Chapter 3 - The Door Under Bellamy House
Nora read the message three times.
Her daughter.
Maya.
Sixteen years old.
Junior at St. Catherine’s Academy.
She should have been home studying with Nora’s sister that night.
Nora grabbed Eli’s phone.
“What number is this?”
Dominic was already beside her.
“Let me see.”
She pulled it away.
“No.”
“Nora.”
“They threatened my kid.”
“I know.”
“Then nobody touches this phone.”
Dominic’s voice softened.
“I’m trying to help.”
“You own the building where someone threatened her.”
“I also have people who can get to her faster than the police.”
Nora looked at him.
She hated that he was probably right.
“Call them.”
Dominic dialed.
Nora listened as he ordered two security teams to St. Catherine’s and another to her home.
“No one approaches the girl unless Bennett approves,” he said. “Eyes only until we confirm she’s safe.”
He handed Nora his phone.
“Your sister’s number.”
Nora called.
Three rings.
Then her sister answered.
“Nora?”
“Where’s Maya?”
“At the kitchen table. Why?”
Nora closed her eyes.
“Put her on.”
“Mom?”
Maya sounded annoyed.
Normal.
Beautifully normal.
“Hey, baby.”
“Why are you calling from somebody else’s phone?”
“My battery’s acting up.”
A lie.
“What are you doing?”
“Algebra.”
“Your favorite.”
“I would rather lick a subway pole.”
Nora almost laughed.
Almost cried.
“Stay home tonight.”
“I was planning to.”
“Lock the doors.”
“Mom?”
“I’ll explain later.”
Silence.
“Are you okay?”
Nora looked at shattered glass thirty feet away.
“I’m fine.”
Another lie.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Nora hung up.
Dominic waited.
“She’s safe?”
“For now.”
“Then we find whoever sent that.”
Margaret whispered, “They want the door opened.”
Dominic turned.
“Then show me.”
She hesitated.
“Mother.”
“Your father made me swear.”
“He’s dead.”
“That does not make promises disappear.”
“No. But threatening Nora’s daughter does.”
Margaret looked at Nora.
Something in her face shifted.
Perhaps guilt.
Perhaps shame.
“Come.”
They went downstairs.
Bellamy House’s basement was nothing like the dining room above.
Bare stone.
Copper pipes.
Low ceilings.
The building dated to 1894, though several renovations had disguised most of its age.
Margaret knew exactly where she was going.
Past the wine cellar.
Past dry storage.
Through an old laundry room nobody used.
She stopped before a brick wall.
Dominic stared.
“That’s it?”
Margaret touched one brick.
“No.”
She looked at his ring.
“Your father designed the lock himself.”
Dominic pressed the Callahan crest against a brass plate hidden behind a utility panel.
A mechanical click sounded.
The wall moved.
Nora stepped backward.
A narrow doorway opened.
Beyond it was darkness.
Dominic’s security chief went first.
Then Dominic.
Nora followed.
Margaret tried to stop her.
“You should stay outside.”
“They threatened my daughter because I saw that mark.”
Nora looked directly at her.
“I’m past staying outside.”
Margaret nodded.
Inside was a small concrete room.
No furniture.
Only filing cabinets and one steel table.
Dominic opened the nearest drawer.
Empty.
Second.
Empty.
Third.
Empty.
Someone had been there.
Recently.
Dust covered the cabinet surfaces except around the handles.
Nora walked toward the table.
A rectangle of clean metal marked where something had been sitting.
“What was kept here?”
Margaret did not answer.
Dominic turned.
“What?”
“Records.”
“What records?”
“Everything.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“Everything what?”
Margaret took a breath.
“Payments. Names. Shipping manifests. Judges. Politicians. Police officers. Union officials. People your father bribed. People he blackmailed. People who paid him.”
Nora stared.
Dominic looked as if someone had struck him.
“You told me Father left that life.”
“He tried.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“He tried at the end.”
“At the end?”
Margaret looked down.
“After Gabriel disappeared.”
Dominic slowly approached her.
“What happened to Uncle Gabriel?”
She did not speak.
“Mother.”
“I don’t know.”
“You said he stole money.”
“That was the story.”
“The story?”
