Chapter 4 - Room 1708
At 11:17 p.m., Dominic Castellano shut down three floors of the Aster Hotel without giving the guests a reason.
Publicly, the gala continued.
Privately, every hallway became a controlled zone.
Dominic’s security team searched for Leonard Pierce.
Arthur coordinated surveillance.
Vincent insisted on remaining in the center of everything.
And Clara sat inside a locked conference room with a first-aid kit open beside her and the recovered laptop in front of her.
Dominic wrapped a clean bandage around her palm.
She watched him.
“You know your people have medics.”
“I know.”
“And yet you’re doing this.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He finished the bandage.
“Because you won’t sit still long enough for anyone else.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one you’re getting.”
Clara looked at him for another second.
Then turned back to the laptop before he could see the smile threatening at the corner of her mouth.
It was an inconvenient smile.
She had spent weeks telling herself Dominic Castellano was a client.
A complicated client.
An intimidating client.
An irritatingly perceptive client.
Nothing more.
She was beginning to suspect that had stopped being true sometime around the espresso incident.
Vincent entered.
“Bad news.”
Dominic stood.
“Pierce?”
“No sign.”
“Other bad news?”
“The security team checked the tracker Clara removed from my jacket.”
Clara looked up.
Vincent tossed a sealed evidence bag onto the table.
“The device wasn’t just transmitting location.”
“What else?” she asked.
“Audio.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
Someone had expected to listen to Vincent.
Possibly to hear Dominic give orders after the blackout.
Clara pointed at the capsule.
“And that?”
Vincent’s expression lost its humor.
“Sedative aerosol.”
Dominic went very still.
Clara understood.
If the capsule broke, Vincent might collapse.
Everyone would assume a medical emergency.
He would be moved.
Likely through a controlled exit.
“Kidnap attempt,” she said.
Vincent nodded.
“Looks that way.”
Dominic turned toward the window overlooking Michigan Avenue.
“Why?”
Nobody answered.
Clara thought about the documents.
Blackwater.
The four founders.
Dominic’s father.
Pierce.
Arthur.
Marlowe.
“One of them stole everything,” she said quietly.
Dominic turned.
“What if ‘everything’ isn’t money?”
Arthur entered just in time to hear her.
“What else would it be?”
“Leverage.”
Clara stood.
“Records. Names. Ownership interests. Evidence. Something valuable enough that eighteen years later people are still trying to control whoever has access.”
Arthur’s expression changed.
“There was a ledger.”
Everyone looked at him.
Dominic’s voice became quiet.
“What ledger?”
Arthur did not answer immediately.
“Your father kept records outside the company books.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“You knew?”
“I knew he kept something at Blackwater. I never saw it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because your father made me swear not to.”
“My father has been dead seventeen years.”
Arthur accepted the accusation.
“Yes.”
Vincent stared at him.
“What was in it?”
“I don’t know.”
Clara watched Arthur carefully.
“You know more than that.”
Arthur looked at her.
She continued.
“You reacted when you heard ‘lake account.’”
Dominic’s eyes shifted toward his oldest guard.
Arthur sighed.
“Years ago, your father believed someone was siphoning money out of the family companies. Same pattern Clara found. Contractors. Consultants. Development payments.”
Dominic’s face changed.
“How much?”
“Millions.”
“Who?”
“He never told me.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t know.”
Clara felt the room tighten.
Eighteen years earlier, Dominic’s father had been investigating the same scheme.
Then he died.
Officially of a heart attack.
She hesitated before asking.
“Was your father’s death unexpected?”
Dominic looked at her.
“He was fifty-two.”
That answered enough.
Vincent leaned against the table.
“He died at home.”
Arthur shook his head.
“No.”
Both brothers turned.
Arthur’s voice lowered.
“He died at Blackwater.”
Silence.
Dominic stared.
“That isn’t what I was told.”
“I know.”
“Who told us?”
Arthur’s answer came reluctantly.
“Pierce.”
Dominic looked away.
Clara saw anger in the set of his shoulders.
Not explosive anger.
Worse.
The controlled kind.
Arthur continued.
“Your father collapsed at Blackwater. Pierce was there. So was Marlowe. By the time I arrived, an ambulance had already been called.”
“And you let Pierce tell us it happened at home?”
“Your mother had just lost her husband. You were twenty-one. Vincent was seventeen. Pierce said Blackwater would raise questions your father didn’t want asked.”
Dominic laughed once without humor.
“So everyone lied.”
Arthur’s eyes dropped.
“Yes.”
Clara looked at Dominic.
He did not speak.
She knew enough about grief to recognize what had just happened.
A memory he had lived with for seventeen years had changed in thirty seconds.
His father had not died where Dominic believed.
The people closest to the family had concealed it.
And now those same people were appearing inside Clara’s audit.
She moved closer.
“Dominic.”
“I’m fine.”
She almost told him he didn’t look fine.
The irony stopped her.
Instead she said, “We need facts before conclusions.”
His eyes met hers.
That grounded him.
Barely.
But enough.
Marco entered quickly.
“We found Pierce.”
“Where?”
