Chapter 7 - A FATHER’S PRICE
Dominic stepped between Marco and the bed.
“Put your phone on the floor.”
Marco looked at Mrs. Alvarez.
Then Hannah.
“I didn’t hit her.”
“Your phone.”
Marco placed it on the tile.
“Vincent wanted to know where Hannah lived. That was all he said.”
Mrs. Alvarez’s voice shook.
“You told me to stop asking questions.”
“I know.”
“You said babies disappear every day.”
Hannah moved so fast Dominic barely caught her wrist.
She stared at Marco with a hatred that made him lower his eyes.
“You came into the linen room,” she said. “Last week. You asked why I had a diaper bag.”
Marco said nothing.
“You knew.”
“He has my son.”
The room went still.
Dominic knew Marco’s boy. Twelve years old. Baseball cap. Missing front tooth in the photograph on his father’s desk.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long?”
“Four days.”
“You should have come to me.”
Marco looked up.
“Would you have believed me before today?”
Dominic had no answer he respected.
A nurse appeared at the doorway, alarmed by the voices. Hannah asked her to call hospital security.
Marco did not resist.
Before they took him, he looked at Dominic.
“Dock Nine. Tonight. They’re emptying the records room before the property transfer.”
“How do you know?”
“I was supposed to help.”
Celia arrived as security led Marco away.
“You let them take your head of security?”
“He threatened a woman protecting my niece.”
Celia glanced at Hannah.
“Your niece hasn’t been established.”
Hannah’s face hardened.
Dominic noticed.
He also noticed Celia reach for Marco’s phone.
He picked it up first.
That evening, an independent investigator Dominic had used for business disputes located Marco’s son at a rental house registered to one of Vincent’s shell companies.
Dominic gave the address to the police.
For once, he did not send his own men.
By nine, the boy was safe.
By ten, Marco was talking through an attorney.
He gave them the code to Dock Nine’s records room.
Hannah stood over Julian’s notebook while Dominic compared the container numbers.
At the bottom of a page, beneath a smear of coffee, she found a sentence she had missed.
Originals kept where Dom learned to count.
“The old counting room,” Dominic said.
“At the terminal?”
He nodded.
His phone rang.
Vincent.
Dominic answered.
“You got the boy back,” Vincent said. “Good.”
“What did you do to my brother?”
A pause.
May you like
“Come to the terminal.”
Then Vincent added, almost gently, “And ask Hannah what Julian was planning to steal.”
