Chapter 2 - THE WEDDING INVITATION THAT WAS REALLY A SUMMONS
Ethan’s car was ridiculous.
Black SUV.
Tinted windows.
Enough armor to survive something I did not want explained.
I sat in the back with Sophie strapped into a brand-new infant seat one of his men somehow produced within fifteen minutes.
“I don’t want to know where that came from.”
Ethan sat opposite me.
“Store.”
“At four thirty in the morning?”
“Chicago is a resourceful city.”
“You called someone.”
“Yes.”
“Probably terrified them.”
“They were compensated.”
“That's not the same.”
He looked amused.
Sophie slept through our argument.
I envied her.
My suitcase sat behind us.
The recipe tin was still inside.
I had refused to let Ethan open it.
He had not argued.
That earned him one small point.
We reached the Vale Grand shortly before dawn.
The hotel occupied a restored tower overlooking the river.
Marble lobby.
Gold lighting.
Fresh flowers taller than my daughter.
A wedding portrait of Isabel and Adrian stood near the elevator.
My sister looked beautiful.
And frightened.
I noticed that immediately.
Not because of the photograph.
Because I knew her face.
Isabel had always smiled with her whole mouth.
In the portrait, only her lips participated.
Ethan noticed me staring.
“Something wrong?”
“She doesn't look happy.”
“That’s not evidence.”
“I know my sister.”
“Better evidence.”
I glanced at him.
“Was that almost a compliment?”
“Don't get used to it.”
At the front desk, the clerk’s expression changed when he saw Ethan.
“Mr. Callahan.”
“We need the private elevator.”
“Of course.”
I leaned toward Ethan.
“You own this hotel?”
“No.”
“Then why are they acting like you do?”
“Because Dominic Vale and I have disagreed before.”
“That answered absolutely nothing.”
“Good.”
The elevator rose.
My phone suddenly filled with messages now that airplane mode was off.
Mom’s old friends.
Cousins.
Wedding group chat.
Then Isabel.
Seven missed calls.
Latest message:
Rachel, where are you? DO NOT come upstairs. Call me before you do anything.
My heart jumped.
I called.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
“She's not answering.”
Ethan’s security chief, Mason, checked his phone.
“Her room is on thirty-two.”
“How do you know that?”
“Hotel.”
I looked at Ethan.
He did not apologize.
The elevator stopped at thirty.
“Why not thirty-two?”
“Because we don’t know who is waiting.”
I hated that he was right.
We entered a private suite belonging to Ethan’s organization.
Apparently he did maintain rooms in rival-owned hotels.
Again, I decided not to ask.
Mason remained near the door.
Ethan took off his coat.
“Open the recipe box.”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“My sister asked me to bring it.”
“Yes.”
“So I’m giving it to my sister.”
“What if she was forced to ask?”
That stopped me.
I looked at the suitcase.
Then Sophie.
I hated this.
Finally I unzipped the case.
The old blue tin sat beneath diapers and a folded yellow dress.
Paint chipped.
One corner dented.
I had seen it on Mom’s kitchen counter my entire childhood.
I opened it.
Recipe cards.
Tamales.
Arroz con leche.
Chicken soup.
Dad’s terrible chili.
Nothing remarkable.
Ethan did not touch anything.
He watched.
I removed stacks.
At the bottom sat a photograph.
I froze.
Dad.
Younger.
Standing beside a man I didn't know.
Behind them was a brick building.
On the back:
ADDISON — 2009. M.K. HAS ORIGINALS.
“M.K.?” I whispered.
Ethan leaned closer.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He took the photograph only after I nodded.
“That man beside your father is Michael Keane.”
“Who?”
“Chicago fire investigator.”
“Why does that matter?”
“He disappeared six days after the West Addison fire.”
My mouth went dry.
“Disappeared?”
“Car found near Lake Michigan.”
“Body?”
“No.”
I stared at the initials.
M.K.
Michael Keane.
Has originals.
Beneath the photograph was a brass key.
Small.
Old.
Stamped:
214
I picked it up.
“What does that open?”
Ethan shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Then Mason’s phone buzzed.
He listened through his earpiece.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Vale security is moving on thirty-two.”
I grabbed Sophie’s carrier.
“My sister.”
Ethan was already at the door.
“You stay here.”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“No.”
He stopped.
I expected the command again.
Instead:
“Stay behind me.”
Better.
We went up one floor by service stairs.
Then another.
At the hallway corner, raised voices.
A woman.
Isabel.
“You said she wouldn't arrive until seven!”
A man's voice answered.
Adrian.
“Her flight landed early.”
“You promised nobody would touch her.”
“No one is touching anyone.”
“Then why are your father’s men downstairs?”
I stopped breathing.
Ethan raised one finger.
Wait.
Adrian continued.
“We only need the box.”
“She doesn't know anything.”
“Then this is easy.”
My sister whispered:
“You don’t know Rachel.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Adrian said:
“Once we have what your father hid, your sister goes home.”