“Security footage.”
He placed a tablet on the table.
Video showed Leonard Pierce entering a freight elevator at 10:31.
He was not alone.
A woman walked beside him.
Elegant black dress.
Dark hair.
Clara leaned closer.
“I know her.”
Dominic looked at her.
“Who?”
“Evelyn Shaw.”
Vincent frowned.
“Should I know that name?”
“She’s chief financial officer of Marlowe Development.”
Dominic’s eyes sharpened.
The video continued.
Pierce entered willingly.
No visible weapon.
No struggle.
Evelyn touched his arm.
The elevator doors closed.
“So Pierce wasn’t kidnapped,” Vincent said.
“Maybe not,” Clara replied.
Dominic looked at Marco.
“Where did the elevator go?”
“Basement.”
“And then?”
“No camera sees them exit.”
Clara stared at the screen.
“Unless they never left the elevator normally.”
Arthur understood first.
“Service tunnel.”
The Aster had been constructed over older buildings. During renovations, several underground delivery passages had been preserved.
Dominic looked at the time.
11:31.
Twenty-nine minutes before the Navy Pier demand.
He turned toward Vincent.
“You’re not going.”
Vincent opened his mouth.
Dominic held up a hand.
“I’m not debating this again.”
Clara stepped in.
“Maybe none of us should.”
Dominic looked at her.
“The caller expects Vincent and me,” she continued. “That means whoever is at the pier believes you’ll follow.”
“Obviously.”
“So don’t.”
Vincent smiled.
“I’m beginning to like her.”
Dominic ignored him.
Clara pulled the photograph of the four founders toward her.
“Pierce and Evelyn left through a basement route. Someone wants us traveling east toward Navy Pier.”
She pointed toward Lake Michigan on the map.
“Blackwater House is north.”
Dominic saw it.
“The pier is a diversion.”
“Maybe. If the ledger is at Blackwater and Pierce knows we found the key card, he needs time to reach it.”
Arthur checked his watch.
“Lake Geneva is almost two hours by car.”
“Unless he left earlier by helicopter,” Vincent said.
Dominic reached for his phone.
“Check private aviation.”
Marco moved.
Clara returned to the recovered laptop.
There had to be a reason the men in Room 1708 left it behind.
Maybe they expected to retrieve it.
Maybe they believed it was useless without a password.
She studied the login screen.
One hint appeared beneath the password field.
Where it began.
She looked at Dominic.
“What year was Blackwater purchased?”
“1998.”
Clara typed it.
Wrong.
“Your parents’ anniversary?”
Dominic gave her the date.
Wrong.
Vincent leaned closer.
“What about the company?”
“What company?”
“The original Castellano company. Before the hotels.”
Dominic answered.
“Castellano Freight.”
“What year?”
“1987.”
Clara typed.
Wrong.
Arthur suddenly spoke.
“Try Eleanor.”
Dominic looked at him.
Their mother’s name.
Clara typed ELEANOR.
The screen unlocked.
Dominic stared.
Arthur looked almost apologetic.
“Your father named everything important after her.”
Folders appeared.
Dozens.
Contracts.
Photographs.
Bank statements.
And a directory labeled:
BLACKWATER / ORIGINALS
Clara clicked.
Encrypted.
Another folder caught her attention.
VINCENT C. — 00:00
She opened it.
Inside was a single live-camera feed.
Navy Pier.
Pier Fourteen.
A black SUV waited beside the water.
Three men stood nearby.
Then someone stepped into view.
Leonard Pierce.
Alive.
Not restrained.
Not frightened.
He checked his watch.
Vincent swore.
Dominic stared at the screen.
Pierce was part of it.
Or pretending to be.
Then the feed changed.
Another camera.
Inside the SUV.
A woman sat in the back seat.
Evelyn Shaw.
Beside her was a metal case.
Across the front someone had written:
BLACKWATER.
Clara leaned closer.
“Can you zoom?”
Vincent did.
A document protruded from the case.
The top line was visible.
BENNETT FORENSIC SERVICES.
Clara stopped breathing.
Dominic looked at her.
“That’s your company.”
“Yes.”
“What would they have?”
“I don’t know.”
But she did know one thing.
Her company records were stored on a private server.
To access them, someone needed either her credentials—
or access through a client system she had connected to.
The Castellano system.
Clara looked at Dominic.
“They didn’t hire me because they were afraid I’d find the money.”
“What?”
“They wanted me inside your network.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
She continued.
“Someone used my audit as a door.”
Vincent straightened.
“To get what?”
Clara turned back to the encrypted folder.
BLACKWATER / ORIGINALS.
“I think we’re about to find out.”
Then the live feed from Navy Pier went black.
A second later, every monitor in the room displayed the same message.
MIDNIGHT ISN’T FOR VINCENT.
The words vanished.
New text appeared.
IT’S FOR DOMINIC.
And beneath it, a countdown began.
28:14.
28:13.
28:12.
Dominic stared at the clock.
Whatever had begun eighteen years ago was about to reach him before midnight.
May you like
And somewhere in the Aster Hotel, somebody still had access to every system they were using.
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