Chapter 4 - Booth Seven
Damian refused to let Harper enter the diner first.
Harper refused to stay behind.
They compromised.
Which meant Damian entered three seconds before her.
Vincent Moretti sat in booth seven.
Gray suit.
Silver hair at the temples.
Relaxed smile.
A cup of coffee in front of him.
“You brought the waitress.”
Damian stopped several feet away.
“You wanted me.”
“I wanted both of you.”
Harper remained near the counter.
Lou had disappeared into the kitchen.
Good.
Vincent looked at her.
“So you're Harper.”
“So you're the uncle who drugs teenagers.”
His smile weakened.
Damian glanced at her.
“Harper.”
“What?”
“Maybe don't antagonize him.”
Vincent laughed.
“I like her.”
“I don't care,” Harper said.
Vincent stirred his coffee.
“You saved Ethan.”
“Yes.”
“That created complications.”
“For you?”
“For everyone.”
Damian stepped closer.
“What do you want?”
“What I've always wanted.”
“You had opportunities.”
“No. Father gave you opportunities.”
Vincent's expression changed.
There it was.
Not greed.
Not entirely.
Resentment.
Old and poisonous.
“You were his favorite.”
Damian's jaw tightened.
“You remember our father differently than I do.”
“He gave you the company.”
“He gave me a disaster.”
“He gave you power.”
“I spent nine years dismantling his crimes.”
“And building a respectable empire with the money they created.”
Damian said nothing.
Vincent smiled.
“There's the truth.”
Harper watched both brothers.
She understood enough.
Damian had inherited dirty money.
He had tried to clean the organization.
Vincent wanted the old world back.
But something didn't fit.
“Why Ethan?”
Both men looked at her.
Harper continued.
“If you wanted Damian, why drug his son?”
Vincent's expression cooled.
“He wasn't supposed to collapse.”
Ethan had been telling the truth.
“You drugged him.”
“A mild sedative.”
“He couldn't move.”
“The dose was wrong.”
Harper stared.
Vincent didn't sound sorry.
Damian did not move.
That was more frightening than anger.
“You could have killed my son.”
“But I didn't.”
“You will never go near him again.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Still issuing orders.”
He reached into his jacket.
Damian's men shifted.
Vincent slowly removed an envelope.
He placed it on the table.
“For Harper.”
She didn't touch it.
“Why?”
“Because she deserves to know why her diner matters.”
Damian opened the envelope.
Inside was a deed.
Harper read the address.
Callahan's Diner.
Then the ownership history.
Her eyes stopped on one name.
ELAINE LANE.
Harper's mother.
“No.”
Damian looked at her.
“You know that name?”
“My mother.”
Vincent smiled.
“She never told you?”
“My mother was a bookkeeper.”
“For the Red Market Circle.”
Harper stepped backward.
“No.”
“She found things she wasn't supposed to find.”
“Stop.”
“She copied records.”
“Stop.”
“And then she disappeared.”
Harper slammed both hands onto the table.
“My mother died.”
Vincent tilted his head.
“Did she?”
Everything inside Harper went silent.
Her mother had died when Harper was fourteen.
That was what Aunt June told her.
Car accident.
Closed casket.
No funeral viewing because the injuries had been too severe.
Harper had never questioned it.
Why would a fourteen-year-old question death?
Damian turned to Vincent.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving her the truth.”
“You don't give anything without wanting payment.”
Vincent's eyes moved toward Harper.
“Your mother stole the second ledger.”
Harper couldn't breathe.
“And I believe she left it for you.”
“I don't have anything.”
“You work in the building she secretly owned.”
“I work there because Lou hired me.”
Vincent smiled.
“Exactly.”
Harper looked toward the kitchen.
“Lou?”
Vincent didn't answer.
Damian did.
“Where is he?”
They moved into the kitchen.
Empty.
The rear door stood open.
Lou was gone.
Harper stared.
She remembered all the strange things he had said over the years.
Never open the basement storage room.
Old pipes.
Unsafe wiring.
Insurance problems.
She turned.
“The basement.”
Damian followed.
The basement door was locked.
Harper found the spare key beneath the register.
It didn't fit.
Vincent appeared behind them.
“You won't open that with a key.”
Damian turned sharply.
“You're leaving.”
“Not yet.”
Harper studied the door.
Then she remembered something.
Her mother had given her a brass token when she was little.
Harper had kept it on her keychain for years.
A strange flat piece of metal with a notch cut through the middle.
She still carried it.
Her hands shook as she inserted it into a narrow slot beside the lock.
Click.
The basement door opened.
Nobody spoke.
Harper descended.
A single bulb illuminated old shelves.
Cleaning supplies.
Boxes.
A broken freezer.
Nothing remarkable.
Then Damian noticed scratches on the floor.
He moved the freezer.
Behind it was a steel panel.
Harper found another slot.
The brass token fit.
The panel opened.
Inside was a small room.
A desk.
A chair.
And photographs.
Dozens.
Harper's childhood.
Her school.
Her apartment.
Her first day working at Callahan's.
Someone had been documenting her life for years.
Harper covered her mouth.
Damian picked up a photograph.
On the back was a recent date.
Three weeks earlier.
“You've been watched.”
Harper turned toward Vincent.
He looked genuinely surprised.
“These aren't mine.”
For the first time, Damian believed him.
Harper searched the desk.
One drawer contained a cassette recorder.
Another held an envelope.
Her name was written across it.
HARPER.
The handwriting made her knees weaken.
She knew it.
Her mother's.
Harper opened the envelope.
One sentence.
If you found this, Lou failed to keep you away from the truth.
Underneath:
Do not trust either Moretti brother.
Harper slowly raised her eyes.
Damian stood to her left.
Vincent stood to her right.
Then the steel basement door slammed shut above them.
May you like
A lock clicked.
Someone had trapped all three of them inside.
