Chapter 3 - The Photograph in Cameron’s Safe
Cameron knew something was wrong before Avery opened the apartment door.
She saw it in his face.
His gaze moved first to her eyes, then her phone, then the open letter on the kitchen table behind her.
“What happened?”
Avery held up the phone.
“Where were you the night my father died?”
Cameron stopped.
Elena made a soft sound behind her.
“Avery.”
“No, Mom.”
Cameron looked at the message.
Then at her.
“Inside.”
“Answer me first.”
“This hallway isn’t safe.”
“Neither is apparently knowing you.”
That landed.
Cameron’s expression barely changed, but Avery saw the wound.
Good, she thought.
Then hated herself for thinking it.
Cameron lowered his voice.
“The night Vincent died, I was at Pier Seventeen.”
“Doing what?”
“Meeting him.”
Avery’s breath caught.
Elena stood from the table.
“You never told me that.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because when I arrived, he wasn’t there.”
Avery studied him.
“What time?”
“Eleven forty.”
“My father crashed at twelve seventeen.”
“Yes.”
“And where were you at twelve seventeen?”
Cameron hesitated.
Avery laughed bitterly.
“There it is.”
“I was following someone.”
“Who?”
“My uncle.”
Elena went pale.
Avery frowned.
“Your uncle?”
“Salvatore Moretti.”
The name meant nothing to Avery.
Elena clearly knew it.
Cameron noticed.
“You remember him.”
“I remember Vincent hated him.”
Cameron nodded.
“My uncle controlled port operations under my father. After Lorenzo died, Salvatore expected to take over Moretti Holdings.”
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“And he wasn’t happy.”
“No.”
Cameron finally stepped inside.
His men remained in the hallway.
Avery shut the door.
“Tell me everything.”
“Vincent called me that night. He said he found the final connection between the stolen money and someone in my family.”
“Salvatore?”
“He wouldn’t say over the phone.”
“Why meet at the pier?”
“Because he believed our offices were monitored.”
Avery sat.
Her mother lowered herself beside her.
Cameron remained standing.
“At eleven thirty-five, I saw Salvatore’s car leaving the port. I followed him.”
“To where?”
“Brooklyn.”
“Near my father?”
“Near the road where your father died.”
Silence filled the kitchen.
Avery whispered, “Were you at the crash?”
“No.”
“Did you see it?”
“No.”
“Did your uncle kill my father?”
“I’ve spent eight years trying to prove it.”
Avery looked at the letter.
“And Bradley?”
“Bradley worked for Salvatore.”
“At twenty-something?”
“His father did business with us. Bradley learned quickly.”
“Why was he at the diner?”
“We found payments made yesterday from an account connected to Hayes Capital to a private investigator in Brooklyn.”
Avery’s stomach turned.
“What investigator?”
“One who has been following you.”
Elena covered her mouth.
Avery stared at Cameron.
“How long?”
“We identified him three weeks ago.”
“You’ve known someone was following me for three weeks?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I increased security around you.”
“What security?”
Cameron looked toward the street.
Avery understood.
“The black SUV.”
“Yes.”
“The guy who buys newspapers across from my building?”
“Yes.”
“The woman who suddenly started jogging past the diner every morning?”
Cameron paused.
“She’s actually a jogger.”
Avery almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead, she stood.
“You had me watched.”
“I had you protected.”
“Without asking.”
“If I had asked, you would have said no.”
“That doesn’t make it okay!”
“It made you alive.”
The words struck hard.
Cameron immediately softened his voice.
“Avery…”
“No.”
She walked toward her bedroom.
“I need space.”
Cameron did not follow.
But before she reached the hallway, Elena spoke.
“He kept you alive before too.”
Avery turned.
Her mother stared at the table.
“The year after your father died, someone tried to break into our old house.”
Avery froze.
“You told me it was teenagers.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because Cameron found them first.”
Avery looked at him.
“What did you do?”
Cameron answered quietly.
“I convinced them to stop.”
She stared.
“That sounds suspiciously like a sentence that should have police reports attached to it.”
“They left New York.”
“Voluntarily?”
Cameron did not answer.
Avery looked away.
For months she had thought Dom was simply quiet.
Now silence had become its own language.
And Cameron Moretti spoke it fluently.
An hour later, he finally left.
Not because Avery asked.
Because his security chief called.
Bradley Hayes had disappeared.
His Manhattan apartment had been emptied.
His corporate plane had filed a flight plan to Montreal and canceled it fifteen minutes later.
Cameron stood near the door.
“I want you and your mother somewhere secure tonight.”
“We’re staying here.”
