Chapter 4 – THE MAN IN THE SHADOWS

“My father?” I whispered, staring at the plane tickets.

The letters swam before my eyes.

Arthur Bennett was a broken man. After my mother died, he drank heavily, struggled to hold down a job, and spent most of his days watching TV in our cramped apartment. I paid his medical bills. I paid his rent.

Why would he be flying first-class to Switzerland with Celeste Whitmore tonight?

Adrian took the tickets from my hand.

His dark eyes scanned the names.

“Ellie. Where is your father right now?”

“At home,” I stammered. “He was supposed to be resting. He told me his back was acting up again.”

Adrian stood up.

“Get your coat.”

He looked at his father.

“Dad, lock this door. My security team is standing outside. Do not open it for anyone but me.”

Joseph nodded, holding Leo tight against his side.

“Be careful, son.”

Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Adrian’s black SUV.

The city lights blurred past the windows as Adrian drove recklessly through the rainy streets toward the South Side.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I said, clutching my purse. “My dad doesn’t know Celeste. He barely leaves the apartment.”

Adrian’s jaw was clenched.

“Unless your mother wasn’t the only one keeping secrets, Ellie.”

We pulled up to my run-down apartment building.

The streetlights flickered.

Adrian didn’t wait for me. He pushed through the front doors, his presence entirely too large and dangerous for the narrow, peeling hallway.

We reached apartment 4B.

The door was slightly ajar.

I pushed it open.

“Dad?” I called out.

The apartment was empty.

The TV was off. The empty beer bottles were gone.

And resting on the kitchen table was a brand-new, expensive leather suitcase.

“He’s packing,” I whispered, my heart shattering.

Adrian walked past me, inspecting the room.

He stopped at the small desk in the corner.

“Ellie. Look at this.”

I walked over.

Resting on the desk was an old, silver rosary.

The exact same rosary my mother used to pray with every night before she died.

But this one was different.

The silver beads were hollowed out.

And lying next to it were dozens of bank statements.

I picked one up.

The account was in Arthur Bennett’s name.

The balance was over three million dollars.

“He’s been receiving monthly deposits for twenty-four years,” Adrian said quietly, pointing to the transaction history.

“From Whitmore Enterprises.”

My knees gave out.

Adrian caught me before I hit the floor.

“My dad…” I choked out, tears spilling down my face. “He took payoffs. From the man who killed my mother.”

“Not just payoffs,” a cold voice said from the doorway.

We turned.

Standing in the entrance of the apartment was my father.

He wasn’t wearing his usual stained sweatpants.

He was wearing a tailored suit.

And in his right hand, he held a suppressed pistol, aimed directly at Adrian’s chest.

“He didn’t just pay me to keep quiet, Ellie,” my father said, his voice entirely devoid of the warmth I had known my whole life.

“He paid me to make sure your mother never made it to the police station.”

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