Chapter 3 – The Man In The Shadows

“What did you just say?” Dominic’s gaze snapped to me, his dark eyes intense and searching.

“The man in this drawing,” I stammered, my hands shaking. “He looks exactly like Arthur, the physical therapist who comes to my apartment three times a week to treat my father’s stroke. He has that exact scar.”

Dominic pulled his phone from his tuxedo pocket. “Michael,” he barked into the receiver, speaking to his head of security. “Get a team to Anna Reed’s apartment immediately. Secure her father. Do not let anyone in or out.”

He hung up and looked at me. “How long has this man been treating your father?”

“Two months,” I said, panic rising in my throat. “Celeste recommended him. She said her family’s firm used his agency for workers’ compensation cases. She even offered to pay for his services since Medicare wouldn’t cover it.”

Eleanor gasped, her hand flying to her chest.

Dominic’s expression darkened into something terrifying. It was the face of the ruthless Mafia boss the city feared. “Celeste placed him in your home. She wasn’t paying for your father’s therapy, Anna. She was paying for a warden to keep an eye on you.”

But why me? I was just a maid.

“Eleanor,” Dominic demanded, pacing the room. “If Anna’s mother helped my mother escape, why would Thomas Arden and his people care about Anna now? Her mother has been dead for twenty years.”

Eleanor looked down at her hands. “Because Margaret didn’t leave the clinic empty-handed. She took a ledger. A black book containing every illegal transaction, every bribe, and every hit orchestrated by Thomas Arden. Margaret hid it.”

“Where?” Dominic asked.

“She gave it to Anna’s mother. And before your mother passed away, she told me that Anna’s mother hid it in plain sight. In something passed down through her family.”

My mind raced. A family heirloom. We had nothing of value. My father had sold everything when the medical bills piled up. The only thing we kept was…

I looked down at the heavy silver rosary in my hands.

My fingers traced the large, hollow beads. Suddenly, I noticed a tiny hinge on the crucifix. I pressed my thumbnail against it. With a soft click, the silver cross opened like a locket. Inside was a tightly rolled strip of microfilm.

Before Dominic could speak, the study doors swung open again.

Standing there was Thomas Arden, flanked by three armed men. And in his hand, he held a heavy, gold pocket watch that belonged to my father.

“Hand over the rosary, Anna,” Thomas said coldly. “Or your father won’t survive the night.”

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