Chapter three
1549 Words
The rain had stopped sometime after midnight, but the streets of New York were still wet when Adrian Moretti stepped out of the car.
He stood outside the old Moretti warehouse with his hands in the pockets of his coat, staring at the building across the street.
It had been closed for years.
At least, that was what the records said.
The warehouse sat between two abandoned commercial buildings in an area that had slowly been swallowed by new construction. Luxury apartments were going up three blocks away, but this part of the street had been left untouched.
Adrian looked at the photograph again.
The same date.
The same warehouse.
Twenty-two years ago.
He had spent most of the night trying to convince himself that it meant nothing.
He had failed.
His father’s name was attached to too many things surrounding that night.
Gabriel’s death.
Daniel Cole’s disappearance.
The missing eight-million-dollar shipment.
And now this warehouse.
Adrian crossed the street.
The side entrance was secured with a thick chain, but the padlock looked newer than the door.
He stopped.
Someone had been here.
He touched the lock without opening it.
“You’re late.”
Adrian turned sharply.
A man stood beneath the roof of the building next door.
Late fifties, maybe early sixties. Grey hair. Dark jacket. He held an umbrella even though the rain had stopped.
Adrian recognized him after a second.
“Peter.”
The older man looked at him carefully.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“You still work around here?”
“Sometimes.”
Adrian glanced at the warehouse.
“You knew this place was still being used?”
Peter didn’t answer.
“Peter.”
The man sighed.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only one I’m giving you.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“Twenty-two years ago, Gabriel Moretti died here.”
Peter’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But Adrian noticed.
“And Daniel Cole disappeared the same night.”
Peter looked away.
“Who told you?”
“No one.”
“Then leave it alone.”
Adrian studied him.
“Why?”
Peter’s eyes returned to his.
“Because people who went looking for answers back then didn’t come back with them.”
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Adrian wanted to ask a hundred questions.
Instead, he asked the one that mattered most.
“Was my father here that night?”
Peter looked down at the wet pavement.
Then he walked away.
Adrian watched him disappear around the corner.
That was answer enough.
His phone vibrated.
Luca.
Adrian answered.
“Where are you?”
“Out.”
“Your father wants you at the house.”
“Tell him I’m busy.”
“He’s already angry.”
Adrian leaned against the wall.
“Good.”
Luca paused.
“What are you doing?”
Adrian looked at the warehouse.
“Looking at something that should’ve stayed buried.”
“Adrian.”
“I’ll be back.”
He ended the call.
For the first time since receiving the anonymous messages, Adrian felt certain of one thing.
Someone didn’t want him asking questions.
And that meant he was finally asking the right ones.
Across the city, Amara Cole sat inside a small café with a cup of coffee she hadn’t touched.
Her laptop was open in front of her.
Three names were written on a sheet of paper.
Daniel Cole.
Gabriel Moretti.
Adrian Moretti.
She stared at the third name.
She had spent the morning trying to find a reason to remove it.
She couldn’t.
Her mother’s warning kept returning to her.
Don’t ask questions about your father.
Don’t look for people connected to him.
And above everything else
Not knowing is how you survive.
Amara hated that sentence.
It sounded less like advice and more like fear.
She picked up her phone.
There was still no new message.
The last one remained on the screen.
Ask Adrian Moretti.
She locked the phone.
Then unlocked it again.
She searched his name.
Adrian Moretti was impossible to miss.
There were photographs of him at charity events, business conferences, private dinners and family functions.
Twenty-seven.
Moretti Group heir.
Son of Vittorio Moretti.
The same family her father had supposedly been doing business with before he disappeared.
Amara scrolled through the photographs.
Adrian didn’t look much like his father.
Vittorio had the kind of face that seemed permanently closed off.
Adrian looked different.
Younger.
Calmer.
But there was something in his eyes she couldn’t quite explain.
She stopped scrolling.
A photograph showed him standing beside his father at some corporate event.
Amara stared at Vittorio.
