Chapter 4 - The Father Who Stayed Dead
“Get away from my daughter.”
Daniel’s gun remained pointed at Vincent.
Emma stepped between them.
“Stop.”
“Emma, move.”
“No.”
“Peanut—”
“Don’t call me that.”
Daniel flinched.
Good, Emma thought.
She wanted him to hurt.
She had spent twenty years mourning him.
He could survive five minutes of discomfort.
“Put the gun down.”
Daniel lowered it slowly.
Emma studied him.
He was sixty now.
Older than the father preserved in her memories.
His hair had gone silver at the temples. Lines crossed his forehead. A pale scar ran from his jaw toward his ear.
But he was Daniel.
No doubt remained.
Emma slapped him.
Daniel accepted it.
Then she hit his chest with both fists.
“You were alive!”
He caught her wrists gently.
“I’m sorry.”
“Mom died believing you would never come home.”
His face broke.
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“I watched the funeral from across the street.”
Emma pulled away.
That hurt worse.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t come to me?”
“I couldn’t.”
“You could have walked across the street.”
“If I had, the men watching you would have followed me.”
Emma stopped.
“Men were watching us?”
“For years.”
“Vale?”
“Vale and others.”
Daniel looked at Vincent.
“Some belonged to him.”
Vincent did not deny it.
“I watched them to make sure Anthony’s people didn’t get close.”
Daniel laughed bitterly.
“You expect gratitude?”
“No.”
Emma stepped between them again.
“Enough. I want the truth.”
Daniel invited them inside.
The apartment was almost empty.
A folding table.
Two chairs.
Maps.
Old photographs.
Several prepaid phones.
Daniel had been living like a man expecting to leave within minutes.
Emma noticed one photograph.
Her college graduation.
Another showed her mother outside the hospital.
Another showed Emma at twenty-four, leaving her first restaurant job.
“You watched me.”
Daniel’s eyes lowered.
“Whenever I could.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“I know.”
Emma hated that he kept saying it.
She wanted excuses she could attack.
Daniel offered none.
He explained everything.
Anthony Moretti had built a financial network that reached beyond organized crime. Politicians, developers, attorneys, executives, and police officials had accepted money.
Daniel discovered the network while balancing accounts.
He copied the evidence.
Anthony ordered his death.
Vincent helped him escape at the last moment.
But Daniel believed someone else had betrayed his attempt to return three years later.
Someone who knew both Daniel and Vincent.
Thomas Vale.
Vale wanted the records because they implicated his father, a former prosecutor who had built a respectable career on Moretti money.
After Anthony died, Vale began eliminating anyone who could expose the past.
Daniel stayed hidden.
Emma listened.
Then asked, “Why now?”
Daniel looked at her.
“Because Vale found you six months ago.”
“Eight.”
“What?”
“He’s been my supervisor for eight months.”
Daniel’s face drained.
“That’s impossible.”
Emma pulled out her phone and showed him a staff photograph.
Daniel stared at Leonard Pike.
Thomas Vale.
“He got closer than I knew.”
Vincent said, “He wanted you to call her.”
Daniel nodded.
“And I did exactly what he expected.”
Carlo entered from the hallway.
“We need to leave.”
Daniel looked at him.
“You brought Carlo?”
“You contacted him,” Emma said.
Daniel frowned.
“No, I didn’t.”
Silence.
Emma turned toward Carlo.
“You said my father sent you.”
Carlo reached slowly beneath his jacket.
Vincent moved.
But Carlo pulled out a phone instead.
He placed it on the table.
A message showed instructions allegedly from Daniel.
Daniel examined it.
“Not my number.”
Carlo swore.
Vale had manipulated all of them.
A sound came from downstairs.
Car doors.
Several.
Daniel crossed to the window.
“Too late.”
Vincent joined him.
Men were entering the building.
Emma’s heart raced.
Daniel opened a floor panel.
Beneath it was a metal case.
He handed it to Emma.
“What is this?”
“Insurance.”
“Records?”
“Part of them.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Where are the originals?”
Daniel smiled without humor.
“Still where I left them twenty years ago.”
“The bank?”
“No.”
Emma showed him the cuff link.
Daniel’s face changed.
“You kept it.”
“Vincent did.”
Daniel opened it.
41-18-12.
He looked at Emma.
“That isn’t a bank box.”
“What is it?”
“A date.”
Emma frowned.
April 18, 2012?
Daniel shook his head.
“Numbers from your childhood.”
Emma stared.
Then remembered.
41 was the apartment where they had lived.
18 was the number on her father’s old work locker.
12—
Her eyes widened.
“Bus route twelve.”
Daniel nodded.
“The route we took to Coney Island.”
Emma almost laughed at the absurdity.
“What does that mean?”
“It tells you where the key is.”
Footsteps sounded below.
Daniel handed her the metal case.
“Go with Vincent.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“I just found you.”
“You found me because Vale wanted you to.”
“So?”
“So now I make sure that wasn’t a mistake.”
Daniel looked at Vincent.
“Get her out.”
Vincent nodded.
Emma stared at both men.
“You don’t get to decide for me.”
Daniel smiled faintly.
“You sound like your mother.”
The comparison nearly broke her.
A gunshot sounded downstairs.
Carlo drew his weapon.
Frank shouted from the hallway.
“Move!”
Daniel pushed Emma toward the rear stairs.
They descended.
More shots.
Vincent stayed beside Emma.
Daniel and Carlo followed.
They reached an alley.
Frank brought the SUV around.
Emma climbed inside.
Daniel did too.
For one glorious second, she thought they had escaped together.
Then another vehicle blocked the alley.
A man stepped out.
Thin.
Brown hair.
Glasses.
Leonard Pike.
Thomas Vale.
Emma recognized the mild smile he used whenever he handed her a schedule.
“Emma,” he said.
She stared.
“You.”
Vale looked at Daniel.
“Twenty years is a long time to keep something that belongs to me.”
Daniel raised his gun.
Vale smiled.
“You won't shoot.”
“Try me.”
Vale lifted his phone.
On the screen was a live video.
Emma leaned closer.
A woman sat tied to a chair.
Emma recognized her immediately.
Sophie Grant.
Her best friend.
Her roommate.
Vale said, “Put the gun down, Daniel.”
Emma’s blood turned cold.
May you like
Vale’s smile widened.
“Or Emma loses someone else she loves.”
