Chapter 3 - My Sister's SecretEmily had been twenty years old when our father died.
For six years, whenever we spoke about that night, she told the same story.
She had been at college.
She received my call after midnight.
She drove home the next morning.
That was the story I knew.
That wasn't the truth.
“I was there,” she whispered.
I stared at her.
“Where?”
“At Dad's office.”
The room went silent.
Dominic remained standing beside the table.
“When?” I asked.
“The night he died.”
My fingers tightened around the untouched coffee cup.
“You told me you were in Boston.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad asked me to.”
I laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“He asked you to lie about being there after he was dead?”
“No.”
Emily wiped her face.
“He asked me before.”
I sat slowly.
“Start talking.”
She inhaled shakily.
“I came home from college that weekend because I needed money.”
I almost smiled bitterly.
That sounded like twenty-year-old Emily.
“I had maxed out two credit cards. I was embarrassed. I didn't want you to know.”
“So you went to Dad.”
“Yes.”
“He was angry?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“He said we'd figure it out. Then someone called him.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Emily looked toward Dominic.
“He became nervous.”
Dominic's expression sharpened.
“How nervous?”
“I'd never seen Dad like that.”
She continued.
“He told me I needed to leave immediately. I asked why, but he wouldn't explain.”
“What happened next?”
“I went downstairs.”
“To leave?”
“I was going to.”
Her voice broke.
“But I heard voices.”
“How many?”
“Two men with Dad.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“Did you see them?”
“Only one.”
“Who?”
Emily began crying.
“I didn't know his name then.”
Dominic leaned closer.
“But you know now.”
She nodded.
“Who?”
“Nathan's father.”
I stared at her.
“Richard Wexler?”
“Yes.”
Richard Wexler had died three years ago.
He had been a powerful investment banker.
Cold.
Brilliant.
Nathan rarely spoke about him.
“What was he doing there?”
“I don't know.”
Emily continued.
“They were arguing.”
“About what?”
“Something called Bellardi capital.”
Dominic went still.
Emily looked at him.
“I remember because Dad said your name.”
“What exactly did he say?”
She closed her eyes, searching the memory.
“He said, ‘Dominic warned me what would happen if I trusted you.’”
Dominic looked away.
For the first time, genuine pain crossed his face.
I noticed.
“What happened after that?”
Emily's voice became smaller.
“I heard something break. Then Dad shouted.”
My stomach twisted.
“I wanted to run upstairs, but I was scared.”
“So you left?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I hid.”
“Where?”
“In the supply room near the lobby.”
She swallowed.
“Richard came downstairs about fifteen minutes later.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
Dominic looked at her.
“Who was with him?”
“I couldn't see his face. He wore a dark coat.”
“What happened next?”
“They left.”
“And Dad?”
“I waited about ten minutes.”
Her breathing became uneven.
“Then I went upstairs.”
I already knew what came next.
“I found him behind his desk.”
Tears streamed down her face.
“He was barely conscious.”
My throat closed.
“You found Dad alive?”
“Yes.”
I stood so quickly my coffee spilled.
“You found him alive and you left?”
“No!”
Emily stood too.
“He told me to leave.”
“You should have called an ambulance!”
“I tried!”
She sobbed now.
“He grabbed my hand. He told me not to call anyone from the building.”
“Why?”
“He said they were watching.”
My skin prickled.
“What else?”
“He gave me something.”
“What?”
Emily looked toward her purse.
Dominic moved first.
“What did he give you?”
“A key.”
I stared at her.
“Where is it?”
She opened her purse with shaking hands.
From a small inner compartment, she removed a thin gold chain.
At the end hung an old brass key.
“You've had that for six years?”
“Yes.”
I couldn't believe it.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Dad made me promise.”
“He was dying.”
“He said, ‘Don't give this to Claire unless someone comes asking about Bellardi.’”
Every eye turned toward Dominic.
He stared at the key.
“What does it open?” I asked.
Dominic's voice was quiet.
“I think I know.”
He walked toward a bookshelf and removed an old photograph.
Three men stood on a dock.
My father.
A younger Dominic.
And another man I didn't recognize.
Dominic handed me the photo.
“Your father and I bought a warehouse together in Brooklyn twenty-eight years ago.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“It wasn't really a warehouse.”
“What was it?”
“A vault.”
Emily whispered, “For money?”
“No.”
Dominic's expression became grim.
“Records.”
“What kind?”
“Evidence.”
