Chapter 4 - THE NAME HIDDEN IN THE CONTRACT
Dominic returned less than a minute later.
The stranger was gone.
The restaurant security team had seen nothing.
No license plate.
No useful footage.
Only the photograph remained.
I held it between my fingers.
“Pier 17.”
Dominic shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because that's exactly where they want us to go.”
I looked at him.
“You said I shouldn't go alone.”
“I meant it.”
“So you're coming?”
“Yes.”
Victor stood.
“So am I.”
Dominic looked at him.
“You have no reason to.”
Victor's expression was calm.
“I have several.”
Natalia folded her arms.
“And I have more.”
Dominic looked annoyed.
“This is becoming a group project.”
Nobody smiled.
Then Simon approached.
He looked terrified.
“Mr. Pierce?”
Dominic turned.
“What?”
Simon handed him an envelope.
“This was left in the office.”
Dominic opened it.
Inside was a restaurant reservation card.
Table 17.
Tomorrow night.
Under the reservation name was one word:
HARPER.
My blood ran cold.
“That wasn't there before.”
Simon shook his head.
“No.”
Dominic looked at me.
“Your father used to eat here?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Natalia looked at the card.
“He didn't.”
She turned it over.
There was another message.
SHE KNOWS THE LANGUAGE. SHE KNOWS THE FIFTH NAME. BRING HER.
I felt sick.
“They want me.”
Dominic folded the card.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you're the only person who can identify what your father recorded.”
I shook my head.
“I don't have anything.”
Dominic looked at the watch.
“You have his memory.”
I stared at him.
Then I remembered something.
A phrase my father used when I was sixteen.
“Blue winter.”
Dominic looked confused.
“What?”
“My father used to say it whenever someone was lying.”
Natalia's eyes widened.
“What did he mean?”
“I don't know.”
Victor suddenly looked toward the ceiling.
“Wait.”
He pulled out his phone.
“I've seen that phrase.”
He searched something.
Then turned the screen toward us.
It was a translated shipping contract.
The phrase appeared in an encrypted section.
BLUE WINTER — AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED.
My stomach dropped.
“That wasn't a phrase.”
“No,” Victor said.
“It was a code.”
Dominic looked at Natalia.
“Can you decrypt it?”
She shook her head.
“Not without the original.”
I looked at the watch.
“Maybe the original is inside.”
Dominic handed it to me.
I examined the tiny mechanism.
The back had a small engraving.
Five dots.
My father's five-name rule.
I pressed the fifth.
The watch clicked.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a tiny memory card.
Dominic stared at it.
“You're kidding.”
I wasn't.
I removed it carefully.
Victor immediately said, “We need a secure computer.”
Simon spoke quietly.
“There is one downstairs.”
Dominic turned.
“Why?”
Simon swallowed.
“The owner installed it after several government clients requested private document handling.”
I looked at him.
“How long have you worked here?”
“Eight years.”
“Did my father ever come here?”
Simon hesitated.
“Yes.”
I felt my heart stop.
“How many times?”
“Seven.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“Why didn't you tell us?”
Simon looked at me.
“Because he asked me not to.”
I stared at him.
“What did he leave?”
Simon reached into his jacket.
A small brass key.
My hands began shaking.
“I've kept it for three years.”
“What does it open?”
“The old wine cellar.”
Dominic immediately said, “No.”
Simon looked confused.
“Why?”
“Because the cellar doesn't exist anymore.”
Simon stared at him.
“Yes, it does.”
Dominic went silent.
Simon continued.
“The room was sealed after your father came here the last time.”
I looked at Dominic.
“My father knew you.”
Dominic didn't deny it.
“He knew more people than I did.”
We went downstairs.
The old cellar was behind a wall panel.
The brass key opened it.
Inside were shelves of wine bottles covered in dust.
But one shelf was empty.
Except for a black briefcase.
I opened it.
Inside was a stack of translated contracts.
A photograph.
And a child's drawing.
I froze.
It was a drawing of a house.
My house.
Underneath, in my father's handwriting:
She remembers the red door.
I stared at it.
“I don't remember any red door.”
Natalia picked up the photograph.
Her face changed.
It showed my father standing beside a woman.
My mother.
I had never seen her before.
But there she was.
Young.
Smiling.
Alive.
On her wrist was a thin silver bracelet.
I looked at Natalia.
“Who is she?”
Natalia's eyes filled with tears.
“Your mother.”
I couldn't speak.
Dominic stepped closer.
“When did she die?”
Natalia shook her head.
“She didn't.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
Natalia looked at Dominic.
“She disappeared.”
I stared at the photograph.
Then I noticed the date.
The photograph had been taken eight months after the date my father supposedly said my mother had died.
I looked at Dominic.
“You knew.”
He shook his head.
“I didn't.”
Natalia whispered,
“She disappeared because she discovered who was using your father's translations.”
I looked down at the contracts.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Not Anton Belov.
Not Victor.
Not Natalia.
A name I knew.
Simon.
Our general manager.
I turned toward the stairs.
Simon was standing there.
His face was pale.
He looked at the documents.
Then at me.
May you like
And quietly said,
“Your father should never have left you that key.”
