CHAPTER 4 — THE WOMAN BEHIND THE SMILE
By morning, Vanessa Whitmore was gone.
No phone.
No driver.
No security detail.
No explanation.
She had simply disappeared.
Dominic stood at the head of the conference table while seven men waited around him.
I sat near the window.
I wasn't supposed to be there.
At least, that's what the looks suggested.
One of the men finally spoke.
“Mr. Moretti, with respect, this is an internal matter.”
Dominic didn't look at him.
“Avery stays.”
The man glanced at me.
“She isn't family.”
Dominic's eyes lifted.
“She is now.”
Silence.
I looked at him.
He didn't look back.
Something about those words unsettled me.
Not because I believed he meant them romantically.
Not yet.
Because Dominic Moretti didn't say things accidentally.
He turned toward the screen.
“Vanessa withdrew forty-eight million dollars from three accounts between 11:04 p.m. and 2:16 a.m.”
A man across the table frowned.
“She had authorization.”
“Not for these.”
The screen changed.
A series of transactions appeared.
Offshore accounts.
Shell companies.
Transfers through three countries.
I recognized none of them.
Then one name appeared.
WHITMORE HOLDINGS.
My stomach tightened.
“Her father?”
Dominic nodded.
“Richard Whitmore.”
“But he's dead.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“He's alive.”
One of the men at the table shifted uncomfortably.
I noticed.
So did Dominic.
“What?” Dominic asked.
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
The man swallowed.
“We received confirmation six years ago.”
“From whom?”
“Federal authorities.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Which federal authority?”
The man didn't answer.
Dominic stood.
“That's what I thought.”
The room went silent.
I realized something.
There was fear in that room.
Not fear of Vanessa.
Not even fear of Richard.
Fear of the truth.
Dominic dismissed everyone.
When the door closed, I looked at him.
“You don't trust your own people.”
“I trust some.”
“How many?”
“Enough.”
“That doesn't sound reassuring.”
“It isn't.”
He sat down.
“You should leave the city.”
“No.”
“Avery.”
“No.”
“You're being hunted.”
“Then running makes me easier to find.”
He studied me.
“Your father would have agreed.”
I stared at him.
“You knew him very well.”
“Yes.”
“What did he think of Vanessa?”
“He never met her.”
“What about Richard?”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“He hated him.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard Whitmore wasn't a businessman.”
“What was he?”
Dominic leaned back.
“A collector.”
“Of what?”
“Secrets.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“He didn't want money.”
“Everyone wants money.”
“Richard wanted leverage.”
Dominic opened a file.
“Politicians. Judges. Police commanders. CEOs. Foreign officials.”
He tapped the documents.
“He collected evidence against powerful people.”
“For blackmail?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“And my father found out.”
“Your father discovered that Richard had infiltrated the Moretti organization.”
“How?”
“He caught someone selling information.”
“Who?”
“We never identified him.”
I remembered my father's letter.
The person who betrayed me is closer to you than you think.
I looked at Dominic.
“What if you did?”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Identify the traitor.”
“We haven't.”
“What if you already know who it is?”
He stared at me.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because my father wrote that the traitor was close.”
“To him.”
I looked down.
“Or to you.”
Dominic became very still.
Then he stood.
“That's enough for today.”
“Why?”
“Because someone wants us to suspect each other.”
“Maybe they should.”
His eyes met mine.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then he said:
“Don't make the mistake of thinking distrust is the same thing as intelligence.”
I smiled faintly.
“Don't make the mistake of thinking trust is.”
That afternoon, my mother was moved to another location.
A private medical facility owned by one of Dominic's legitimate companies.
She protested.
I ignored her.
She protested again.
I ignored her again.
Finally, she looked at Dominic.
“You've created a monster.”
Dominic looked at me.
“I noticed.”
I rolled my eyes.
Mom smiled.
For the first time since the attacks began, the room felt almost normal.
Then her expression changed.
“Avery.”
“What?”
“Your father's music box.”
My heart stopped.
“What about it?”
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At home.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“What?”
“I moved it years ago.”
“Where?”
She looked at Dominic.
Then back at me.
“I don't remember.”
I stared at her.
“Mom.”
“I was afraid someone would find it.”
“What is inside?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why hide it?”
“Because your father told me to.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“Where did you put it?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“Storage.”
“Which storage?”
“Cicero.”
I stood immediately.
Dominic grabbed his jacket.
“We're going.”
The storage facility was old.
Rusty doors.
Flickering lights.
A security guard who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
We found the unit.
The lock had already been broken.
Dominic raised his hand.
Everyone stopped.
He looked at the floor.
Fresh footprints.
Someone had been there.
Recently.
He drew his weapon.
“Stay behind me.”
I did.
For once.
We entered.
Boxes were scattered everywhere.
My mother's old furniture.
My father's clothes.
Photographs.
Books.
I searched frantically.
“Music box.”
“Keep looking.”
Then I saw it.
A small wooden box beneath an old blanket.
I grabbed it.
Dominic immediately stopped me.
“Don't open it.”
“Why?”
“Because it may be trapped.”
He examined it.
Nothing.
He carefully opened the lid.
A soft melody began playing.
The same melody my father used to hum when I was a child.
I felt tears rise.
“There.”
Dominic pointed.
Inside the music box was a tiny metal compartment.
My hands trembled.
I opened it.
There was a key.
And a folded piece of paper.
I opened the paper.
Only one sentence.
WHEN THE GIRL STANDS AGAIN, TAKE HER TO THE VAULT.
I looked at Dominic.
“What vault?”
His face had gone pale.
“The original Moretti vault.”
“Where is it?”
“Under the old Moretti estate.”
“Can we get there?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because if your father left that key for you, someone else knows about it.”
