Chapter 11 - The Night Bellamy’s Went Dark
The federal team followed Bennett.
We did not.
At least, that was the plan.
Emily and Sophie remained in protective housing.
I stayed with them.
Dominic was ordered to stay away.
He disappeared for two hours.
Agent Torres was furious.
“Where is he?”
Emily shrugged.
“You’re asking the wrong person.”
I knew better.
Dominic had spent seven years waiting for an answer about Nathan.
There was no chance he was sitting politely in a hotel room while Bennett traveled to the warehouse.
At 7:32 p.m., my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Turn on the news.
Chicago local television showed live footage outside Bellamy’s.
Smoke.
Fire trucks.
Flashing lights.
I stared.
“What happened?”
Emily came closer.
The reporter explained that an electrical fire had started in the basement after closing. Staff had evacuated safely.
The basement.
South wall.
The originals.
Emily whispered, “They’re destroying everything.”
I called Torres.
She already knew.
“Stay where you are.”
“Bennett isn’t even there.”
“We know.”
“Who started it?”
“We don’t.”
“What about the records?”
“Fire crews are working.”
Emily took the phone.
“Nathan said the originals were in that basement.”
Torres replied through speaker, “I know.”
“What if they’re gone?”
“Then we use what we have.”
Emily looked defeated.
“What we have isn’t enough.”
“It’s enough to keep going.”
After the call, Sophie walked into the room.
“Bellamy’s is burning?”
Emily quickly turned off the television.
“There was a small fire.”
“My pasta restaurant?”
I could not help smiling.
“Yes.”
“Did Chef Marco get out?”
I froze.
I had not thought of him.
I called.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
My panic rose.
Then a text arrived.
Alive. Smell like smoke. Very angry.
I laughed with relief.
Another message followed.
Fire started wine basement. Not electrical. Saw man leaving service stairs.
I showed Emily.
“Who?”
Marco replied to my next message.
Howard Finch. Bennett’s lawyer.
I called Torres again.
This time she did not tell me to stay calm.
“Send me screenshots.”
I did.
Five minutes later Dominic called.
“Are you safe?”
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the same answer you give me.”
“Are you at the warehouse?”
Silence.
“Dominic.”
“No.”
He was lying.
I knew his lies now.
“They burned Bellamy’s basement.”
“I heard.”
“Marco saw Finch.”
Another pause.
“That matters.”
“Torres has it.”
“Good.”
“Come back.”
That surprised both of us.
“What?”
I looked at Sophie.
“At some point you have to stop trying to fix what happened to Nathan alone.”
Dominic was silent.
“You told me courage means understanding the cost.”
“I did.”
“Well, stupidity is knowing the cost and pretending you’re the only one who has to pay it.”
Emily stared at me.
Then nodded approvingly.
Dominic sighed.
“You’ve known me for two days.”
“Long two days.”
“I’m coming back.”
He hung up.
Twenty minutes later, Agent Torres arrived first.
Her face was grim.
“What happened?” Emily asked.
“Bennett never reached the warehouse.”
“Where is he?”
“Missing.”
Dominic entered behind her.
Torres turned.
“You.”
“I came voluntarily.”
“You were near the warehouse.”
“No.”
“I have traffic cameras.”
Dominic looked offended.
“Then why ask?”
Torres pointed at a chair.
“Sit.”
He did.
She addressed all of us.
“Bennett left Bellamy’s at 6:10. We followed him west. At 6:43, his vehicle entered an underground garage near River North.”
“And?” Emily asked.
“He never exited.”
“Was he inside?”
“No.”
Dominic frowned.
“Vehicle switch.”
Torres nodded.
“We lost him for fourteen minutes.”
“That’s enough.”
“Unfortunately.”
Emily paced.
“Why would Bennett run if he thought he could control the investigation?”
Dominic answered.
“Because someone above him decided he became a liability.”
“Cross?”
“Possibly.”
Torres looked at Dominic.
“You’re assuming hierarchy.”
“It’s obvious.”
“Nothing is obvious.”
“Bennett isn’t the architect.”
“How do you know?”
“Because architects don’t personally threaten twenty-two-year-old hostesses.”
I raised my hand slightly.
“Still here.”
He glanced at me.
“Sorry.”
Torres continued.
“Cross attended a charity dinner tonight. Publicly visible from six until nine.”
“An alibi,” Emily said.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Then Chef Marco called.
I answered on speaker.
“Claire?”
“I’m here.”
“Fire department found something.”
“What?”
“Behind south wall.”
Emily grabbed the phone.
“Documents?”
“No.”
Marco sounded confused.
“A safe.”
Dominic stood.
“Was it opened?”
“No.”
“Don’t let anyone touch it.”
Marco laughed nervously.
“I am chef. I control risotto, not firefighters.”
Torres was already making a call.
Within an hour, the safe was in federal custody.
It survived the fire.
Inside were original payroll ledgers.
Contracts.
Bank instructions.
Signed directives.
And photographs.
One photograph showed Arthur Bennett with Victor Sloane.
Another showed Julian Cross.
A third showed Howard Finch.
Then Torres found a sealed envelope.
Her face changed.
“What?” Emily asked.
Torres placed it on the table.
Written across the front:
NATHAN BENNETT — INCIDENT REPORT
Emily sat down.
Dominic did not move.
Torres opened it.
Inside was a police report dated seven years earlier.
Nathan’s car crash.
Attached was a second document.
Not part of the official file.
A handwritten statement from the truck driver.
He claimed he had not fallen asleep.
He claimed another vehicle forced Nathan’s car into his lane.
And at the bottom was a note signed by Howard Finch:
Statement withdrawn after settlement. No further action.
Emily covered her mouth.
“They knew.”
Dominic stared at the page.
“Yes.”
“Nathan was killed.”
Torres spoke carefully.
“We still need to prove intent.”
Emily looked at her.
“My husband was murdered.”
Torres did not contradict her.
Then another piece of paper slipped from the envelope.
A photograph.
Grainy.
Taken at night.
Nathan stood beside his car.
Another man stood several feet behind him.
Victor Sloane.
On the back, someone had written a date.
The night Nathan died.
And beneath it:
11:58 p.m. — Sloane followed target east.
Dominic closed his eyes.
For seven years, he had blamed himself.
Now we were looking at evidence that someone else had made a deliberate choice.
But the truth brought no relief.
Because Agent Torres’s phone rang again.
When she answered, her face turned pale.
“Where?”
She looked at Emily.
“No. Keep the site secure.”
She ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
Torres looked at us.
“They found Arthur Bennett.”
Emily whispered, “Where?”
Torres answered quietly.
“In the Chicago River.”
And in Bennett’s coat pocket was a note containing one sentence:
May you like
The seventh man cleans up his own mistakes.
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