Chapter 8 - THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
Toby survived the surgery.
When the surgeon came into the waiting room, I stood so quickly my chair fell backward.
“He's okay?”
The doctor smiled.
“The procedure went well. He's being monitored closely in recovery.”
I began crying.
Not quietly.
Not gracefully.
I covered my face and sobbed.
For months, I'd imagined this moment.
The possibility that my brother might finally have a childhood beyond hospital walls.
The possibility that I could stop measuring my life in medical bills.
The possibility that tomorrow might be better.
When I entered Toby's room, he was asleep.
Gerald rested beside his pillow.
I kissed his forehead.
“You did it, buddy.”
Then my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
It showed my father standing beside a shipping container.
Next to him was a younger Vittorio Vanel.
And behind them stood Greg.
The message read:
YOUR FATHER DIDN'T DIE BECAUSE HE REFUSED TO WORK FOR THE VANELS.
Another message followed.
HE DIED BECAUSE HE FOUND OUT WHAT THEY WERE SHIPPING.
My hands began shaking.
I called the number.
No answer.
Then a final message arrived.
IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH, COME TO THE OLD WAREHOUSE ON PIER 17. ALONE.
I stared at the screen.
Every instinct told me it was a trap.
But my father had been dead for nine years.
And for nine years, I'd believed a lie.
I looked at Toby.
He was sleeping peacefully.
Then I made a decision.
I would find out what happened.
But I would not go alone.
I called Dante.
He answered immediately.
“Elena?”
I swallowed.
“I need your help.”
A pause.
“Where are you?”
“At the hospital.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
I looked at the photograph.
“Someone knows who killed my father.”
May you like
Dante's voice became very quiet.
“Don't go anywhere.”