“Your father told me to say it.”
Dominic’s face emptied.
Nora realized this was not simply a mystery unfolding.
It was a son discovering his childhood had been manufactured.
Margaret touched the steel table.
“Gabriel discovered your father had been moving company money into secret accounts.”
“Why?”
“I never knew.”
“But Gabriel confronted him.”
“Yes.”
“And disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Did Father kill him?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“I asked once.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me never to ask again.”
Dominic walked away.
His hands closed into fists.
Nora looked around.
“If records were kept here, whoever came tonight expected to find them.”
Margaret nodded.
“But they’re gone.”
“Yes.”
“So someone moved them.”
Dominic looked back at her.
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
A faint sound came from the far wall.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The security chief raised his hand.
Everyone became silent.
Tap.
Tap.
A hidden panel near the floor.
Dominic crouched and pulled it open.
Inside was an old dumbwaiter shaft.
And something rested on the platform.
A black metal case.
The same type they had found in the wine crate.
Dominic lifted it.
This one was unlocked.
Inside were photographs.
Nora picked up the first.
A younger Margaret.
A younger man she recognized from newspapers as Dominic’s father, Vincent Callahan.
Beside him stood another man.
Similar face.
Same eyes.
Gabriel.
The next photograph showed Charles Whitcomb.
Twenty years younger.
Nora’s stomach dropped.
“He knew them.”
Dominic took the picture.
Charles stood beside Vincent and Gabriel outside Bellamy House.
On the back, handwritten in black ink:
1999 — CHARLES BROUGHT INTO THE HOUSE.
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“Charles has been working here for twelve years.”
Margaret whispered, “Not according to that.”
Another photograph.
A police captain.
Another.
A judge.
Another.
A woman standing beside Gabriel.
Dominic stopped.
Nora saw his face.
“Who is she?”
Margaret looked.
Her knees weakened.
“Oh, God.”
“Mother?”
“That’s Isabel Mercer.”
Eli, standing in the doorway behind them, made a sound.
Everyone turned.
“My grandmother’s name was Isabel Mercer.”
Margaret stared at him.
“What?”
“My dad’s mom.”
Dominic looked from Eli to the photograph.
“Your father’s name?”
“Thomas.”
Margaret covered her mouth.
Dominic said, “Mother.”
She shook her head.
“Not possible.”
“What?”
Margaret looked at Eli.
“How old is your father?”
“Forty-six.”
She sat down hard against the wall.
Nora understood before Dominic did.
Eli had Callahan eyes.
Dark.
Deep-set.
The same slight crease at the outside corner.
Dominic looked again at the photograph.
Gabriel’s hand rested on Isabel Mercer’s shoulder.
Not casually.
Intimately.
“Gabriel had a son,” Nora said.
Margaret whispered, “He might have.”
Eli stepped backward.
“No.”
Dominic’s voice was quieter.
“Eli.”
“No. My dad’s father died before he was born.”
“What was his name?”
“I don’t know.”
Nora looked at him.
“Has your father ever talked about the Callahans?”
“No.”
“Bellamy House?”
“No.”
“Why did you apply here?”
Eli stared at her.
“My dad told me to.”
The room changed.
Dominic straightened.
“What?”
Eli looked frightened again.
“He said it paid well.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Had he ever mentioned the place before?”
“No.”
Dominic looked at his security chief.
“Find Thomas Mercer.”
The man immediately began typing.
Nora searched through more photographs.
Then she found an envelope.
On the front:
FOR DOMINIC — IF VINCENT FAILS.
She handed it over.
Dominic opened it.
Inside was a key.
Small.
Brass.
And a note.
Dominic read silently.
Margaret whispered, “What does it say?”
He did not answer.
“Dominic.”
His eyes lifted.
“It says Father lied about Gabriel.”
Margaret went pale.
“What else?”
Dominic read aloud.
“Gabriel didn’t steal from us. He discovered what I had done. If you are reading this, then Charles has found the records before you.”
Everyone looked toward the doorway.
Charles Whitcomb stood there.
He held a gun.
And beside him stood a man Nora recognized immediately from Eli’s family photo.
May you like
Thomas Mercer.
Eli’s father.
