Chapter 3 - The Harbor Book
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then I laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes the human body has only so many responses available before it chooses the wrong one.
“Lucia was three when Paulo died.”
Dominic stared at the letter.
“I know.”
“Three.”
“I heard you.”
“So explain how a three-year-old child could be the target of anything.”
“I can’t.”
I grabbed the Harbor Book.
“Then we leave.”
“Alina.”
“No.”
I turned on him.
“You have answers in pieces. Paulo worked for you. Paulo suspected Victor. Paulo died. Victor kept a key belonging to Paulo for four years. Today Victor put something in your coffee, my daughter saw him, and now a letter says she is the target.”
My voice cracked.
“I am done accepting pieces.”
Dominic absorbed every word.
Then he nodded.
“You’re right.”
That stopped me.
Men like Dominic Ferrero were not supposed to say those words.
He pulled a chair from beside my mother’s basement workbench.
“Sit.”
“I don’t want to sit.”
“Neither do I. But Paulo died trying to tell us something. We owe him enough patience to understand it.”
We opened the Harbor Book.
Paulo had written dates, container numbers, warehouse codes, company names, and initials.
Most meant nothing to me.
They meant something to Dominic.
His expression became darker with every page.
“These shipments never existed.”
“What?”
“The numbers are legitimate. The cargo isn’t.”
Gabriel leaned over his shoulder.
“Shell manifests?”
Dominic nodded.
Someone had been creating false shipping records and moving company money through nonexistent cargo.
For years.
Paulo had circled one set of initials repeatedly.
V.S.
Victor Salerno.
But that wasn’t the strangest part.
Near the back of the notebook was another name.
Elena Ferrero.
Dominic’s wife.
Dead for twenty-eight years.
He stopped turning pages.
I watched his face change.
“What?”
He closed the notebook.
“Nothing.”
“That isn’t nothing.”
“Not here.”
“You promised answers.”
His eyes met mine.
“My wife died giving birth.”
I softened despite myself.
“I’m sorry.”
“Our daughter died too.”
Lucia was sitting on the basement stairs coloring quietly.
Dominic glanced at her.
“Elena discovered irregularities in the family accounts shortly before she died.”
My skin prickled.
“Victor?”
“I never knew.”
Dominic opened the book again.
Paulo had written beneath Elena’s name:
THE FIRST ACCOUNT. FIND THE BENEFICIARY.
Gabriel plugged Paulo’s flash drive into an offline laptop.
It requested a password.
We tried Lucia.
Alina.
Paulo.
Nothing.
Then Lucia wandered over.
“What was Daddy’s favorite number?”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“Passwords have numbers.”
Dominic almost smiled.
“Smart girl.”
Paulo’s favorite number had been seventeen.
Still nothing.
Then I remembered the coffee mug.
The ridiculous lucky mug from Logan Airport.
Flight 417.
I typed 417.
The drive opened.
Folders appeared.
Invoices.
Photographs.
Audio files.
And one video.
Paulo appeared on screen.
Alive.
I stopped breathing.
His hair was messy.
His eyes were exhausted.
He looked exactly as he had the week before he died.
“Alina, if you ever see this, I’m sorry.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
“I wanted to tell you. I couldn’t risk bringing this home.”
Lucia walked toward the screen.
“Daddy?”
I nearly broke.
Paulo continued.
“I found what Victor is doing. But money isn’t the real secret.”
Dominic leaned closer.
“Twenty-eight years ago, Victor created an account using Elena Ferrero’s medical records.”
Dominic froze.
“He used payments from Ferrero businesses to hide something connected to the hospital where Elena died.”
Paulo looked off-camera.
Then back.
“I think Dominic’s daughter survived.”
Nobody moved.
Dominic gripped the table.
“No.”
Paulo continued.
“The hospital record says stillbirth. But there is a second neonatal record under another surname. Same date. Same blood type. Same physician.”
Dominic whispered, “Impossible.”
The video continued.
“I traced the child.”
My heart began pounding.
“She was adopted privately.”
Dominic’s face had gone white.
“Her adoptive family changed her name.”
Paulo swallowed.
“Her name is Alina.”
The basement disappeared around me.
I heard Lucia ask something.
I couldn’t understand the words.
Dominic looked at me as though seeing my face for the first time.
“No.”
I stepped backward.
“No.”
Paulo kept speaking.
“I haven’t confirmed it. I need DNA. But if I’m right, Victor has spent almost thirty years hiding the truth from Dominic.”
I shook my head.
“I was adopted.”
The words barely came out.
“My parents told me when I was sixteen.”
Dominic’s eyes filled with something I had never seen there.
Fear.
Hope.
Both.
“My birthday?” I whispered.
“November fourteenth,” he said.
I stared at him.
“How do you know?”
His voice broke.
“Because that was her birthday.”
Lucia looked between us.
“Mom?”
I could not answer.
Paulo’s recording continued.
“There’s another reason Victor is dangerous. If Alina is Dominic’s daughter, Lucia is his granddaughter.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
The terrifying man from the harbor estate suddenly looked like someone had taken twenty-eight years from him in a single breath.
Then Paulo delivered the final warning.
“Victor cannot let Dominic discover he has an heir. Because the Ferrero trust transfers controlling ownership to Dominic’s direct descendants.”
Gabriel swore quietly.
I stared at Dominic.
“What trust?”
“My father established it.”
“And if you have no descendants?”
“Victor controls a large portion after my death.”
Everything became clear.
Not emotionally.
Mathematically.
Victor had hidden Dominic’s daughter.
Paulo discovered it.
Paulo died.
Victor had drugged Dominic.
And now Lucia had seen him.
But Paulo’s recording wasn’t finished.
“I hid proof in locker 314 at South Harbor Station. Dominic will understand how to access it.”
The video flickered.
Then Paulo leaned closer to the camera.
“One last thing.”
His voice dropped.
“Victor didn’t arrange my accident alone.”
Dominic became still.
“There is someone inside Dominic’s house helping him.”
The recording ended.
Nobody spoke.
Then a noise came from upstairs.
A floorboard.
Gabriel immediately looked toward the basement stairs.
My mother was sick in bed.
The security men were outside.
No one else should have been inside.
Dominic moved Lucia behind him.
Gabriel climbed the stairs.
We waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then the lights went out.
Lucia screamed.
I grabbed her.
A crash sounded upstairs.
Then silence.
The emergency light clicked on.
Gabriel returned holding something.
Not a weapon.
A phone.
“This was on the kitchen counter.”
The screen displayed a photograph.
Taken through the basement window.
Minutes earlier.
It showed Dominic, Lucia, and me standing around Paulo’s computer.
Below it was a message.
STOP LOOKING FOR THE PAST.
Then another message arrived.
This one contained only four words.
May you like
THE CHILD COMES WITH ME.
---