A noise came from the hallway.
Dominic immediately pushed me behind him.
Footsteps.
Three men entered.
The first raised a weapon.
Dominic fired.
The man dropped.
The second ran.
I chased him.
I caught him at the exit.
He swung.
I ducked.
His fist hit the wall.
I drove my elbow into his ribs.
He collapsed.
The third man disappeared.
Dominic ran after him.
A gunshot echoed outside.
Then silence.
I ran out.
Dominic stood in the rain.
The third attacker was gone.
But something lay on the ground.
A phone.
Dominic picked it up.
One message was still open.
SHE HAS THE KEY.
Another appeared.
DO NOT KILL HER.
Dominic stared at the screen.
I looked at him.
“Why don't they want me dead?”
He didn't answer.
The phone buzzed again.
A photograph arrived.
My mother.
Inside the hospital.
Taken less than ten minutes earlier.
My heart stopped.
The message beneath it said:
BECAUSE HER MOTHER IS WORTH MORE ALIVE.
I couldn't breathe.
Dominic grabbed the phone from my hand.
His face became terrifyingly calm.
“Get in the car.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Bring your mother somewhere they can't reach her.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere even I don't tell anyone about.”
I stared at him.
“And then?”
His eyes met mine.
“Then we find Vanessa.”
We found her that night.
Or rather, she found us.
At 11:48 p.m., Dominic's private phone rang.
He answered.
Silence.
Then Vanessa's voice.
“Hello, darling.”
Dominic's expression didn't change.
“Where are you?”
“You're not going to like the answer.”
“Try me.”
A soft laugh.
“She wants to know why her father is still alive.”
I stepped closer.
Vanessa continued.
“Avery.”
I froze.
“Hello.”
“You have something that belongs to my family.”
“I have nothing.”
“You have the key.”
I looked at Dominic.
Vanessa laughed.
“Your father always underestimated how predictable you were.”
“Where is my father?”
Silence.
Then:
“Dead.”
“You're lying.”
“I wish I were.”
My chest tightened.
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because my father wants what your father stole.”
“What did he steal?”
“The ledger.”
“I don't have it.”
“No.”
Her voice became softer.
“You have the way to reach it.”
Dominic spoke.
“Vanessa.”
“Yes?”
“You're finished.”
She laughed.
“Dominic, you still don't understand.”
“What?”
“I was never trying to marry you.”
The room became silent.
Vanessa continued.
“I was trying to get close enough to find the vault.”
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“And you failed.”
“No.”
She paused.
“Because Avery succeeded for me.”
I felt cold.
“What does that mean?”
“You found the key.”
The call ended.
Dominic immediately ordered a trace.
Thirty seconds later, his security team responded.
“Burner phone.”
“Location?”
“Chicago River.”
Dominic looked at me.
“We're going.”
We reached the river in eleven minutes.
The rain had returned.
A black boat was moving through the darkness.
Vanessa stood on the rear deck.
She was wearing a long black coat.
No champagne.
No diamonds.
No smile.
She looked different.
Dangerous.
She raised a hand.
Dominic stopped.
“Avery stays here.”
I stepped beside him.
“No.”
Vanessa laughed from the boat.
“Of course she doesn't listen.”
She looked directly at me.
“You really are your father's daughter.”
My heart hammered.
“Where is Richard?”
Vanessa's face changed.
For the first time, I saw fear.
“Closer than you think.”
Then she dropped something into the water.
A small metal cylinder.
Dominic cursed.
“Get down!”
An explosion rocked the river.
Water erupted.
The boat disappeared into smoke.
Dominic grabbed me.
We hit the ground.
For several seconds, there was only ringing in my ears.
Then I heard him.
“Avery!”
I opened my eyes.
He was above me.
His face was inches from mine.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He touched my cheek.
His fingers stopped near my jaw.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then he pulled away.
His expression became controlled again.
“She's gone.”
I looked toward the river.
The boat had disappeared.
But something was floating near the shore.
I walked toward it.
A photograph.
I picked it up.
My father.
Standing beside Richard Whitmore.
And between them...
was Dominic's father.
On the back was a handwritten date.
September 14.
Eight years ago.
The day before my father supposedly died.
I looked at Dominic.
“Your father met Richard the day before mine died.”
He stared at the photograph.
His face hardened.
“That meeting was never in any record.”
“Then why did my father photograph it?”
Dominic took the photograph.
There was something written beneath the date.
Five words.
ONE OF THEM BETRAYED US.
We looked at each other.
Neither of us spoke.
Because the question was no longer who killed my father.
The question was worse.
Who had been standing beside him when it happened?
And why had my father left the answer hidden for eight years?
Behind us, my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
ASK YOUR MOTHER WHAT HAPPENED ON SEPTEMBER 14.
I looked toward the hospital where my mother was supposed to be safe.
Then at Dominic.
He understood immediately.
“We're going back.”
“Why?”
“Because someone wants you to ask your mother that question.”
I stared at the message.
“And if she knows the answer?”
Dominic's voice was quiet.
“Then everything changes.”
We drove through the rain.
Neither of us spoke.
But somewhere inside me, a terrible possibility was taking shape.
My mother had spent eight years telling me she was protecting me.
Maybe she had been.
Maybe she had been protecting me from the truth.
Or maybe...
she had been protecting the truth from me.
And when we finally reached the hospital, the room where my mother had been staying was empty.
The bed was still warm.
The machines were still running.
Her medication was still on the table.
But my mother was gone.
On the pillow lay a single envelope.
My name was written across it.
AVERY.
I opened it with shaking hands.
Inside was one sentence.
Your father didn't die alone.
May you like
And beneath it, in my mother's handwriting:
I was there.
