Chapter 3 - The Dead Man's Password
Nicholas had spent six years refusing to say his brother's name unless absolutely necessary.
Ellie discovered that within ten minutes.
Every question about Anthony produced either silence or a one-word answer.
Older brother.
Thirty-eight.
Car accident.
No wife.
No children.
No explanation for why Anthony's digital credentials were still active.
“You kept his accounts open?” Ellie asked.
“No.”
“Then someone recreated them.”
“Yes.”
“Could Victor?”
Nicholas hesitated.
“Yes.”
Ellie sat across from him in the penthouse study.
“Then why do you look like you don't believe Victor did it?”
Nicholas stared at a photograph on the desk.
Two young men stood beside an older man.
One was clearly Nicholas.
The other looked similar but smiled more easily.
Anthony.
“Our father trusted Victor,” Nicholas said.
“So did you.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
Nicholas exhaled.
“Victor doesn't make emotional mistakes.”
“Using your dead brother's name is emotional.”
“Exactly.”
Ellie leaned back.
“So either Victor wants you to think this is personal—”
“Or somebody wants me to think Victor is responsible.”
Ethan entered carrying a folder.
“Marco gave us a description of the men who locked him up.”
Nicholas opened it.
Neither matched the fake valet.
“They were hired separately,” Ethan said.
“Which means layers,” Nicholas replied.
Ellie looked between them.
“You talk like accountants discussing lasagna.”
Ethan smiled.
Nicholas didn't.
Yet.
A few minutes later, Ellie's phone rang.
Her manager.
She answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then breathing.
“Hello?”
A man's voice whispered:
“Stop helping him.”
The call ended.
Ellie's hand went cold.
Nicholas noticed immediately.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
He stood.
“Ellie.”
She looked at the phone.
“Someone told me to stop helping you.”
Ethan took the device.
Nicholas's entire demeanor changed.
The calm remained.
But underneath it was something sharper.
“From this point forward,” he said, “you do not go anywhere alone.”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“No?”
“I am not becoming a prisoner because somebody made a phone call.”
“You're not a prisoner.”
“Then I can leave.”
Nicholas didn't answer.
Ellie nodded.
“Exactly.”
She headed toward the elevator.
Nicholas stepped into her path.
Not touching her.
Simply standing there.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Nicholas.”
“Someone knows you're here.”
“That bothers me too.”
“They know you're helping me.”
“Then maybe stop treating me like furniture and tell me what I'm helping with.”
For several seconds they stared at each other.
Then Nicholas stepped aside.
Ellie blinked.
“You're letting me leave?”
“No.”
“You just moved.”
“We're going somewhere.”
“Where?”
“To show you why Anthony's name matters.”
An hour later, a black SUV carried them north through Manhattan.
They stopped outside an old Italian bakery in Queens.
Ellie looked through the window.
“You brought me for cannoli?”
“My mother owns the building.”
Inside, an elderly woman stood behind the counter.
She saw Nicholas.
Her expression softened.
Then she saw Ellie.
Her expression became interested.
“Nicholas.”
“Ma.”
His mother hugged him.
Ellie tried not to smile.
The most intimidating man she'd ever met became visibly uncomfortable while his mother adjusted his collar.
“You don't eat enough.”
“I eat.”
“You drink coffee.”
“That counts.”
“It does not.”
Her eyes moved toward Ellie.
“And who is this?”
“Ellie.”
“That is a name, Nicholas. I asked who she is.”
Ellie coughed to hide a laugh.
Nicholas surrendered.
“She helped me last night.”
His mother's face changed.
She had heard.
Of course she had.
She took Ellie's hands.
“Thank you.”
The simplicity of it caught Ellie off guard.
“You don't have to—”
“Yes,” the woman said. “I do.”
Nicholas led Ellie upstairs.
A locked room waited behind the office.
Inside were boxes.
Old family photographs.
Documents.
A safe.
Nicholas removed a folder.
Anthony's handwriting covered the first page.
“What is this?” Ellie asked.
“My brother believed somebody was stealing from our father's legitimate companies before he died.”
Ellie stared at him.
“You never told Ethan?”
“I never found proof.”
“You thought Anthony was wrong?”
“I thought Anthony was becoming obsessed.”
Nicholas opened another document.
Anthony had written several names.
Victor was not among them.
But another name was.
Daniel Rusk.
Ellie read it.
“Who's Daniel?”
Nicholas's jaw tightened.
“My father's former attorney.”
“Former?”
“He disappeared six years ago.”
“When?”
Nicholas looked at her.
“Two days after Anthony died.”
Ellie felt a chill.
She turned another page.
Anthony had underlined one sentence three times:
THE MONEY ISN'T THE POINT. THEY'RE BUYING ACCESS.
Ellie looked up.
“Access to what?”
Nicholas shook his head.
“I never knew.”
A floorboard creaked behind them.
They turned.
Nicholas's mother stood in the doorway.
Her face had gone pale.
“There was another page,” she said.
Nicholas frowned.
“What?”
“Anthony gave me another page the week before he died.”
“Where is it?”
She looked directly at Nicholas.
“I hid it because your father told me to.”
Nicholas stepped closer.
“Ma. Where?”
She opened an old cookbook on the shelf.
From inside fell a folded piece of paper.
Nicholas unfolded it.
Anthony's handwriting appeared again.
Only one line.
Nicholas read it twice.
Ellie watched all the color leave his face.
“What does it say?”
He handed her the page.
Ellie read:
If anything happens to me, don't trust Ethan.
And downstairs, the front door bell rang.
May you like
Ethan had just arrived.
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