Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO KNEW HER DEAD FATHER
The gunshot had struck the ceiling.
Cole Mercer had fired to stop one of Voric's associates from drawing his weapon.
Nobody was injured.
But the room had changed forever.
Raymond Pike stood near the wall with his hands raised.
His smile was gone.
Vincent emerged from behind the counter.
“Everyone sits down.”
Nobody argued.
Hannah remained crouched.
Her knees wouldn't cooperate.
Vincent looked at her.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
He extended his hand.
She hesitated.
Then took it.
His grip was firm.
Warm.
Surprisingly careful.
He helped her stand.
“You said Raymond's name.”
Hannah nodded.
“It's written there.”
Vincent turned toward Voric.
“Explain.”
Voric's face was pale.
“I didn't write that journal.”
“Then who did?”
Silence.
Vincent's voice hardened.
“Aleksander.”
Voric swallowed.
“A man named Peter Kovalenko.”
Hannah felt the floor disappear beneath her.
“What?”
Every face turned toward her.
Voric stared.
“You know that name?”
Hannah couldn't breathe.
Vincent looked between them.
“Miss Cole?”
She whispered, “He was my father.”
The room went silent.
Raymond Pike closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
But Hannah saw it.
Recognition.
Fear.
Vincent saw it too.
“Raymond,” he said quietly, “what do you know about Peter Kovalenko?”
Raymond laughed nervously.
“Nothing.”
Hannah looked at him.
“You're lying.”
His eyes snapped toward her.
“Careful, girl.”
Vincent stepped between them.
“Don't threaten her.”
Raymond stared.
“Vincent—”
“Not another word.”
An hour later, Hannah sat in a private office two floors below the ballroom.
Vincent stood by the window.
Cole Mercer guarded the door.
Raymond and Voric had been separated while Vincent's attorneys and security team reviewed what had happened.
Hannah held a cup of tea she hadn't touched.
“My father died eleven years ago,” she said.
Vincent turned.
“That's what you were told?”
She nodded.
“Car accident.”
“Outside Milwaukee?”
Her head lifted.
“How did you know?”
Vincent's expression darkened.
“Because my father was supposed to meet Peter Kovalenko that night.”
Hannah stared.
“Your father?”
“Edward Hale.”
She knew the name.
Everyone in Chicago's criminal world knew Edward Hale.
He had been killed eleven years earlier during a violent dispute involving waterfront contracts.
At least, that was the public story.
Vincent approached slowly.
“Peter was helping him investigate missing money.”
Hannah's hands trembled.
“My father was a historian.”
“He was also a forensic translator.”
Vincent sat across from her.
“He discovered someone was moving money through coded shipping records.”
Hannah stared at the journal.
“Raymond?”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“That's what we're going to find out.”
She looked at him.
“Why should I trust you?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he said something unexpected.
“You shouldn't.”
Hannah blinked.
Vincent leaned forward.
“Not yet. Trust is earned.”
He looked toward the journal.
“But I can offer you something.”
“Money?”
“Answers.”
Hannah's throat tightened.
“About my father?”
May you like
Vincent nodded.
“About what really happened eleven years ago.”
Related Stories