She knew that face.
Not personally.
But she’d seen it before.
She opened the old folder on her laptop.
Her father had left very little behind.
Most of his documents had disappeared after he did.
But Amara had kept one thing her mother had forgotten about.
An old photograph.
She pulled it from the folder.
Her fingers tightened around the edges.
The picture showed Daniel standing beside another man.
Gabriel Moretti.
And behind them was the same warehouse.
Amara’s stomach dropped.
She looked at the date.
The same date.
She whispered, “What were you doing there, Dad?”
Her phone rang.
She almost ignored it.
“Hello?”
“Amara.”
She recognized the voice immediately.
Henry.
“What do you want?”
“You need to stop.”
Her expression hardened.
“You’ve already told me that.”
“I’m telling you again.”
“Why?”
Silence.
“Henry?”
“You found the picture, didn’t you?”
Amara sat up.
“How do you know about the picture?”
Another silence.
Then Henry said quietly, “Because I was there.”
The call ended.
Amara stared at her phone.
For several seconds, she didn’t move.
Then she grabbed her coat.
The Moretti estate was unusually quiet that afternoon.
Adrian walked into his father’s study without knocking.
Vittorio stood behind his desk.
Luca was already there.
His father looked up.
“Where were you?”
“Out.”
“Doing what?”
Adrian said nothing.
Vittorio’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re becoming difficult.”
“I learned from the best.”
Luca looked between them.
“Adrian”
“No.”
Adrian stepped forward.
“I have a question.”
Vittorio leaned back.
“Go ahead.”
“Who was Daniel Cole?”
The room went still.
It was subtle.
A small pause.
A slight movement of Vittorio’s hand.
But Adrian saw it.
His father recovered quickly.
“I don’t know.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Then why was his name in our shipment records?”
Vittorio’s expression hardened.
“Where did you get that?”
Adrian smiled without humor.
“So you do know him.”
“I said I don’t.”
“You asked where I got the information.”
Vittorio stood.
“Be careful, Adrian.”
“I’m tired of hearing that.”
“You have no idea what you’re touching.”
“Then tell me.”
Vittorio stared at his son.
For the first time, Adrian saw something behind his father’s anger.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For something else.
“Leave it alone,” Vittorio said.
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“That’s exactly what everyone told me.”
He turned toward the door.
“Adrian.”
He stopped.
Vittorio’s voice had changed.
“Some truths don’t make anything better.”
Adrian looked back.
“Maybe.”
He opened the door.
“But at least they’ll be the truth.”
He walked out.
Luca followed him.
“You really shouldn’t have done that.”
Adrian kept walking.
“Why?”
“Because your father isn’t scared easily.”
Adrian stopped.
“Neither am I.”
Luca looked at him.
“That’s what worries me.”
That evening, Amara stood outside the Moretti Group headquarters.
The building rose above the street, all glass and steel.
She checked the address one last time.
Then she walked inside.
The receptionist looked up.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Adrian Moretti.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Moretti isn’t receiving visitors without an appointment.”
Amara almost laughed.
“Then tell him Amara Cole is here.”
The receptionist’s expression changed.
She picked up the phone.
Amara waited.
Across the lobby, the elevator doors opened.
A man stepped out.
Dark coat.
One hand in his pocket.
He looked up.
Their eyes met.
Neither of them moved.
Adrian Moretti.
Amara knew immediately.
He knew too.
For a moment, the noise of the lobby seemed to disappear.
Adrian walked toward her.
“Amara Cole?”
“Adrian Moretti?”
“Apparently.”
She studied him.
“I need to talk to you.”
His eyes moved briefly to the receptionist before returning to her.
“About what?”
“My father.”
Adrian’s expression changed.
Just enough.
Amara noticed.
Then he said quietly,
“Come upstairs.”
She followed him toward the elevator.
Neither of them knew that someone across the street was watching them through the dark window of a parked car.
And neither of them knew that their meeting was exactly what that person had been waiting for.
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