Chapter 3 - The Brother Who Smiled
Harper had spent most of her life being told not to involve herself in other people's problems.
Her mother used to say it.
Keep your head down.
Pay your bills.
Don't borrow trouble.
Harper had followed two-thirds of that advice.
The trouble kept arriving anyway.
She called 911.
Then Damian's security number.
A man named Marco answered.
Harper told him about the photograph.
“Send it.”
She did.
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Lock your door.”
“Ethan called me.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Someone entered his hospital room.”
Marco swore.
Harper heard shouting behind him.
“Stay there.”
“You people say that a lot.”
“Because you have a habit of standing where dangerous things happen.”
“Maybe dangerous things have a habit of finding me.”
Marco hung up.
Harper called Ethan again.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
She grabbed her coat.
She was halfway down the stairs when a black sedan stopped outside.
Marco emerged.
“You were told to stay inside.”
“I was going to the hospital.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You're wearing a coat.”
Despite everything, Harper almost laughed.
They drove to Massachusetts General.
Two Moretti security men were already outside Ethan's room.
The man who had entered was gone.
Ethan was safe.
Barely.
Harper entered.
Ethan looked furious rather than frightened.
“I'm starting to hate hospitals.”
“You're nineteen. You're supposed to hate vegetables and responsibility.”
“I hate those too.”
She sat beside him.
His legs were improving.
He could move both feet now.
Doctors expected a full recovery.
Harper showed him the photograph.
His face collapsed.
“Uncle Vincent.”
“You said you were with him before you fell.”
Ethan nodded.
“He asked me to meet him at the Harbor Room.”
“Why?”
“He said Dad was in trouble.”
“What kind?”
“He wouldn't tell me.”
Ethan looked toward the door.
“He gave me a drink.”
Harper understood.
“You think your uncle drugged you?”
“I don't want to.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Ethan swallowed.
“Yes.”
Marco entered.
“We traced Mr. Moretti's car.”
“Where?” Ethan asked.
“South Boston.”
“Then go.”
“We are.”
“I mean me.”
“You're not leaving.”
Ethan tried to push himself upright.
His legs immediately trembled.
Harper caught his shoulder.
“Easy.”
“My father is missing.”
“And you'll help him by collapsing in an elevator?”
Ethan glared at her.
“You sound like him.”
“I'm going to take that as an insult.”
Marco handed Harper a tablet.
“The photo metadata was stripped.”
“What about the number?”
“What number?”
Harper showed him Damian's card.
Marco's expression changed.
“You recognize it.”
“No.”
“You're lying.”
He took the card.
“It's an access code.”
“To what?”
“I don't know.”
Harper stared at him.
“Everybody in this family answers questions by not answering them.”
Marco looked at Ethan.
Ethan sighed.
“My grandfather had private storage sites.”
“For what?”
“Records.”
“What kind of records?”
“The kind that could destroy people.”
Harper rubbed her forehead.
“Of course.”
Marco made a call.
Within an hour, they identified the code.
It belonged to a storage facility in Charlestown.
Unit 481.
Secondary code 927.
Harper wasn't supposed to go.
She went anyway.
The storage facility looked painfully ordinary.
Concrete walls.
Metal doors.
Fluorescent lights.
No dramatic underground bunker.
No armed guards.
Just dust.
Marco entered the code.
Unit 481 opened.
Inside were dozens of archive boxes.
Damian's father had apparently documented everything.
Payments.
Properties.
Names.
Political favors.
Debts.
Harper stood in the doorway.
“This is what Vincent wants?”
Marco opened one box.
“Maybe.”
Ethan had joined through a video call from the hospital.
“Look for anything marked RMC,” he said.
They searched.
One box contained Red Market Circle records.
Marco pulled out folders.
Most were old.
Then Harper noticed something.
One folder was clean.
No dust.
“Someone's been here recently.”
Marco opened it.
Empty.
On the bottom was a photograph.
Two brothers.
A younger Damian.
Vincent beside him.
Their father between them.
On the back, someone had written:
THE WRONG SON INHERITED EVERYTHING.
Harper felt a chill.
Marco's phone rang.
He answered.
His face hardened.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at Harper.
“Damian's been found.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“His own office.”
They rushed downtown.
Damian was sitting behind his desk when Harper entered.
No ropes.
No visible injuries except a cut near his eyebrow.
Ethan was on a secure video screen.
“Dad!”
“I'm fine.”
“You disappeared!”
“I know.”
Harper stepped forward.
“You look terrible.”
Damian looked at her.
“You weren't supposed to get involved.”
“I've noticed your instructions don't work very well.”
He almost smiled.
Then Harper put the photograph from the storage unit on his desk.
The smile disappeared.
“Vincent?”
Damian nodded.
“He wanted me frightened.”
“Why?”
“To make me move.”
“Toward what?”
“The records.”
Harper understood.
“He wanted you to reveal where they were.”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Marco cleared his throat.
“We did.”
Damian looked at him.
Marco explained.
Damian's anger was immediate.
Then controlled.
“Was anything missing?”
“One RMC folder.”
Damian stood.
“What folder?”
“We don't know.”
Damian walked toward the window.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Finally Ethan asked, “Dad, what is RMC really?”
Damian turned.
“The worst thing my father ever built.”
“What did they do?”
“Control.”
Damian's voice was quiet.
“Businesses. Officials. People. Debt was leverage. Fear was leverage. Secrets were leverage.”
“And you ended it?”
“I thought I did.”
Harper noticed the wording.
“Thought?”
Damian looked at her.
“My father didn't trust banks. Every major operation had two ledgers.”
Marco understood first.
“We found one.”
Damian nodded.
“Vincent has the other.”
Ethan whispered, “What happens if he uses it?”
Damian looked toward his son.
“He could rebuild everything.”
Harper stared at the family photograph.
Then she noticed something in the background.
A building.
She lifted the picture.
“Where was this taken?”
Damian looked.
“Old Moretti social club.”
“Still there?”
“No. Sold years ago.”
“To who?”
Damian frowned.
Marco started typing.
Seconds later, he stopped.
“You need to see this.”
The property hadn't been sold.
It had been transferred through three shell companies.
The current owner was Callahan Hospitality LLC.
Harper stared at the screen.
“Callahan?”
Her voice dropped.
“My diner is Callahan's.”
Damian was already reaching for his coat.
Then Harper's phone rang.
Lou.
She answered.
“Harper?”
Her manager sounded terrified.
“You need to come back.”
“Why?”
“There’s a man sitting in booth seven.”
Harper looked at Damian.
May you like
Lou whispered the next words.
“He says his name is Vincent Moretti.”
