Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN ON THE TICKET
The ticket remained on the table.
Nobody touched it.
Elena Harper.
My mother.
A woman I had mourned for twenty-eight years.
Coming to New York tomorrow.
And according to the note, Dominic would die if she returned.
Dominic picked up the ticket.
“Prague.”
Natalia nodded.
“She has been there.”
“For how long?”
“Years.”
I stared at her.
“You knew where she was?”
“I knew where she had been.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your mother asked me not to.”
I swallowed.
“What did she say?”
Natalia looked at me.
“She said you deserved a normal life.”
I almost laughed.
“Nothing about my life has been normal.”
Dominic looked at me.
“That changes tonight.”
We left the restaurant through a private entrance.
Simon stayed behind with Victor to secure the documents.
Dominic insisted on driving.
I sat in the passenger seat.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked,
“Did you love my father?”
Dominic kept his eyes on the road.
“No.”
“Did you hate him?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“He saved me.”
I looked at him.
“When?”
“Long before I became who I am.”
Dominic explained that when he was twenty-two, he had been nearly killed during a failed business negotiation in Eastern Europe.
Daniel had been there.
He had translated for both sides.
And instead of protecting the deal, he protected Dominic.
“Why?”
“Because he believed people were more important than contracts.”
I looked out the window.
“That sounds like him.”
Dominic nodded.
“He was the only man who ever told me I was becoming someone I wouldn't recognize.”
I turned toward him.
“And you listened?”
“Not enough.”
That was the first vulnerable thing he had said.
We reached the warehouse.
Marcus Reed's car was outside.
The door was unlocked.
Inside, the place was empty.
But a table stood in the center.
On it was a single object.
My father's watch.
I approached.
Dominic stopped me.
“Don't.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because someone wants us to find it.”
He was right.
But I also noticed something.
The watch was running backward.
I picked it up.
“It's not a watch.”
“What?”
“The hands.”
I opened the back.
A tiny compartment contained a strip of paper.
Five letters.
PRAGUE.
Dominic looked at it.
“It's an instruction.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“It's a correction.”
“What?”
“My father used clocks when he taught me codes.”
I remembered.
“Forward meant truth. Backward meant reverse.”
Dominic stared at the watch.
“Then what does Prague mean?”
I looked at the warehouse walls.
“Maybe not the city.”
I walked toward a stack of shipping crates.
One had a faded label.
PRAGUE.
I opened it.
Inside were dozens of old restaurant menus.
Le Rêve.
My stomach tightened.
“These were stored here?”
Dominic nodded.
“Why?”
I picked up one.
On the back was a handwritten date.
The date my father died.
And beneath it:
TABLE 4.
I looked at Dominic.
“This started here.”
“No.”
He took the menu.
“This started before you were born.”
He turned it over.
A second message had been written underneath.
THE WAITRESS WAS NEVER THE TARGET.
I stared at the words.
“What does that mean?”
Dominic looked at me.
“It means your father knew someone would eventually find you.”
I felt suddenly cold.
“He planned all this?”
“No.”
Dominic shook his head.
“He planned for the possibility.”
Then headlights appeared outside.
Three cars.
Dominic reached for his weapon.
“Stay behind me.”
Men entered the warehouse.
But they weren't attacking.
The first man raised both hands.
“Mr. Pierce.”
Dominic recognized him.
It was Marcus Reed.
His chief financial officer.
“You came.”
Dominic aimed his gun.
“You've been lying to me for years.”
Marcus looked exhausted.
“Yes.”
I stepped forward.
“Did you kill my father?”
Marcus looked at me.
“No.”
“Did you know my mother?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
He hesitated.
“On a plane.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“She landed an hour ago.”
Dominic lowered his gun slightly.
“Where?”
Marcus looked at me.
“She's already in New York.”
I could barely breathe.
“Why?”
“Because she finally decided she was done running.”
Then Marcus added quietly,
“She came back because she knows who killed your father.”
The warehouse doors slammed shut.
Marcus looked toward the entrance.
His expression changed.
“Too late.”
A voice came through the darkness.
“Not for me.”
A man stepped forward.
Nathaniel Cross.
May you like
He smiled.
And beside him stood my mother.
