Chapter 8 - The Locked Drawer at Crosswell
Julian Vance looked like a man arriving late for dinner.
Not like someone whose car had exploded hours earlier.
His gray suit was immaculate.
His silver hair was neatly combed.
The only sign that anything unusual had happened was a small cut beside his eyebrow.
Luca raised his weapon.
Julian sighed.
“Really?”
“Hands.”
“Damian?”
“Do what he says.”
Julian slowly lifted his hands.
His gaze moved to me.
“Ms. Ellison.”
“You know who I am.”
“I know everyone who works for Damian.”
“That is becoming less comforting every time someone says it.”
Julian almost smiled.
Damian didn’t.
“Why did you disappear?”
“Because Mercer tried to kill me.”
“Your company has been paying offshore accounts connected to my brother.”
“Yes.”
The room went silent.
Damian stepped forward.
“You have ten seconds to make that answer survivable.”
Julian looked genuinely tired.
“Michael asked me to create Harbor Meridian.”
Damian stopped.
“What?”
“Three weeks before he died.”
“Why?”
“To track money.”
“Whose?”
“Mercer’s.”
Damian stared.
Julian continued.
“Michael believed Mercer had bought someone close to you.”
“Who?”
“He never told me.”
“You expect me to believe my brother suspected a traitor and told you instead of me?”
“He was trying to protect you.”
“That sounds convenient coming from the man who hid it for eight years.”
Julian’s expression tightened.
“Because the last thing Michael told me was that if you learned too early, you’d burn Boston looking for the answer.”
Damian’s silence was frightening.
Julian glanced at me.
“He was right.”
Damian took another step.
I touched his arm.
He looked down at my hand.
“Let him finish.”
His jaw flexed.
But he stepped back.
Julian exhaled.
“Harbor Meridian was bait. Michael created transactions that looked valuable enough for the traitor to follow. The plan was to identify the leak.”
“Did it work?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Julian shook his head.
“Michael died before he told me.”
Luca cursed.
“Then why keep the company operating?”
“Because someone kept accessing it.”
“To do what?”
“Move money.”
“Mercer?”
“Sometimes.”
I frowned.
“Sometimes?”
Julian looked at me.
“Someone else used Mercer’s network.”
“Who?”
“That is what I’ve spent eight years trying to discover.”
Damian stared at him.
“And the trust?”
Julian’s eyes sharpened.
“You found it.”
“Yes.”
“That means Michael’s contingency worked.”
“What contingency?”
Julian looked around.
“Not here.”
Luca scoffed.
“You broke into Damian’s penthouse.”
“I used my own access.”
“You faked your death.”
“I survived an attempted murder.”
“Details.”
Julian reached inside his jacket.
Three weapons pointed at him.
He stopped.
“It’s paper.”
Damian nodded.
Julian removed a folded document.
“A page from Michael’s notebook.”
Damian read it.
Then handed it to me.
The handwriting was rushed.
If the trust activates, follow Elena to Seven. Not the warehouse. The place where nobody looks twice.
“Elena,” I whispered.
Damian’s mother.
“To Seven.”
I looked at Damian.
“Room Seven.”
His eyes widened slightly.
Crosswell.
Nicholas had deliberately been placed in Room Seven.
We returned to the clinic.
Nicholas was gone.
Security footage showed him leaving during the penthouse blackout using another executive override.
Damian looked ready to destroy something.
I concentrated instead.
Room Seven appeared ordinary.
Bed.
Monitor.
Cabinet.
Desk.
Sink.
Nora joined us.
“What exactly are we looking for?”
“Something nobody looks twice at,” I said.
She stared around.
“That describes almost everything in a medical room.”
I opened cabinets.
Nothing.
Luca checked vents.
Julian examined the desk.
Damian stood in the doorway.
Then I noticed the medication drawer.
Crosswell used digital locks.
Except Room Seven had one old mechanical drawer beneath the cabinet.
I had worked there two years.
I had never noticed.
“Damian.”
He approached.
The drawer had no handle.
Only a tiny brass keyhole.
He removed Michael’s key.
Number 17.
It fit.
The lock clicked.
Inside lay a waterproof envelope.
Damian stared at it without touching it.
Finally, he opened it.
Photographs.
Shipping records.
A small cassette recorder.
And a letter.
His hands shook once.
Only once.
The envelope was addressed:
DAMIAN — IF I DIDN’T MAKE IT HOME.
No one spoke.
He unfolded the letter.
I watched his face while he read.
Shock.
Anger.
Then something far worse.
Grief.
Eight years old and suddenly new again.
He handed the page to Luca.
“No.”
Luca read it.
His face drained.
“What?” I asked.
Damian turned away.
Julian took the letter.
Then looked at Damian.
“Michael knew.”
“Knew what?” I demanded.
Damian said nothing.
I took the letter.
Near the bottom was a sentence underlined twice.
Mercer isn’t the person I’m afraid of. Mercer is being used. The leak comes from someone who wears our name.
My pulse slowed.
“Someone in your family.”
Damian stared through the treatment-room window.
I knew almost nothing about the Cross family.
Michael was dead.
Their mother was dead.
Their father had died years earlier.
Which left—
Luca whispered, “Anthony.”
Damian closed his eyes.
“Who is Anthony?”
“My uncle.”
“And?”
Damian looked at me.
“He built the organization with my father.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where is he now?”
Julian answered.
“Retired.”
Damian laughed once without humor.
“No.”
He reached for his phone.
“He’s been waiting.”
Before he could dial, Nora appeared in the doorway.
“Damian.”
Her face looked strange.
“What?”
“There’s someone upstairs asking for Mara.”
I felt the room change.
“Who?”
Nora looked directly at me.
May you like
“A woman who says she knew your mother.”
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