Chapter 6 - A Voice from Warsaw
The federal investigators took Adrian’s statement for four hours.
Cassian was not allowed inside.
Neither was Petra.
They waited in the car under a sky that turned from gray to dark blue while Mara worked through three phones.
For the first hour, Cassian said almost nothing.
Petra recognized grief even when it was disguised as anger.
“You loved him,” she said eventually.
Cassian kept looking at Adrian’s house.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a strange question.”
“It wasn’t a question.”
Cassian glanced at her.
Petra continued.
“If you hated him, finding out he may have been trying to fix something before he died would be easier.”
“Would it?”
“Yes.”
He looked away.
“You sound certain.”
“I’ve had practice with complicated parents.”
Cassian accepted that without asking.
Another hour passed.
Mara finally leaned back from the front seat.
“I found the investigators.”
Cassian looked up.
“Financial Crimes Task Force. New team formed six months ago. They’re reviewing dormant international cases involving shell logistics companies.”
“Why Adrian?”
“His name appeared in archived correspondence connected to ES Strategic Holdings.”
Petra frowned.
“Someone triggered this.”
Mara nodded.
“Probably.”
“Victor?”
“Maybe.”
Cassian shook his head.
“Why would Victor reopen an investigation that could expose him?”
Petra considered it.
“To expose you first.”
Cassian looked at her.
“If Thomas Drolett’s name appears on compromised accounts…”
“The board sees Drolett Maritime as contaminated,” Mara said.
“And Victor offers stability,” Petra finished.
Cassian’s expression hardened.
His phone rang.
Unknown international number.
He answered.
No one spoke.
Then a recording played.
A woman’s voice.
Polish.
Old audio.
Crackling.
Petra’s entire body went rigid.
She knew the voice.
Cassian looked at her immediately.
“What?”
Petra reached for the phone.
“Give it to me.”
He did.
The recording continued.
A woman speaking quickly in Polish.
Dates.
Company names.
Account references.
Then a phrase Petra had heard hundreds of times during childhood:
“Nie komplikuj tego bardziej, niż już jest.”
Don’t make it more complicated than it already is.
Her mother said that whenever Petra overexplained homework.
Whenever she argued.
Whenever she tried to fix something that did not need fixing.
The recording ended.
Petra could not move.
Cassian’s voice softened.
“Petra?”
“That was my mother.”
Mara turned.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
The phone displayed no caller information.
Petra replayed the recording.
Elena’s voice was younger, sharper, but unmistakable.
She was translating a conversation between men Petra did not recognize.
One referenced Thomas Drolett.
Another referenced Emil Saye.
Cassian leaned closer.
“What are they saying?”
Petra listened again.
“They’re discussing a Warsaw freight company.”
“Name?”
“Baltic Meridian Transit.”
Mara searched immediately.
“Dissolved fifteen years ago.”
Petra kept listening.
“They’re arguing over ownership percentages. One man says Thomas wants out.”
Cassian went still.
“Keep going.”
Petra translated.
“Another man says leaving isn’t possible because the accounts connect everyone.”
The recording crackled.
Then Elena’s younger voice interrupted.
Petra frowned.
“What?”
Cassian asked.
“She stops translating.”
“Why?”
Petra replayed it.
Her mother’s voice switched from Polish to Serbian.
“She’s speaking directly to someone.”
“What does she say?”
Petra swallowed.
“She says, ‘If you make me translate a lie, I will translate the lie and the truth.’”
Cassian stared.
A man answered.
Petra listened.
Her stomach turned.
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What does he say?”
Petra translated.
“He says, ‘Then you will never work in this business again.’”
The recording ended.
Nobody spoke.
Petra’s hands shook.
Her mother had never told her.
Not one word.
Cassian took the phone.
“Whoever sent this wants us to know Elena was connected.”
“They want me to know,” Petra said.
“Why?”
“To make me quit.”
“Will you?”
Petra looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
That was the first time she had answered honestly.
When she arrived home after midnight, Elena was sitting at the kitchen table.
The medication bottle stood unopened in front of her.
