Chapter 3 - Twelve Missing Minutes
Damian redialed.
Nothing.
He tried again.
The prepaid phone was dead.
Leo was already moving.
“Trace?”
Bruno shook his head.
“Too short.”
“Try anyway.”
Damian stood motionless beside the lockbox.
Khloe’s warning repeated in his head.
There’s someone inside your family.
Family could mean blood.
Or organization.
For men like Damian Russo, sometimes those were the same thing.
“Who knew she’d been investigating this?” Leo asked.
“Nobody.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
Damian hated that answer.
He looked again at Vincent Russo’s letter.
If Khloe Hayes ever comes looking for the truth, do not let Walsh reach her first.
His father had died four years ago.
The man had known Khloe’s name.
Long before she came to Damian about Walter’s gambling debt.
That changed everything.
Bruno examined the documents.
“These transactions go back twenty-three years.”
“What are they?”
“Payments through shell companies. Cargo transfers. Looks like Vincent and Walsh were partners.”
“They were.”
Damian remembered fragments.
Arguments behind closed doors.
Men disappearing from family dinners.
His father burning papers in a fireplace one winter when Damian was sixteen.
But children in families like his learned not to ask questions.
“What happened between them?” Leo asked.
“Depends who tells it.”
“What did your father say?”
“That Walsh betrayed him.”
“And Walsh?”
“Would probably say the opposite.”
Bruno held up a photocopy.
“Thomas Hayes appears on dozens of these.”
The mysterious third man in the photograph.
“What role?”
“Accountant, maybe. His signature approves payments.”
Damian looked toward the unit entrance.
“Find Walter Hayes.”
Leo raised an eyebrow.
“Khloe’s father?”
“Now.”
By eleven thirty, they had three possible addresses.
By noon, two were outdated.
The third belonged to a motel outside Newark.
Walter Hayes had checked in under his own name six weeks earlier.
They found his room unlocked.
Inside were empty liquor bottles, newspapers, and a suitcase still half packed.
But Walter was gone.
A motel employee had seen him leave the previous afternoon with two men.
Voluntarily or otherwise, she could not say.
Damian called Bruno.
“Check every Walsh property in Brooklyn.”
“You still think Walsh has Khloe?”
“I think somebody wants me unsure.”
At 12:47, Leo received the first useful break.
“The building loop.”
Damian turned.
“What about it?”
“It’s exactly twelve minutes because they didn’t generate fake footage. They copied an earlier section.”
“So?”
“So whoever edited it knew where the local recorder was.”
“Maintenance?”
“Or anyone with administrator credentials.”
Damian stared through the motel window.
“How many people in my organization have those credentials?”
“Four.”
“Names.”
Leo hesitated.
“You.”
“Continue.”
“Me.”
“Continue.”
“Bruno.”
“And?”
Leo’s expression hardened.
“Nicolas Russo.”
Damian’s cousin.
His father’s sister’s only son.
Nicolas had grown up in Damian’s house after his own father disappeared.
He currently managed three Russo warehouses and had access to security systems connecting company-owned properties and residences.
Damian said nothing.
Leo watched him.
“You told me not to hide anything.”
“I know.”
“Nicolas also approved a security contractor who serviced Khloe’s building six months ago.”
Damian turned slowly.
“What?”
“Building management records. Contractor was Bell Security.”
“Russo vendor?”
“Subsidiary vendor. Nicolas signed the referral.”
Damian took out his phone.
“Where is he?”
Leo checked.
“Warehouse Seven.”
Damian dialed Nicolas.
He answered on the third ring.
“Cousin.”
“Where are you?”
“Working, unlike certain people.”
“Stay there.”
A pause.
“Problem?”
Damian looked at Leo.
“We’ll discuss it when I arrive.”
Nicolas laughed.
“Sounds serious.”
“It is.”
Damian ended the call.
Warehouse Seven occupied four city blocks near the industrial waterfront.
When Damian arrived, Nicolas was standing outside beneath an awning, smoking.
He wore a charcoal suit without a tie and the relaxed expression of a man who believed the world existed largely for his amusement.
“You look terrible,” Nicolas said.
“Khloe is missing.”
The smile vanished.
“What?”
“Her apartment was attacked.”
“Since when?”
“Last night.”
Nicolas dropped the cigarette.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I just did.”
“What can I do?”
Damian studied him.
“Explain Bell Security.”
Nicolas frowned.
“What about it?”
“You placed them in Khloe’s building.”
“Her landlord asked for recommendations. I gave three.”
“You remember that?”
“I remember everything involving company security.”
“Who owns Bell?”
“No idea.”
Leo handed him a tablet.
Nicolas looked.
His confusion appeared genuine.
That meant very little.
“They’re incorporated through Delaware,” Leo said. “The registered agent connects to Pierce Maritime.”
Nicolas looked up.
“Pierce? The company meeting you Thursday?”
Damian’s expression changed.
“How do you know about Thursday?”
Nicolas blinked.
“It’s on the executive calendar.”
“No.”
Damian stepped closer.
“It isn’t.”
Khloe kept sensitive meetings on Damian’s private schedule.
Only she, Damian and Leo had access.
Nicolas stared at him.
“Then someone told me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t remember.”
Damian held his gaze.
“Try.”
Nicolas’s face tightened.
“Are you accusing me?”
“I’m asking.”
“You bring me into the company, trust me with half your operations, and because your secretary misses one morning—”
Damian grabbed Nicolas by the lapel.
Leo did not intervene.
“She did not miss work.”
Damian’s voice was quiet.
“She was taken.”
Nicolas looked at Damian’s hand.
“Then take your hands off me and let me help find her.”
For three seconds neither moved.
Damian released him.
Nicolas straightened his jacket.
“I’ll pull every record from Bell.”
“Leo will.”
“Fine.”
“And until we know who compromised the cameras, you leave your phone with Bruno.”
Nicolas laughed once.
“You are accusing me.”
“I’m eliminating possibilities.”
Nicolas removed his phone and shoved it into Bruno’s hand.
“Enjoy.”
He walked away.
Leo waited until he was out of hearing range.
“You believe him?”
“I believe everyone is lying about something.”
Damian’s own phone rang.
Blocked number.
He answered.
A distorted voice spoke.
“You want to see Ms. Hayes?”
Damian remained silent.
A video arrived.
He opened it.
Khloe sat in a wooden chair.
Her wrists were bound.
A bruise darkened one side of her forehead.
But she was conscious.
Looking directly into the camera.
Someone stood behind her.
Only a gloved hand was visible.
The voice continued.
“Midnight. Pier Thirty-One.”
“What do you want?”
“The ledger.”
Damian looked at Leo.
“What ledger?”
The caller laughed.
“Ask your father.”
“He’s dead.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“That was his first mistake.”
The line disconnected.
Damian replayed the video.
Khloe blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then three times rapidly.
Again.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Not random.
A signal.
Damian enlarged the frame.
Behind Khloe was a stained brick wall.
A pipe.
An old electrical panel.
And a small white rectangle.
Leo leaned closer.
“What is that?”
Damian zoomed again.
A maintenance sticker.
Most of the words were unreadable.
One was not.
MORROW.
The same company as the storage facility.
“They want us at Pier Thirty-One,” Leo said.
“But Khloe isn’t there.”
“No.”
May you like
Damian looked at the dark basement surrounding her.
“She’s telling us where she is.”
