Chapter 4 - THE LIGHTHOUSE BENEATH THE CITY
Blackwater House had stood on a rocky stretch of coastline north of Boston.
After the fire, the property was sold.
The building was demolished.
A private developer purchased the land and constructed an exclusive waterfront estate.
According to public records, the owner was a company called Meridian Harbor Holdings.
Dominic recognized the name immediately.
“Meridian was one of my father's companies.”
My stomach dropped.
“Does your family still own it?”
“No. It was transferred to a charitable trust six years ago.”
“Who controls the trust?”
Dominic's expression darkened.
“Eleanor Voss.”
I stared.
The woman who had arranged my new identity controlled the land where my old life had ended.
Detective Ortiz obtained historical property records while Dominic's attorney reviewed his family's files.
I continued working at the hospital.
My supervisor offered temporary leave.
I declined at first.
Then I found a white envelope taped to my locker.
Inside was a photograph of my mother.
She was standing outside Blackwater House.
Someone had drawn a red circle around her face.
On the back were four words.
SHE DIDN'T DIE THERE.
I sat down so quickly that my knees struck the bench.
For twelve years, I'd believed my mother died in the fire.
Now someone was telling me she survived.
I wanted to believe it.
That made the message more frightening.
Dominic called that evening.
“Grace, are you all right?”
I almost said yes.
Instead, I told him about the photograph.
He was silent for a moment.
Then asked, “Can I come see you?”
“You're supposed to be recovering.”
“I can sit in a car.”
“That's not the same as resting.”
“Grace.”
Something in his voice made me stop.
“Please.”
I looked at the photograph.
Then whispered, “Okay.”
He arrived twenty minutes later.
No convoy.
No dramatic entrance.
Just a black sedan driven by Marcus.
Dominic moved slowly, one hand pressed against his ribs.
I opened the apartment door.
“You look terrible.”
He smiled faintly.
“You always know how to make a man feel welcome.”
“Sit down before you fall down.”
He obeyed.
I made tea.
He looked around my apartment.
The mismatched furniture.
The textbooks stacked beside the couch.
The photograph of my foster mother on the bookshelf.
“You built a life,” he said.
I handed him a mug.
“I tried.”
He looked at the photograph of my mother.
“Do you believe she's alive?”
I stared at it.
“I don't know.”
“Then we'll find out.”
I shook my head.
“Dominic, you keep saying we.”
He looked at me.
“Is that a problem?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your family is the reason mine disappeared.”
He absorbed the words without arguing.
Then said quietly, “You're right.”
That startled me.
He continued.
“I can't ask you to trust me because I want answers too.”
I sat across from him.
“Then why are you here?”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Because the first time I saw you, I thought you were someone I'd dreamed about for twelve years.”
I went still.
“What?”
Dominic's voice softened.
“After the fire, I kept dreaming about a girl standing beneath a lighthouse. Adrian was trying to reach her.”
My throat tightened.
“I was fourteen.”
“I was twenty-six.”
He looked down.
“I thought my mind had invented you because I couldn't accept losing him.”
I stared.
Then whispered, “I remember you.”
His eyes lifted.
“You came to Blackwater House once.”
He froze.
I continued.
“You argued with your father in the courtyard. Adrian watched from an upstairs window.”
Dominic's face drained of color.
“I remember that day.”
I nodded.
“Your brother was crying after you left.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then his phone rang.
Marcus.
Dominic answered.
“What?”
I watched his expression change.
“Say that again.”
He stood too quickly and winced.
I reached toward him.
He held up a hand.
Then looked at me.
“Grace, investigators found something in the old Meridian property records.”
“What?”
“A construction permit.”
I frowned.
“For what?”
May you like
Dominic's voice dropped.
“An underground medical facility.”