“You met Branko,” Elena said.
Petra stopped.
“How do you know?”
“He called.”
“Of course he did.”
“I told him not to involve you.”
“A little late.”
Elena closed her eyes.
Petra placed her phone on the table.
“I heard your voice.”
Elena’s face changed.
Petra pressed play.
The recording filled the kitchen.
Elena did not interrupt.
When it ended, she looked older than she had that morning.
“Where did you get this?”
“Someone sent it to Cassian.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
Elena stood and walked to the window.
“Mom.”
“I was twenty-three.”
“You were translating for them.”
“I was translating for everyone. Freight companies. Lawyers. Government people. Men who introduced themselves as consultants because nobody wanted to say what they really did.”
“Did you know Thomas Drolett?”
“Yes.”
Petra’s chest tightened.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wanted you to have a life that did not contain those names.”
“I’m standing in it anyway.”
Elena turned.
“That is exactly what I was afraid of.”
“Branko says you helped expose Emil Saye.”
“I helped an auditor understand documents.”
“Victor knows who I am.”
Fear crossed Elena’s face.
Real fear.
Not memory.
Present fear.
“Then you stop.”
“Mom—”
“You stop tonight.”
“I signed a contract.”
“I don’t care.”
“I can walk away.”
“Then walk.”
Petra stared.
Elena came closer.
“Listen to me. Victor was a boy when I knew his father. But he listened. Always. He sat in rooms pretending to read while adults spoke.”
Again that pattern.
Invisible people.
“What did his father do?”
“He owned people through favors.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the safest one.”
Petra’s patience snapped.
“You don’t get to protect me with half-sentences anymore.”
Elena flinched.
Petra immediately regretted her tone.
But she did not apologize.
Not yet.
Her mother sat down.
“Thomas Drolett wanted to leave the partnership. Emil refused.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas had records.”
“Of illegal shipping?”
“Of payments. Political connections. False invoices.”
Petra rubbed her forehead.
“And you translated them.”
“I translated interviews about them.”
“Did Thomas die because of it?”
Elena looked genuinely horrified.
“I don’t know.”
“Adrian doesn’t know either.”
“You found Adrian?”
“Yes.”
Elena whispered something in Ukrainian.
Petra recognized it.
A prayer.
“Mom.”
Elena looked at her.
“There is something Thomas gave me.”
Petra stopped.
“What?”
“Not documents. A key.”
“To what?”
“I never knew.”
“Where is it?”
Elena stood.
She walked to the bedroom.
When she returned, she carried an old sewing box.
Petra had seen it her entire life.
Buttons.
Needles.
Thread.
Elena removed the bottom panel.
Underneath was a tiny brass key.
A stamped number was visible.
417.
Petra stared.
“You kept that for twenty years?”
“Seventeen.”
“What does it open?”
Elena shook her head.
“Thomas said if anyone ever started changing his words again, I should give it to someone who could hear the difference.”
Petra felt cold.
“That sounds absurdly specific.”
“He was frightened.”
“Why didn’t you give it to Cassian?”
“Because when Thomas died, Cassian was twenty-seven and furious at the entire world.”
Elena’s expression softened.
“I didn’t know whether he would become his father’s solution or his father’s worst mistake.”
Petra picked up the key.
“What do you think now?”
“I think my daughter is sitting at my kitchen table holding it.”
That was not an answer.
Petra closed her fingers around the brass.
Her phone buzzed.
Cassian.
She answered.
“Tell me you’re home.”
“I’m home.”
“Good.”
“What happened?”
“Adrian finished his statement.”
“And?”
“The agents asked about a storage facility in Jersey City.”
Petra looked down at the key.
“What number?”
Cassian paused.
“How did you know there was a number?”
Petra’s heart began beating harder.
“Cassian.”
“Unit 417.”
Petra stared at her mother.
Elena’s face had gone white.
The little brass key suddenly felt heavier than the envelope containing three months of rent.
Because whatever Thomas Drolett had hidden seventeen years earlier had survived his death.
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And according to a dead man’s instructions, Petra Vance was finally the person meant to open it.
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