I felt colder.
“Against whom?”
“People who thought they were untouchable.”
Dominic sat across from me.
“When I was younger, I made money in businesses that attracted dangerous partners.”
“That's a polite description.”
“Yes.”
He didn't seem offended.
“Your father handled legitimate investments for several companies connected to mine. Eventually he discovered some of the men around me were stealing from pension funds, bribing public officials, and laundering money through construction projects.”
“Did you know?”
“Not at first.”
“And when you found out?”
“I helped him document it.”
I studied him.
“You expect me to believe you were the good criminal?”
“No.”
His answer surprised me.
“I did things I'm not proud of.”
He held my gaze.
“But there were lines I refused to cross.”
“What lines?”
“Children. Drugs. Human trafficking. And stealing from people who had nothing.”
His jaw tightened.
“Some men working with me crossed all of them.”
“So you and Dad collected evidence?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“We dismantled part of the organization.”
“Part?”
“The rest disappeared into legitimate businesses.”
I understood.
“Like Wexler?”
Dominic nodded.
“Richard Wexler was one of them.”
The room felt suddenly smaller.
“Nathan's father?”
“Yes.”
“Did Dad know?”
“Eventually.”
“And that's what they argued about the night he died.”
“I believe so.”
Emily stared at the key.
“The vault still exists?”
“If Charles never emptied it.”
“Where?”
“Brooklyn.”
I reached for the key.
Dominic stopped me.
“We don't go tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever sent that message knows about the vault.”
“How?”
“They know enough to mention your father and me.”
A security man entered.
“Mr. Bellardi.”
Dominic turned.
“We found Wexler.”
Nathan.
“Where?”
“His apartment.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
I stood.
“Who is with him?”
The guard looked at Dominic rather than me.
“Say it.”
The man hesitated.
“A federal prosecutor.”
Dominic frowned.
“What prosecutor?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
Dominic's face changed.
“You know him?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He's spent fifteen years trying to put me in prison.”
Wonderful.
“What is Nathan doing with him?”
Dominic picked up his phone.
“Maybe surrendering.”
Emily shook her head.
“Nathan would never surrender.”
“You know him well?”
The cruelty in my voice made her flinch.
I didn't apologize.
Dominic made a call.
I walked toward the windows.
Manhattan glittered below.
Two hours ago, my biggest problem was infidelity.
Now my dead father's final secret hung from my sister's neck.
A federal prosecutor was meeting my fiancé.
A man rumored to be a retired mob boss claimed my father had been his closest friend.
And someone had apparently known I was going to meet Dominic tonight.
My phone rang.
Nathan.
Everyone looked at me.
Dominic said, “Speaker.”
I answered.
“Nathan.”
“Claire.”
He sounded exhausted.
“Are you with Bellardi?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Leave.”
“No.”
“Claire, I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
“You don't understand him.”
“I understand you cheated on me with my sister.”
“This isn't about Emily.”
“That must be convenient.”
“Listen.”
His voice cracked.
“Everything I did was supposed to keep you alive.”
I laughed.
“You slept with my sister to protect me?”
“No.”
At least he didn't try that.
“That was selfish.”
“So we're making progress.”
“Claire.”
Something changed in his voice.
“I need you to believe one thing.”
“What?”
“I never killed your father.”
My entire body went still.
“I didn't ask whether you did.”
Silence.
That was his mistake.
“Nathan.”
He breathed heavily.
“I need to go.”
“Wait.”
“Don't trust Bellardi.”
“Why?”
“Because your father wasn't hiding evidence from him.”
I looked at Dominic.
“What?”
Nathan continued.
“He was hiding evidence about him.”
Dominic moved closer to the phone.
“Nathan.”
Nathan's breath caught.
“You're listening.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Hatred entered Nathan's voice.
“Tell Claire what happened twelve years ago.”
Dominic went still.
“You said he saved your life,” I said.
Nathan laughed bitterly.
“That's the version he likes.”
“What version is true?”
“He saved me after he killed the man who tried to kill me.”
Dominic didn't deny it.
Nathan continued.
“And that man was my brother.”
I stared at Dominic.
“You killed Nathan's brother?”
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
The word landed like a gunshot.
“Why?”
Nathan answered.
“Because Michael Wexler discovered what Bellardi and your father were really doing.”
Dominic leaned toward the phone.
“That's enough.”
“No,” I said. “It isn't.”
Nathan's voice became urgent.
