Chapter 3 - The Woman in the PhotographMarco fired once into the ceiling.
The gunshot thundered through the room, and the man outside stopped hitting the door.
For two seconds, there was silence.
Then someone shouted from the hallway.
“Mr. Corvino! Open up!”
Marco glanced at Vincent.
“That’s Peter.”
Peter was one of the newer guards. He had worked at the mansion for three months and had never been assigned to Vincent’s floor.
“Why is he here?” Tessa whispered.
“Because someone sent him,” Marco said.
Vincent pointed toward the mattress.
“Cut it open.”
Tessa grabbed a letter opener from the desk while Marco kept his weapon aimed at the door. Lauren stood near the vanity, pale and rigid.
“Move,” Vincent told her.
She didn’t.
“Lauren.”
She looked at him.
“If I wanted you dead, I would have left you with Dominic.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Tessa slid the letter opener beneath the mattress seam and tore downward. The fabric split with a long, ugly sound.
Foam spilled onto the polished floor.
Beneath it was a thin wooden panel.
Vincent stared.
The panel had no visible handle, but a small brass circle had been fitted into the corner.
Tessa pressed it.
Nothing happened.
“Try turning it,” Vincent said.
She twisted the brass circle.
A click sounded.
The wooden panel lifted half an inch.
Cold air rose from beneath the bed.
Marco swore quietly.
“Is that a tunnel?” Tessa asked.
Vincent nodded.
“My father built an emergency passage from this room to the old carriage house.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know about it.”
That was not entirely true.
Vincent had known the tunnel existed, but he had believed it had been sealed decades ago. His father had used it during the old gang wars, back when the mansion’s walls had hidden more weapons than paintings.
The door shook again.
Peter shouted, “Mr. Corvino, we need to check the room!”
Marco turned to Vincent.
“We leave now.”
Vincent looked at the narrow opening.
His wheelchair would not fit.
Tessa understood immediately.
“No,” she said.
Vincent looked at her.
“I am not carrying you through a dark tunnel.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m not leaving you behind.”
“You can’t carry me.”
“I can drag you.”
“That is not better.”
Another blow struck the door.
The wood splintered near the lock.
Marco crouched beside Vincent and released the wheelchair brakes.
“Sir, we have maybe thirty seconds.”
Vincent hated the helplessness of the moment. He could command men to move shipments across three states. He could make a judge reconsider a warrant and a union leader cancel a strike.
But he could not lift himself from a chair without help.
Tessa stepped in front of him.
“Put your arms around my shoulders.”
“I can transfer myself.”
“Then do it.”
Vincent gripped the armrests.
He pushed.
Pain tore through his lower back. His arms trembled as his body rose only a few inches.
Tessa slid one arm around his waist and the other beneath his shoulder.
“Now.”
Vincent shifted his weight.
For one terrifying second, he was suspended between the chair and the floor.
Then Tessa lowered him onto the carpet.
The impact jarred his spine.
His breath vanished.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“No.”
“That was a lie.”
“Yes.”
Marco pulled the wooden panel open.
A narrow shaft descended into darkness.
Lauren stared at it.
“I’m going first,” Marco said.
“No,” Vincent replied. “Tessa goes with me.”
Marco looked toward the door.
The hinges groaned.
“Fine.”
Tessa helped Vincent crawl toward the opening. His hands burned against the carpet. His legs dragged uselessly behind him, and every inch felt like a humiliation he had not prepared to endure.
Lauren watched from near the vanity.
“Help me,” Vincent said.
She blinked.
He had never asked her for help in that voice.
Lauren crossed the room and knelt beside him.
Together, she and Tessa lowered Vincent into the shaft.
The tunnel smelled of damp stone and rust. Its ceiling was barely high enough for a man to crawl. Old pipes ran along one wall. A faint emergency light glowed far ahead.
Marco descended behind them.
Lauren followed.
The moment her feet touched the floor, the bedroom door burst open above.
Men rushed into the room.
Vincent heard someone shout.
“Search the bed!”
Marco pulled the wooden panel closed.
The darkness swallowed them.
Tessa’s breathing was close to Vincent’s ear.
Lauren’s hand rested against his back.
For several minutes, they crawled through the passage in silence.
Vincent moved by pulling himself forward with his forearms. Tessa pushed carefully against his hips to keep his legs from catching on the rough floor.
Every movement sent pain through his body.
He refused to complain.
Behind him, Lauren whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Vincent did not look back.