“Avery.”
“No.”
He looked at Elena.
Traitor number two.
Her mother said, “I think we should listen.”
Avery closed her eyes.
Cameron said, “My home has private security.”
“I am not moving into your house.”
“For one night.”
“No.”
“Two.”
“That’s the opposite direction.”
He almost smiled.
“You can have an entire floor.”
“I live in a two-bedroom apartment. Why would one person need a floor?”
“You talk when you’re nervous.”
“I talk when billionaires are annoying.”
“Then you must be nervous frequently.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped her.
Cameron looked startled.
Avery looked more startled.
Then she remembered the message.
Her father.
The scratched-out line.
The unknown watcher.
The moment passed.
Cameron’s Manhattan residence occupied the upper floors of a limestone building overlooking Central Park.
Avery expected gold.
There was none.
Everything was dark wood, stone, books, and enormous windows.
Elena was taken to a guest suite.
A doctor examined Avery’s burn.
Then Avery wandered.
She couldn’t sleep.
At one in the morning she found Cameron alone in a study.
His jacket was gone.
Tie loosened.
Three monitors displayed financial records.
“You really don’t sleep?”
He looked up.
“Not well.”
“Since when?”
“2009.”
“That specific?”
“My mother died that year.”
Avery leaned against the door.
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
For once, neither knew what to say.
Then Avery noticed the open safe behind his desk.
Inside were files.
Cash.
A passport.
And a photograph.
She recognized herself.
Not recent Avery.
Sixteen-year-old Avery.
Standing outside her father’s funeral.
She crossed the room.
“What is that?”
Cameron followed her gaze.
He stood quickly.
“Nothing.”
“You keep my funeral photo in a safe?”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“I don’t even know what to think!”
He removed the photograph.
On the back was handwriting.
Vincent’s.
Avery read it.
If I fail, protect both of them. Not because you owe me. Because one day Avery may be the only person who can finish this.
Avery stared at Cameron.
“Finish what?”
Cameron did not answer.
She grabbed the photo.
“There’s something else.”
He looked tired.
“Your father left evidence.”
“Where?”
“He never told me.”
“But he thought I could find it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Avery studied the picture again.
Then she noticed something.
In the photograph, teenage Avery was holding the old silver locket her father had given her.
She instinctively touched her neck.
She still wore it.
Every day.
Cameron’s eyes followed her hand.
They both realized it at the same moment.
Avery unclasped the necklace.
The locket had never opened.
She had assumed it was decorative.
Cameron took a small letter opener and pressed it carefully against the edge.
Click.
The locket opened.
Inside was no photograph.
There was a tiny black object no bigger than her fingernail.
A memory card.
Neither spoke.
Cameron inserted it into an offline laptop.
One folder appeared.
V.R.
Password protected.
Avery whispered, “What would Dad use?”
“Something only you know.”
She tried birthdays.
Wrong.
Her mother’s name.
Wrong.
Their old street.
Wrong.
Then she remembered something her father told her whenever she came home crying after school.
Never let cruel people decide how much space you deserve.
Avery typed:
TAKEUPSPACE
The folder opened.
Dozens of documents appeared.
Port manifests.
Bank accounts.
Photographs.
Audio recordings.
And one video.
IF YOU ARE WATCHING THIS, CAMERON WAS TOO LATE.
Avery’s blood ran cold.
She clicked.
Her father appeared on screen.
Vincent Russo looked exhausted.
Behind him was the same blue shipping container from the photograph.
He stared directly at the camera.
“If you found this, Avery, I’m sorry.”
Avery pressed both hands to her mouth.
Vincent continued.
“I discovered who is moving money through Moretti Maritime.”
Cameron leaned closer.
“And it isn’t Salvatore.”
Cameron went completely still.
Vincent looked behind him before continuing.
“Salvatore is dirty. Bradley Hayes is dirty. But someone else is giving them access.”
Avery whispered, “Who?”
Her father answered from eight years in the past.
“The person betraying Cameron is someone he considers family.”
The video flickered.
Then Vincent said the name.
But the audio disappeared.
Cameron swore.
Avery stared at the screen.
The final seconds returned.
Vincent leaned toward the camera.
“One more thing. Avery must never know the truth about why Cameron protects her unless she chooses to stay.”
The recording ended.
Avery turned slowly toward him.
“Unless I choose to stay where?”
Cameron’s face revealed something she had never seen before.
Fear.
Avery whispered, “What did my father mean?”
Cameron looked away.
And that was when Avery realized her father had left two secrets.
One about the traitor inside Moretti Holdings.
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And another about Cameron’s feelings for her.
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