“Claire, the key Emily has does not open a vault full of evidence against my father.”
My eyes moved toward Emily.
“Then what does it open?”
“A box containing the reason Charles Blake wanted Dominic Bellardi dead.”
The call disconnected.
Nobody moved.
I looked at Dominic.
He didn't reach for the phone.
He didn't deny what Nathan said.
“Tell me he's lying.”
Dominic's face looked older suddenly.
“He's lying about part of it.”
“Which part?”
“Your father didn't want me dead.”
“What did he want?”
Dominic stared at the brass key.
“He wanted to make sure you never discovered what I had done.”
My heart pounded.
“What did you do?”
Dominic closed his eyes for a moment.
“When you were eight years old, Claire, someone tried to kidnap you.”
I stopped breathing.
I remembered almost nothing from being eight involving a kidnapping.
Dominic continued.
“Your father told you it was an attempted carjacking.”
I remembered that.
A parking garage.
My mother screaming.
A man pulling open our car door.
Then suddenly the man disappeared.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I had been following the men who planned it.”
“Why would they kidnap me?”
Dominic's eyes met mine.
“To punish your father.”
“For helping you?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do?”
His expression became frighteningly still.
“I made certain none of them could try again.”
The implication was obvious.
“How many?”
“Claire—”
“How many men did you kill?”
Emily gasped.
Dominic didn't look away.
“Three.”
Silence.
I felt sick.
“You killed three men because of me?”
“Because they intended to abduct a child.”
“That doesn't make it okay.”
“No.”
“You don't even sound sorry.”
“I am sorry you had to learn.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“No.”
I backed away from him.
Every warm moment from the ballroom turned cold.
The kiss.
His hand on mine.
The strange sense of safety I'd felt.
Who exactly had I trusted?
Dominic didn't move closer.
“Your father discovered what I did afterward.”
“And?”
“He wanted out.”
“Out of what?”
“Everything connected to me.”
“That sounds like he hated you.”
“He was angry.”
“Did you threaten him?”
“No.”
“Did you hurt him?”
“No.”
“Did you kill him?”
Dominic's face hardened.
“No.”
I searched his eyes.
For reasons I couldn't explain, I believed that answer.
But belief was not trust.
“We're going to the vault,” I said.
“Tomorrow.”
“Now.”
“No.”
“You don't get to make decisions for me.”
“Someone cut power to a ballroom full of people tonight.”
“Then bring twenty guards.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Claire.”
“My father died six years ago.”
My voice broke.
“For six years, I believed I knew how. Tonight I've learned my sister lied, my fiancé may have targeted me because of my inheritance, and the stranger I kissed apparently killed three people when I was a child.”
I stepped closer.
“So no, Dominic. I am not going upstairs to sleep.”
He studied me.
Finally, he reached for his coat.
“Fine.”
Emily stood.
“I'm coming.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
“The key is mine.”
“Dad intended it for me.”
“He gave it to me.”
Dominic interrupted.
“Both of you come.”
Thirty minutes later, we were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge in a convoy of three vehicles.
The city looked deceptively peaceful.
Dominic sat beside me.
Neither of us spoke.
When we reached an old industrial street near the waterfront, the vehicles slowed.
A brick warehouse stood between two renovated buildings.
No sign.
No windows on the first floor.
Dominic's men entered first.
Five minutes later, one returned.
“Clear.”
We went inside.
Dust covered the concrete floor.
Dominic walked toward an office in the rear.
Behind an old metal cabinet was a steel door.
Emily removed the key.
Her hand shook.
She inserted it into a small brass lock.
Click.
The door opened.
Inside was not a vault.
It was a narrow room containing a single desk.
One chair.
And a metal box.
On top of the box was an envelope.
My name was written across the front.
CLAIRE.
I recognized my father's handwriting instantly.
My knees almost gave out.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was one sheet of paper.
Only four lines.
Claire,
If you're reading this, then I failed to protect you from the truth.
Do not trust Richard Wexler.
Do not blame Dominic for what I asked him to do.
And whatever happens, never let Nathan open the box.
I slowly raised my eyes.
“What is inside?”
Dominic looked as confused as I felt.
“I don't know.”
Then the warehouse door slammed shut behind us.
A gunshot echoed through the building.
One of Dominic's guards shouted.
Emily screamed.
And a voice I knew better than my own came from the darkness beyond the office.
“Claire.”
May you like
Nathan.
“Step away from the box.”
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