Chapter 4 - The Door From Within
Tony removed the watch slowly.
He placed it on the table between them.
“Look at it.”
Lorenzo did not move.
“Look at the back.”
Tony pushed it forward.
Lorenzo picked it up.
Engraved beneath the clasp were six words.
TO TONY. NEVER WALK ALONE. — L.D.
Lorenzo remembered giving it to him after they survived a night neither man spoke about anymore.
“There are two,” Tony said.
Lorenzo raised his eyes.
“What?”
“Two watches.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You told me the jeweler made one.”
“He did initially.”
Tony’s voice was tight.
“I ordered a second years later.”
“Why?”
Tony hesitated.
Lorenzo saw it.
That tiny pause.
The room went colder.
“Why?”
Tony looked toward the guards.
“Alone.”
Lorenzo dismissed everyone except Rocco.
Tony frowned.
“Rocco too?”
“Rocco stays.”
The old cook crossed his arms.
Tony sighed.
“The second watch was for Michael.”
Lorenzo stared.
Tony’s younger brother had disappeared fifteen years ago.
Officially, Michael Richie died overseas.
At least that was what Tony had told everyone.
“You said Michael was dead.”
“I said there was no coming back from what happened.”
“That is not the same sentence.”
“No.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Rocco whispered, “Madonna.”
Tony sat.
The confidence drained from him.
“When Michael vanished, he owed money to people connected to Silas. A lot of money.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“How much?”
“Almost two million.”
Lorenzo stared at him.
“You could have come to me.”
“I know.”
“You could have asked.”
“I know.”
“Instead you lied for fifteen years.”
Tony looked up.
“Your father was dying. The organization was splitting. Half of New York thought you were too young to hold anything together. You were fighting every day. I wasn’t going to add my brother’s stupidity.”
“So what did you do?”
“I paid part of it. Michael disappeared.”
“You helped him?”
“I gave him a passport and the watch.”
Lorenzo’s eyes dropped to Tony’s wrist.
“Why the watch?”
“He always wanted mine.”
Something human and painful entered Tony’s voice.
“He was my little brother.”
Rocco shook his head.
“And you never told Lorenzo.”
“No.”
Lorenzo walked toward the window.
Now there was another Richie.
A man Silas could use.
A man with Tony’s watch.
Possibly Tony’s passwords.
Possibly access to secrets Tony had shared years ago.
But that still did not explain the override code.
“Did Michael know your security code?”
“No.”
“Could he guess it?”
Tony looked uncomfortable.
“What is it?”
“110597.”
Lorenzo turned.
The date meant nothing to him.
Rocco understood first.
“Your mother.”
Tony nodded.
November 5, 1997.
The day she died.
“If Michael knew you,” Lorenzo said, “he could guess it.”
“Yes.”
“Why use something so obvious?”
“Because when the system was installed, Michael had already been gone six years.”
Lorenzo almost laughed at the arrogance of it.
People believed the past could not reach them because time had passed.
Time did not bury secrets.
It fermented them.
Mia slept against Clara’s shoulder outside the office.
When Lorenzo walked out, Clara watched him cautiously.
“Did she help?”
“Yes.”
“Is Mr. Richie in trouble?”
“Possibly.”
“Did he do something?”
“I don’t know.”
Clara studied him.
“You hate saying that.”
Lorenzo glanced at her.
“What?”
‘I don’t know.’ You hate it.”
She was correct.
That irritated him.
“You should sleep.”
“I don’t think anyone is sleeping tonight.”
He looked at Mia.
The child’s hand remained curled around Clara’s collar.
“Bring her upstairs.”
Clara took two steps.
Then stopped.
“Mr. Duca.”
“Yes?”
“Whoever those people are... are they coming back?”
“Yes.”
Clara’s face tightened.
Lorenzo continued before she could speak.
“But not tonight.”
“How can you know?”
“Because tonight was not an attack.”
She stared at him.
“What was it?”
“A test.”
That frightened her more.
Lorenzo understood because it frightened him too.
Silas had sent disposable men against the east wall while someone used an internal passage.
They had not seriously tried to reach Lorenzo.
They were measuring response times.
Testing access.
Confirming weaknesses.
And planting suspicion.
Silas wanted something larger.
At midnight, Lorenzo assembled only Tony and Rocco in the study.
“I want every incident from the last six months.”
Tony opened a tablet.
“Security incidents?”
