Chapter 7 - The Brass Key
Nobody spoke for nearly a minute.
Jared stood beside the table with the disconnected phone still in his hand.
Willa watched him.
“Is it possible?”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt more because he didn't hesitate.
“Your father ordered murders?”
“Yes.”
“Witnesses?”
“Yes.”
“You knew that?”
“Some.”
“Some?”
Jared's voice hardened.
“I inherited my father's organization after spending years trying not to become him.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It is the only one I have.”
Willa looked away.
Roman nudged her hand weakly.
She stroked his head.
“You said Elena investigated your father.”
“Yes.”
“Did she believe he ordered my mother's death?”
Jared opened another file.
“I never saw your mother's name before tonight.”
“That's impossible.”
“Elena encrypted sections of her research.”
“Why hide them from you?”
“Because she stopped trusting everyone.”
The sentence carried pain.
Willa looked toward Elena's untouched bedroom.
“Even you?”
Jared didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
At seven thirty in the morning, Miles located Rebecca Thornton's old financial records.
One safe-deposit box.
First Manhattan Mutual.
Opened fourteen years ago.
Still active.
The annual fee had been automatically paid by a small trust Rebecca established before her death.
Willa stared at the screen.
“My mother planned this.”
“Looks like it,” Miles said.
“Why wouldn't she tell me?”
“You were seventeen,” Jared replied.
The bank opened at nine.
They arrived at nine-oh-three.
Willa insisted on going alone to the vault.
Jared objected.
She won.
Inside the private viewing room, her hands shook as she inserted the brass key.
It fit.
She nearly cried then.
Not because of fear.
Because her mother had touched this exact key.
The box contained four things.
A sealed envelope marked FOR WILLA.
A cassette tape.
A photograph.
And a small notebook.
Willa opened the envelope first.
Sweetheart,
If you're reading this, then something happened to me before I could explain.
Willa stopped.
Tears blurred the page.
She forced herself to continue.
There are people with money and power who believe that means ordinary people can be erased.
I saw something I was not meant to see.
I reported it.
The wrong police officer heard my name.
If anything happens, do not trust the first story you're given.
Do not try to fight these people alone.
And most importantly, do not let fear turn your life into a smaller place.
You were the bravest thing I ever did.
Love,
Mom.
Willa pressed the letter against her mouth.
For thirteen years she'd imagined all the things she wished her mother had said before leaving the house that final morning.
None had been this.
She opened the notebook.
License plates.
Dates.
Names.
One appeared repeatedly.
Sebastian Vale.
Another appeared only twice.
Dominic K.
Then, near the final page:
D.K. does not know.
Willa froze.
She read it again.
Dominic Kensington did not know?
That contradicted Brendan.
She photographed the page.
Then examined the photograph.
Her mother stood outside a diner beside another woman.
Young.
Dark-haired.
Willa turned it over.
Rebecca & Elena Moretti.
Her breath stopped.
Elena.
Jared's wife.
Willa burst from the vault.
Jared stood immediately.
“What happened?”
“You knew.”
“What?”
She shoved the photograph toward him.
His face drained of color.
“Elena knew my mother.”
Jared stared.
“I never saw this.”
“Don't lie to me.”
“I'm not.”
Miles moved closer.
“That's Elena before she met Jared.”
Willa looked between them.
“My mother died before Elena married you.”
“Yes.”
“So this started before you.”
Jared examined the photograph.
“Elena told me her mother had a friend murdered after witnessing a crime.”
Willa's heart hammered.
“She never gave me the name.”
“Why?”
“She said she made a promise.”
“To who?”
Jared looked at the photo.
“Probably Rebecca.”
The bank suddenly seemed too quiet.
Miles's phone buzzed.
He checked it.
His face darkened.
“We need to leave.”
Jared looked at him.
“Why?”
“Fire alarm triggered upstairs.”
Willa stiffened.
“We're underground.”
“Exactly.”
Jared grabbed her hand.
Willa ripped it away instinctively.
He released her immediately.
“This way.”
They ran.
A security guard appeared at the corridor.
Then another.
Miles stopped.
Neither wore bank uniforms.
“Down!”
The first man drew a weapon.
Jared slammed Willa behind a concrete column as gunfire cracked through the corridor.
Miles returned fire.
Willa covered her ears.
Her safe-deposit box had fallen open.
The cassette rolled across the floor.
One attacker saw it.
He ran toward it.
“No!”
Willa lunged.
Jared caught her around the waist.
The attacker grabbed the cassette.
Then Roman's bark echoed from nowhere.
The gunman turned.
A hundred-plus pounds of weakened Mastiff slammed into him.
Roman had followed.
Miles had brought him in the armored SUV because Willa refused to leave him unattended.
The dog knocked the man sideways.
The cassette skidded free.
Jared's men flooded the corridor.
Within seconds the attackers were restrained.
Roman collapsed.
Willa dropped beside him.
“Roman!”
His breathing was ragged.
But his eyes were bright.
Alive.
Jared crouched opposite her.
“You idiot,” he whispered to the dog.
Roman's tail moved once.
Willa laughed through tears.
Then she noticed the fallen attacker's wrist.
A tattoo.
A black crown surrounded by a V.
Miles stared.
“Sebastian's mark.”
Jared retrieved the cassette.
“We need to hear this.”
Ten minutes later, inside an armored vehicle, they found an old cassette player.
Willa pressed play.
Her mother's voice filled the car.
“This is Rebecca Thornton. The date is October seventeenth.”
Static.
Then:
“Sebastian Vale ordered Anthony Bell's murder.”
Willa closed her eyes.
“He told his men Dominic Kensington authorized it.”
Jared stopped breathing.
“But I heard Dominic himself confront Sebastian two nights later. Dominic didn't order Anthony's death.”
Willa stared at Jared.
The tape continued.
“Sebastian is using Kensington's name to kill anyone who discovers he's stealing.”
Miles whispered, “God.”
Then Rebecca said the sentence none of them expected.
“If you're hearing this, Elena, keep Willa away from Brendan Holt.”
May you like
Willa's blood ran cold.
“He is working for Sebastian.”