My blood turned cold.
Your father.
Isabel knew.
Ethan looked at me.
I stepped into the hallway.
“Then maybe somebody should tell me what Dad hid.”
Isabel spun around.
“Rachel.”
Adrian Vale stood beside her.
Tall.
Beautiful suit.
Perfect hair.
The kind of man who had probably never heard the word no without assuming it was temporary.
His face hardened when he saw Ethan.
“Callahan.”
“Vale.”
Isabel rushed toward me.
Then stopped when she saw Sophie.
Tears filled her eyes.
“Oh my God.”
I hugged her one-handed.
She held me tightly.
“I told you not to come upstairs.”
“You told me after I landed.”
“I didn't know what else to do.”
I pulled back.
“Why did you ask for Mom’s recipe box?”
Her face collapsed.
“Rachel…”
“Tell me.”
Adrian interrupted.
“This is a family matter.”
Ethan stepped slightly forward.
“You should probably stop using that sentence around me.”
Adrian looked at him.
“You have no place here.”
Ethan’s voice remained calm.
“If that were true, your father wouldn't have sent men to photograph her at LAX.”
Adrian’s face changed.
Isabel stared at him.
“You said no one was following her.”
He said nothing.
There it was.
One lie exposed.
I looked at my sister.
“What did Dad hide?”
She began crying.
“Documents.”
“What documents?”
“I don't know.”
“How do you know anything?”
“Mom told me before she died.”
That hurt.
Our mother had died four years earlier.
Cancer.
Isabel had cared for her in Chicago during the last six months.
I had been in Los Angeles working and flying back whenever I could.
It was the beginning of our estrangement.
Mom had told her.
Not me.
Isabel wiped her face.
“She said Dad left proof of something terrible in Chicago. She made me promise never to look for it unless someone came asking.”
“And someone did.”
She nodded.
“Dominic.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
I looked at him.
“Your father?”
“He knows nothing about this.”
Isabel laughed bitterly.
“Stop.”
Adrian turned.
“Isabel.”
“You told me Rachel was safe.”
“She is.”
“She was photographed at an airport!”
“She wasn't harmed.”
Ethan spoke quietly.
“Interesting standard.”
Adrian glared.
Then looked at me.
“My father believes Daniel Morales stole records belonging to Vale Development.”
“Dad was a city inspector.”
“He took proprietary documents.”
“Why?”
“No one knows.”
Ethan answered for him.
“Because seven people died after Vale Development ignored code violations.”
Adrian’s jaw clenched.
“That was never proven.”
“No.”
Ethan’s voice cooled.
“Because the inspector's report disappeared.”
Silence.
I held up the key.
“Is this what they want?”
Adrian's eyes flickered.
Yes.
He knew.
Ethan saw it too.
“What does it open?” I asked.
Adrian said nothing.
Isabel whispered:
“Union Station.”
“What?”
“Mom said if I ever saw a brass key with three numbers, go to Union Station.”
I looked at Ethan.
He nodded slowly.
Old storage lockers.
Safe boxes.
Possible.
Then Adrian said:
“You're not going anywhere.”
Ethan’s expression changed.
Mason appeared behind us.
Two Vale security men stepped from the far elevator.
Nobody reached for weapons.
Nobody needed to.
The hallway felt ready to explode anyway.
I looked at Adrian.
“My sister is marrying you tomorrow?”
His expression softened toward Isabel.
“I love her.”
She stared at him.
“No.”
His face changed.
She continued.
“You love the version of me that stayed quiet.”
Rachel, don't—
No.
Isabel took off her engagement ring.
Adrian went pale.
“Don't do this because of Callahan.”
She laughed through tears.
“This has nothing to do with him.”
She placed the ring on a console table.
“It has to do with you using my sister as bait.”
Adrian stepped toward her.
Ethan moved.
One step.
That was enough.
Adrian stopped.
Isabel came to my side.
“Rachel.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not getting married tomorrow.”
“Good.”
She started crying harder.
Then laughed.
“So what do we do?”
I looked at Sophie.
At the key.
At Ethan.
“Apparently we go to Union Station.”
Ethan almost smiled.
“No.”
I stared.
“What now?”
“Now we sleep.”
“You're kidding.”
“You’ve been awake nearly forty hours.”
“My family has apparently built an entire conspiracy around a recipe box.”
“And you’ll make terrible decisions if you collapse.”
I hated that.
Because again, he was right.
“Six hours,” I said.
“Four.”
“Five.”
“Deal.”
Isabel looked between us.
“You negotiate with Ethan Callahan?”
I sighed.
“Unfortunately.”
Ethan turned toward the Vale security men.
“Tell Dominic his son’s wedding is canceled.”
Adrian snapped:
“You don't speak for me.”
Isabel wiped her tears.
“No.”
She looked at him.
May you like
“I do.”
And for the first time since landing in Chicago, I saw my sister smile like herself.