“For what?”
“For everything.”
“That’s vague.”
“For not telling you.”
“You should be more specific.”
She hesitated.
“I met Dominic at the Drake Hotel two weeks before the shooting.”
“Why?”
“He had a file.”
“What kind of file?”
“Your father’s.”
Vincent stopped crawling.
The tunnel went silent.
“What about him?”
“He claimed your father had hidden money from the organization.”
“My father stole from no one.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“What did he say?”
“He said your father didn’t steal it. He moved it.”
Vincent’s fingers tightened against the stone.
“How much?”
“Almost nine million dollars.”
Marco swore behind them.
Vincent turned his head.
“You knew about this?”
“No,” Marco said.
“Then why aren’t you surprised?”
“Because your father was capable of hiding money.”
“He was capable of many things. Betrayal wasn’t one of them.”
Lauren’s voice trembled.
“Dominic said the money belonged to a private group. Men who had helped your father build the empire. He said they wanted it returned.”
“The private group.”
“Dominic called them the Board.”
Vincent felt the old coldness settle in his chest.
The Board was a story his father had told him when he was a boy. A myth about men who controlled freight routes, construction permits, judges, and elections through silent agreements.
Vincent had assumed it was a bedtime warning.
“Who sits on it?” he asked.
Lauren exhaled.
“Dominic. Your uncle Silas. Two judges. A senator. And someone called the Steward.”
Vincent looked at Marco.
Marco’s expression had become unreadable.
“Why did you never tell me about this?” Vincent asked.
“Because your father ordered everyone to forget the name.”
“Everyone except Lauren.”
“Dominic used her as a messenger,” Marco said. “He knew she was close to you.”
Lauren’s voice sharpened.
“I was trying to uncover the truth.”
“You accepted the money.”
“I accepted it because he said it would save you.”
“You believed him?”
“I believed the gun pointed at my head.”
The words echoed through the tunnel.
Ahead, a metal door appeared.
Marco moved past them and tried the handle.
Locked.
“Of course,” he muttered.
Vincent pushed himself closer.
On the door was a small brass plate.
CORVINO FAMILY ARCHIVE.
“Your father’s private room,” Marco said.
Vincent stared at the lock.
“Do you have a key?”
Marco reached into his jacket and produced three keys.
None fit.
Lauren stepped forward.
“I do.”
Vincent looked at her.
She pulled a small silver key from beneath the collar of her robe.
“Dominic gave it to me.”
“Why?”
“He said if anything happened to you, I was supposed to open the archive and deliver whatever was inside to the Steward.”
Vincent’s anger burned hotter than his fear.
“You planned to do it?”
“No.”
“Then why keep the key?”
“Because I needed proof.”
She inserted it into the lock.
The door opened.
Inside was a room lined with filing cabinets, old ledgers, and wooden boxes. A single lamp flickered above a desk.
On the wall hung a photograph.
Vincent’s father stood between two men.
One was Silas Corvino.
The other was Dominic Vale.
But they were not the only people in the picture.
A woman stood behind them, half-hidden by shadow.
Vincent had seen her before.
In the photograph recovered from beneath the mattress.
She stood beside Lauren outside the restaurant on the night of the shooting.
The woman’s face was turned toward the camera.
Tessa saw it too.
“Who is she?”
Lauren stepped into the archive.
Her face had gone white.
“That’s Evelyn Shaw.”
Vincent knew the name.
Evelyn had been his father’s secretary for twenty years.
She had disappeared after his father’s death.
“Why was she at the restaurant?” he asked.
Lauren stared at the photograph.
“Because she was supposed to warn you.”
“About what?”
Before Lauren could answer, the archive door slammed shut behind them.
The light above the desk went out.
A speaker crackled from somewhere inside the wall.
Then a calm male voice filled the room.
“Vincent, if you found this place, you already know too much.”
Vincent recognized the voice.
It belonged to his uncle Silas.
“You should have stayed in bed,” Silas continued.
Vincent looked toward the ceiling.
Silas laughed softly.
“The mattress was never meant to protect you. It was meant to keep you under control.”
The speaker clicked off.
A sharp hiss filled the room.
Tessa grabbed Vincent’s arm.
“Gas.”
Marco kicked at the door.
It did not move.
Vincent looked at Lauren.
She held the silver key in her hand.
His voice was cold.
“You said you wanted proof.”
“I do.”
May you like
“Then find us a way out.”
Behind the filing cabinets, something began to unlock.
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