Chapter 2 - The Photograph
Claire moved first.
She snatched the frame from the desk.
Charles stopped.
For three seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then he smiled.
It was the same pleasant smile he used with bankers, reporters, and people he intended to lie to.
“Give me that.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“Who was Mom to Victor Vale?”
Charles’s eyes hardened.
“You’re imagining things.”
“I’m looking at a photograph.”
“Old photographs create stories that never existed.”
“So tell me the real one.”
He held out his hand.
“Give it to me.”
Claire slipped the photograph behind her back.
“No.”
Charles stepped forward.
The office suddenly felt very small.
“You have lived under my roof, worked in my company, and benefited from my name for years.”
“Your company?”
His jaw tightened.
Claire surprised herself by continuing.
“Mom helped build Whitmore Freight before you ever opened the Savannah route.”
“She was my wife.”
“She was an accountant.”
“She was sick.”
Claire froze.
Her mother had died in a car crash.
Not from an illness.
Charles realized his mistake half a second too late.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“You said she was sick.”
“She was emotionally unstable after your grandmother died.”
“That isn’t what you said.”
Charles’s face changed.
The charming businessman disappeared.
“Enough.”
He walked out.
Claire remained still until the footsteps faded.
Then she locked the office.
Dominic’s warning no longer sounded dramatic.
It sounded precise.
She opened the back of the picture frame.
Nothing.
She checked beneath the desk drawers.
Nothing.
Then she remembered her mother’s habits.
Anne had hidden Claire’s birthday money in books because Charles used to borrow cash and “forget” to return it.
Claire pulled the old accounting manual from the shelf.
A folded paper slid out.
Not paper.
An envelope.
On the front, in handwriting Claire had not seen in fifteen years:
For Claire. If Charles ever lies about Victor Vale, open this.
Claire stopped breathing.
Her fingers shook as she opened it.
Inside was a brass key and a single line.
Baltimore Harbor. Pier 19. Locker 317. Never go alone.
A crash came from the hallway.
Claire spun around.
The doorknob jerked.
Once.
Twice.
Then hard enough to shake the frame.
“Who is it?”
Silence.
Claire reached for her phone.
The lights went out.
Complete darkness swallowed the room.
Someone hit the door.
The lock splintered.
Claire backed toward the window.
“Stay out!”
The door burst open.
A man in dark clothing rushed inside.
Claire grabbed the lamp and swung.
Glass shattered.
The man cursed.
He grabbed her wrist.
Claire drove her knee upward.
He released her.
She ran.
The hallway emergency lights flashed red.
The man followed.
Claire turned toward the stairs—
—and crashed into someone coming from the opposite direction.
Strong hands caught her shoulders.
She nearly screamed.
“Claire.”
Dominic.
She stared at him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came back.”
“Why?”
A shadow moved behind them.
Dominic’s expression changed instantly.
He pulled Claire behind him.
The intruder came around the corner holding something metallic.
Dominic moved fast.
Too fast.
He caught the man’s arm, drove him into the wall, twisted, and sent the weapon skidding across the floor.
The intruder broke free and ran toward the fire stairs.
Dominic didn’t chase him.
He turned to Claire.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“My wrist.”
He gently took it.
Red marks were already forming.
His jaw tightened.
Then his eyes fell on the envelope in Claire’s hand.
“What is that?”
Claire hesitated.
Dominic looked toward the broken office door.
“Someone just broke into a building full of expensive equipment and went directly to your office.”
Claire stared at him.
“My mother left me a key.”
“To what?”
“A locker.”
“Where?”
“Pier 19.”
Dominic released her wrist.
For the first time since she met him, he looked genuinely alarmed.
“Claire, listen to me carefully.”
“What?”
“No matter what Charles tells you tomorrow, do not go to that pier.”
“Why?”
Dominic’s voice dropped.
“Because Pier 19 belonged to my father.”
Claire stared.
“He’s dead.”
“Yes.”
“And so is my mother.”
“Yes.”
She held up the key.
“Then what could possibly still be there?”
May you like
Dominic looked at the shattered office.
“Something people are apparently willing to kill for.”
