Chapter 2 - The Shamrock on the Floor
By nine thirty, Damian Russo had turned Khloe’s apartment into a command center.
Nobody touched anything unless Leo approved it.
Nobody contacted the police.
And nobody said Patrick Walsh’s name outside the apartment.
Damian stood beside Khloe’s desk while Bruno examined the hallway security records on a laptop.
“Found something,” Bruno said.
Damian crossed the room.
The video showed 10:38 p.m.
Khloe appeared outside the building carrying a grocery bag.
She entered.
Three minutes later, the feed jumped.
Then Khloe appeared again.
Same grocery bag.
Same movement.
Same timestamp sequence.
“The loop begins here,” Bruno said.
“Can you recover the original?”
“Not from this system.”
“Then find whoever can.”
Leo entered carrying a plastic evidence sleeve.
“We found another casing.”
“Where?”
“Stairwell.”
The same shamrock marked its base.
Damian stared at it.
Too obvious.
That bothered him.
Patrick Walsh was cruel.
He was not stupid.
If Walsh wanted to declare responsibility, he would not need two engraved casings.
Damian looked at Leo.
“You believe this?”
Leo understood.
“Could be planted.”
“Exactly.”
Bruno closed the laptop.
“Then somebody wants us going after Walsh.”
“Or Walsh wants us thinking somebody wants us going after Walsh.”
Leo sighed.
“Wonderful.”
Damian returned to Khloe’s bedroom.
The room was simple.
Books.
A lamp.
Two framed photographs.
One showed Khloe with her mother when she was approximately ten.
The other showed Khloe alone at her college graduation.
No father.
Damian had met Walter Hayes twice.
The first time, Walter had been drunk.
The second, terrified.
After the debt was settled, Damian made it clear that Walter was never to gamble in one of Russo’s establishments again.
Two months later, Walter disappeared from New York.
Khloe said he had moved south.
She never specified where.
Damian had never asked.
Now he wondered whether he should have.
His phone rang.
Leo answered his own phone at the same moment.
Both men exchanged looks.
Damian’s call came from Russo Logistics.
Leo’s came from one of their camera teams.
Damian answered.
His office manager spoke rapidly.
“Mr. Russo, someone broke into Ms. Hayes’s office.”
“When?”
“We don’t know.”
“Seal the floor.”
“We already—”
“Seal it.”
Damian hung up.
Leo was still listening.
Then he looked at Damian.
“We found the vehicle.”
“Where?”
“Camera on Atlantic Avenue. Black cargo van. Plate was covered.”
“Direction?”
“East.”
“Driver?”
“No face.”
“Passengers?”
Leo paused.
“One.”
Damian’s pulse changed.
“Khloe?”
“Looks like her.”
“Alive?”
“She moved.”
That was enough.
Damian headed toward the door.
“Where are we going?” Bruno asked.
“Office first.”
Fifteen minutes later, they entered the Tribeca building through the underground garage.
Khloe’s small office had been searched.
Drawers opened.
Files thrown across the floor.
A cabinet lock broken.
Yet her computer remained untouched.
Damian walked around the desk.
“What were they looking for?”
Leo opened a drawer.
“Paper.”
“Why?”
“If they wanted digital records, they’d take the computer.”
Damian looked at the wall behind her desk.
A calendar hung there.
Thursday was circled.
The meeting.
Khloe’s message from the previous night returned to him.
The Thursday meeting needs to move.
We’ll discuss it in the morning.
“Who is Thursday?” Damian asked.
Bruno checked the schedule.
“Pierce Maritime. Ten a.m.”
“Who requested the meeting?”
“Khloe.”
Damian frowned.
That was unusual.
Khloe arranged his calendar but rarely initiated outside meetings without explaining why.
“Get me everything on Pierce Maritime.”
Leo was already typing.
Damian searched the scattered papers.
A shipping invoice.
Insurance documents.
Payroll sheets.
Then he noticed something beneath the desk.
A folded piece of paper taped to the underside.
He pulled it free.
Three numbers were handwritten across it.
Below them was one letter.
W.
Leo looked over his shoulder.
“Walsh?”
“Maybe.”
Bruno spoke from across the room.
“Damian.”
He was holding Khloe’s desk phone.
The voicemail indicator blinked.
They played the newest message.
A man’s voice.
Calm.
Older.
“Khloe, this is Daniel Pierce. I received the documents. You were right to be concerned. Do not discuss them over company email. I’ll see you Thursday.”
The message ended.
Damian looked at Leo.
“What documents?”
“We’ll find out.”
Damian unfolded the paper again.
A date?
July 14, 2023?
No.
Khloe had worked for him then.
Nothing significant had happened.
Locker numbers?
Account numbers?
He turned the paper over.
There was a faint impression from handwriting once placed above it.
Bruno angled a lamp.
Three words became visible.
Morrow Storage Facility.
Leo searched the name.
His expression changed.
“There’s one in Red Hook.”
“How far?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
They left immediately.
Morrow Storage occupied a converted warehouse near the waterfront.
The manager, a heavyset man named Ellis, became extremely cooperative when Damian placed Khloe’s photograph on the counter.
“I know her.”
“When was she here?”
“Couple weeks ago.”
“Alone?”
“First time.”
“First?”
“She returned Sunday night.”
Damian stared at him.
“Sunday?”
“Yes.”
“With someone?”
“No.”
“What unit?”
Ellis hesitated.
Damian did not raise his voice.
“What unit?”
“Fourteen.”
Leo looked at the note.
They followed Ellis through the storage corridors.
Unit fourteen had two locks.
One belonged to the facility.
The other did not.
Ellis looked confused.
“That isn’t ours.”
Leo cut it.
The metal door rolled upward.
Nothing happened for several seconds.
Then the automatic light flickered on.
The unit contained only three objects.
A wooden chair.
A steel lockbox.
And a photograph taped to the wall.
Damian approached it.
The picture was old.
At least twenty years.
Three men stood outside a warehouse.
Damian immediately recognized his father, Vincent Russo.
Beside him stood Patrick Walsh.
And between them was a younger man Damian did not recognize.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written a name.
Thomas Hayes.
Damian stopped breathing for half a second.
Hayes.
Khloe’s family.
Leo stared at him.
“That her grandfather?”
“Her father’s name is Walter.”
“Could be an uncle.”
Damian turned toward the lockbox.
“Open it.”
Inside were stacks of documents.
Old shipping manifests.
Bank transfers.
Photocopies of passports.
And one sealed envelope.
K. HAYES.
Damian stared at the handwriting.
It belonged to his father.
He knew because he had seen Vincent Russo sign thousands of documents.
Damian opened it.
Inside was a single page.
If Khloe Hayes ever comes looking for the truth, do not let Walsh reach her first.
Damian read it twice.
Then a phone began ringing inside the storage unit.
Not his.
Not Leo’s.
Not Bruno’s.
The sound came from beneath the wooden chair.
Leo lifted it.
A cheap prepaid phone lay on the concrete.
Damian answered.
This time there was no laughter.
Only Khloe.
“Damian?”
His body went rigid.
“Khloe.”
Her breath shook.
“Don’t come looking for me.”
“Where are you?”
“You need to listen.”
“Tell me where you are.”
“I found out what your father did.”
“Khloe—”
“And Walsh isn’t the one you should be afraid of.”
A loud impact sounded behind her.
Khloe gasped.
Then whispered five words.
May you like
“There’s someone inside your family.”
The call ended.
