has a point.”
“Cook,” Norah corrected.
For some reason, Vincent almost smiled.
They went to Warehouse Seventeen at midnight.
Norah was supposed to remain in the armored SUV.
She lasted four minutes.
A gunshot cracked inside.
She opened the door.
The driver cursed.
Norah ran.
Inside, crates formed narrow corridors.
Vincent’s men moved through them with weapons raised.
She found Caleb’s chair.
Empty.
The newspaper remained.
Blood stained one corner.
“Caleb?”
Nothing.
Then she heard pounding.
A shipping container.
Norah followed the sound.
“Caleb!”
“Norah!”
She reached the container.
A chain secured the handles.
Vincent appeared behind her.
“Back up.”
One of his men cut it.
Norah pulled the door.
Caleb stumbled out.
He was thinner than she remembered.
Bruised.
Terrified.
Alive.
She caught him.
For one second, the last six months disappeared.
He was her brother again.
Then Caleb saw Vincent.
Fear swallowed his relief.
“No.”
Norah held him.
“You’re safe.”
Caleb stared at Vincent.
“No, we’re not.”
Vincent approached.
“Who took you?”
Caleb shook his head violently.
“I can’t.”
Vincent’s patience disappeared.
“They threatened your sister.”
“I know.”
“They ordered her to poison me.”
“I know!”
Caleb’s voice broke.
Norah stared.
“How?”
Caleb covered his face.
“I started it.”
The words hit harder than a slap.
“What?”
“I borrowed money from the wrong people.”
“I know that.”
“No. You don’t.”
Caleb lowered his hands.
“The thirty thousand wasn’t gambling debt.”
Norah felt the warehouse tilt.
“What was it?”
Caleb looked at Vincent.
“I was paid to get information about your estate.”
Vincent became motionless.
Caleb continued.
“I thought it was harmless. Staff schedules. Deliveries. Security changes. They paid me. Then I gambled the money because I thought I could double it.”
Norah stepped backward.
“You sold information about the house?”
“I didn’t know they were going to poison him.”
Vincent grabbed Caleb by the collar.
Norah moved between them.
“Vincent!”
“He helped them get inside.”
“He’s my brother.”
“He almost made you the next poisoner.”
Caleb began crying.
“I tried to stop it.”
Vincent released him.
“How?”
“I kept copies.”
“Of what?”
“Messages. Payments. Names.”
Enzo approached.
“Where?”
Caleb hesitated.
“My apartment.”
Norah shook her head.
“I searched your apartment.”
“Not the apartment.”
He looked at her.
“Mom’s recipe book.”
Norah froze.
Their mother’s old handwritten cookbook sat in a cardboard box beneath Norah’s bed.
Caleb had hidden evidence in the one object he knew she would never throw away.
They returned to Norah’s apartment before dawn.
The front door was open.
Vincent pulled Norah behind him.
His men entered first.
The apartment had been destroyed.
Drawers emptied.
Furniture overturned.
Mattress cut open.
Norah ran to the bedroom.
The cardboard box was gone.
Caleb swore.
Vincent searched the floor.
Then Norah noticed something beneath the bed.
A torn page.
She picked it up.
Her mother’s handwriting covered one side.
Chicken soup.
On the reverse, Caleb had written a sequence of numbers.
Vincent looked over her shoulder.
“Bank account?”
Caleb shook his head.
“Camera archive.”
Norah looked at him.
“What camera archive?”
Caleb’s face went pale.
“The one they don’t know exists.”
He explained.
Months before Vincent was poisoned, Caleb had discovered that the estate’s new kitchen cameras automatically backed up footage to an external maintenance server.
The conspirators had deleted the main recordings.
They had missed the maintenance copy.
“Can we access it?” Vincent asked.
Caleb nodded.
“With the rest of the code.”
“The recipe book is gone.”
Caleb stared at the torn page.
“Not all of it.”
He pointed to the recipe.
“Mom taught us measurements with numbers.”
Norah understood.
Two cups.
One teaspoon.
Four carrots.
The recipe itself was the key.
They entered the sequence.
A remote archive opened.
Folders appeared by date.
Vincent’s poisoning.
Norah stopped breathing.
“Open it.”
Caleb clicked.
Kitchen footage appeared.
The night before Vincent collapsed.
A figure entered.
Not Mrs. Caruso.
Not Enzo.
The face was visible.
Vincent leaned toward the screen.
His expression changed from suspicion to disbelief.
“No.”
Norah looked at him.
“You know her?”
Vincent whispered the name.
Before he could explain, the apartment lights went out.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway.
May you like
Then a woman’s voice spoke from the darkness.
“Close the laptop, Norah.”
