Chapter 2 - THE NAME THAT MADE THE KINGPIN GO SILENT
Damian took me through a service exit into the underground parking structure.
Three black SUVs waited beside a concrete pillar.
A man in a charcoal suit opened the rear door of the middle vehicle.
“Sir, we have a problem.”
Damian didn't slow.
“Which one?”
“The surveillance system went offline seventeen seconds before the blackout.”
Damian stopped.
“All cameras?”
“Only the private vault and adjoining corridors.”
“Convenient.”
The man nodded.
“Very.”
I looked back toward the elevator.
“What about Marcus?”
“We'll find him,” Damian said.
His voice carried no doubt.
But I noticed he hadn't said alive.
I climbed into the SUV because the alternative was standing alone in a parking garage while someone who knew my name was apparently trying to kill people.
Damian sat beside me.
The doors locked.
We pulled away.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then Damian said:
“Your father.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Was his name Thomas Reed?”
My blood went cold.
“How do you know that?”
Damian looked out the window.
“Answer me.”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
Thomas Reed had served in the military for twenty-two years.
He'd worked in explosive ordnance disposal.
After retiring, he'd become a safety consultant.
He taught me to pay attention to the world.
To notice details.
To trust the uncomfortable feeling that something wasn't right.
Then, when I was seventeen, he died in what investigators called an industrial accident.
A warehouse fire.
An explosion.
A collapsed roof.
I had spent the next eight years trying not to think about the last argument we'd had.
He'd told me he needed to leave town for a few days.
I'd accused him of always choosing work over family.
He'd kissed my forehead.
And promised we'd talk when he returned.
We never did.
Damian finally looked at me.
“Your father saved my life once.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Eight years ago.”
My throat tightened.
“That's impossible.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
The SUV moved through Las Vegas traffic.
Neon lights flashed across Damian's face.
“He was investigating something at one of my warehouses,” Damian continued. “There was a fire. He got several workers out.”
I swallowed.
“And?”
Damian looked down.
“He didn't make it.”
I stared at him.
“You were there?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
The air seemed to disappear from the vehicle.
“You knew my father?”
“Yes.”
“And you never contacted me?”
Damian's expression tightened.
“I wanted to.”
I laughed bitterly.
“But you didn't.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Then said:
“Because the official report wasn't the whole truth.”
My stomach dropped.
“What truth?”
Damian stared at the passing lights.
“The fire wasn't an accident.”
I stopped breathing.
He continued.
“And Thomas Reed wasn't supposed to die.”
I looked at him.
“Who killed him?”
Damian's jaw tightened.
“I've spent eight years trying to prove that.”
I stared.
Then whispered:
“Marcus?”
Damian looked at me.
May you like
He didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