“Everything.”
They worked for two hours.
A delivery delayed.
A camera replaced.
A groundskeeper fired.
A driver transferred.
A storm damaged a section of wall.
Nothing.
Then Rocco stopped.
“The boiler.”
Tony looked at him.
“What?”
“February. We had men here for six days replacing the east heating lines.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“Contractor?”
Tony searched.
“Hawthorne Mechanical.”
“Who recommended them?”
Silence.
Tony scrolled.
His face changed.
“I did.”
Lorenzo stared.
Tony shook his head.
“No. I approved the recommendation. I didn’t make it.”
“From whom?”
Tony continued searching.
“Facilities supervisor. Grant Ellis.”
Lorenzo knew Grant.
Eight years of service.
Quiet.
Married.
Two teenage sons.
They found him asleep in his apartment above the estate garage.
Grant came to the study wearing sweatpants and terror.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Nobody said you did,” Lorenzo replied.
Grant looked toward Tony.
That glance mattered.
“Who recommended Hawthorne Mechanical?”
Grant swallowed.
“I don’t remember.”
Tony stepped forward.
“Try.”
“They gave us the lowest bid.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Grant rubbed his palms together.
“A consultant called.”
“What consultant?”
“I thought he worked for Mr. Richie.”
Tony’s jaw tightened.
“Name.”
“He said Michael.”
Nobody moved.
Lorenzo spoke quietly.
“Michael what?”
“He didn’t give a last name.”
“When?”
“January.”
“What did he sound like?”
“New York accent. Maybe forties.”
“Did you meet him?”
Grant shook his head.
“Only phone.”
Tony turned away.
His brother would be forty-three.
Lorenzo watched Tony’s back.
This was no longer theory.
Michael Richie had likely reentered their world months ago.
And he had done it using Tony’s authority.
“Grant,” Lorenzo said, “you will tell no one about this conversation.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go.”
The moment the door closed, Tony said, “I’m finding Michael.”
“You’re doing nothing alone.”
“He’s my brother.”
“That is exactly why.”
Tony turned.
“You don’t trust me.”
“I trust that emotion makes intelligent men stupid.”
Rocco murmured, “That may be the wisest thing you’ve said all year.”
Neither listened.
Tony leaned toward Lorenzo.
“If Silas has Michael—”
“If?”
Tony froze.
Lorenzo continued.
“You keep assuming Michael is being used.”
“You think he chose this?”
“I think we don’t know.”
Tony’s hands curled.
“My brother made mistakes.”
“People often call betrayal a mistake before they are forced to name it.”
Tony stared at him.
Then walked out.
Rocco watched the door.
“You pushed too hard.”
“I pushed where the truth hurt.”
“That doesn’t mean you were right.”
Lorenzo sat behind the desk.
For the first time that night he looked exhausted.
Rocco softened.
“You have known Tony since you were boys.”
“That fact keeps being presented as evidence.”
“It is.”
“Evidence of history. Not innocence.”
Rocco sighed.
“Trust is not proven by never having secrets, Lorenzo.”
“What proves it?”
“What someone does after the secret is discovered.”
Before Lorenzo could respond, his computer chimed.
A security technician had restored archived footage from the February boiler work.
The video showed three technicians entering the eastern service corridor.
Lorenzo advanced frame by frame.
One man turned toward the camera.
Tony stopped in the doorway behind him.
He had returned unnoticed.
His face went white.
The technician on screen was older than Tony but unmistakably related.
Same jaw.
Same eyes.
Michael Richie.
Alive.
Inside Lorenzo’s house months earlier.
Rocco whispered a prayer.
Lorenzo zoomed the frame.
Michael was carrying a toolbox.
On his wrist was the second silver watch.
Tony gripped the back of a chair.
“I didn’t know.”
Lorenzo believed him.
Or wanted to.
Then another figure crossed behind Michael.
The image was blurry.
Lorenzo froze it.
A man in a dark coat.
Tall.
Head turned away.
But above his collar, a curved black shape climbed the left side of his neck.
Viper.
Silas Kane had not approached Lorenzo’s estate yesterday.
He had been inside it seven months ago.
And if the timestamp was correct, he had spent forty-three minutes beneath the house without anyone knowing.
Forty-three minutes was enough time to hide almost anything.
A listening device.
A weapon.
A key.
May you like
Or proof that the danger had been living among them long before a little girl found her red ball beside the east wall.
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