Chapter 3 - THE SHADOWS OF THE PAST
The wind lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Moretti mansion.
Rain drummed a frantic rhythm.
Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Dominic sat behind his massive mahogany desk.
The metal box sat open before him.
Inside lay the financial records linking Richard Sterling to the foundation embezzlement.
Millions of dollars.
Funneled away from charity.
Used to fund private offshore accounts.
Vanessa’s father wasn’t just a wealthy businessman.
He was a thief.
And Vanessa was knee-deep in it.
The door creaked open.
Hannah stepped inside, holding a tray with steaming coffee.
“Sir? You’ve been in here for hours.”
Dominic looked up.
Dark circles ringed his eyes.
“Set it down, Hannah.”
She obeyed, her movements deliberate.
She glanced at the open metal box.
Her breath hitched.
“Recognize those?” Dominic asked.
“My mother worked on those audits,” Hannah whispered. “She told me Elena found the discrepancies weeks before she died.”
Dominic stood up.
He walked slowly toward her.
“Why didn't you come to me sooner?”
“We were terrified,” Hannah’s voice trembled. “Men in black cars followed us for months. My mother made me swear never to mention the name Margaret Vale to anyone in this house.”
“Except the mirror.”
“Except the mirror,” Hannah confirmed. “She said if anyone tried to erase Elena’s room, the truth would reveal itself where the light falls.”
Dominic gripped the edge of the desk.
“My brother was there that night.”
“He wasn’t alone,” Hannah said softly.
Dominic froze.
“What do you mean?”
“Someone else was on the back stairs. Someone wearing perfume that smelled like gardenias.”
Dominic’s mind raced.
Gardenias.
Vanessa’s signature perfume.
Before he could speak, a shattering crash echoed from downstairs.
Glass breaking.
Heavy footsteps thudding against marble.
Dominic drew his silver-plated Beretta from his holster in a fluid motion.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered Hannah.
He crept out of the study.
The hallway was pitch black.
The power had been cut.
Emergency lights flickered red along the baseboards.
Footsteps rushed toward the west wing.
Dominic stalked forward, pressing his back against the wallpaper.
A figure rounded the corner.
Holding a heavy iron fireplace poker.
Dominic lunged, sweeping the intruder’s legs out from under them.
The figure hit the floor with a groan.
Dominic pinned them down, pressing the cold barrel of his gun against their neck.
The emergency light flared.
It was Adrian.
Blood trickled from Adrian’s lip.
“Get off me, you idiot!” Adrian spat.
“What are you doing in the west wing?” Dominic demanded.
“Someone broke in! I was chasing them!”
“Liar.”
“Check the security monitors!” Adrian yelled. “Someone cut the power from the outside!”
Dominic hesitated.
He pulled his radio.
“Viktor, status report.”
Static hissed.
May you like
Then Viktor’s voice came through, strained and breathless.
“Boss… someone’s at the front gate. They’re burning the archive room.”
