Chapter 5 - THE LIE
I read the last sentence three times.
Dominic didn’t move.
Mom stood beside me, breathing hard.
“Get out,” I said.
“Avery—”
“Get out.”
Dominic’s voice stayed calm.
“Your father had reasons not to trust me.”
“That’s enough.”
“He wrote that before things changed.”
I laughed.
“My father died twelve days after that photo was taken. How much changed?”
Dominic said nothing.
Exactly.
Marco glanced toward the hallway.
“We shouldn’t stay here.”
I rounded on him.
“Then leave.”
Mom touched my arm.
“Avery, listen to him.”
I stared at her.
“Five minutes ago you slapped him.”
“And now I’m telling you those men may come back.”
She was right.
I hated that everyone kept being right.
We moved to a safe apartment Dominic kept downtown.
Calling it an apartment was ridiculous.
It took up an entire floor.
Mom sat near the windows with tea she never drank.
I stood across from Dominic.
“Start talking.”
He removed his jacket.
“Eight years ago, your father agreed to help me collect records against Salvatore.”
“Why?”
“He hated what was happening at job sites. Workers were getting hurt because safety reports were falsified.”
Dad had complained about that.
I remembered.
“He discovered fake vendors and missing pension money,” Dominic continued. “Then he found payments to judges and police.”
“So you recruited him.”
“Yes.”
“And got him killed.”
Dominic flinched.
Barely.
But he did.
“Yes.”
I wasn’t expecting that answer.
He continued.
“Daniel gave me copies. I planned to meet a federal investigator. Salvatore found out.”
“Who told him?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Until now?”
Dominic looked toward the door.
“Vanessa.”
My stomach dropped.
“She was twenty-two.”
“Her father worked for my uncle.”
“What father?”
“Richard Whitmore.”
I knew the name.
Whitmore Development.
One of the biggest contractors in Illinois.
“He died three years ago,” Dominic said. “Officially from a heart attack.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You people really love official stories.”
Mom suddenly spoke.
“Daniel knew Richard.”
We both turned.
She looked at me.
“Your father hated him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because after Daniel died, I wanted all of it gone.”
She started crying.
“I wanted you safe.”
I sat beside her.
“You should’ve told me.”
“I know.”
Those three words hurt more than an excuse.
Dominic’s phone rang.
Marco answered from the hallway.
His voice changed.
He entered quickly.
“The storage facility.”
Dominic stood.
“What about it?”
“Fire.”
I felt the blood leave my face.
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
I grabbed my jacket.
Dominic blocked me.
“The fire department—”
“The box.”
“If Salvatore knows the unit, he’s already there.”
“Then so am I.”
Mom grabbed my wrist.
“Avery.”
I looked at her.
She was terrified.
I kissed her forehead.
“I’m coming back.”
Her grip tightened.
“That’s what your father said.”
I froze.
For one second, I almost stayed.
Then Dominic said quietly, “I’ll bring her back.”
Mom looked at him.
“If you don’t, I swear to God I’ll live long enough to kill you myself.”
For the first time all night, Dominic almost smiled.
“I believe you.”
We reached the storage facility twenty-five minutes later.
Fire trucks blocked the entrance.
Flames climbed from the rear building.
Unit 317 was inside.
Marco bribed nobody.
Threatened nobody.
He simply showed an identification card, spoke to someone in charge, and got us close enough to see the damage.
Then I noticed something.
“Wait.”
Across the street, under a broken streetlight, Vanessa stood beside a black sedan.
She saw me.
Her eyes widened.
Then she ran.
I took off after her.
“Avery!” Dominic shouted.
Vanessa jumped into the passenger seat.
The car sped away.
Something fell from her purse.
I picked it up.
An old photograph.
Dad.
Richard Whitmore.
And a third man.
May you like
On the back, in Dad’s handwriting, were four words:
THE REAL TRAITOR IS MARCO.
