I Shared My Last Sandwich With a Nervous Stranger Before My Interview—Then He Walked In as the Mafia Boss Who Owned the Company. Nineteen minutes before the biggest job interview of my l

Chapter 3 – THE CHILD’S DRAWING IN THE LINING

We fled the building through a private subterranean garage. Jack drove his armored SUV like a man possessed, weaving through Boston traffic.

My tiny apartment had been tossed.

The front door was kicked in. My cheap furniture was slashed, my belongings scattered across the linoleum.

“They beat us here,” I whispered, tears welling in my eyes.

“Check the closet,” Jack ordered, sweeping the rooms with his weapon drawn.

I ran to the hallway closet. It was empty. All my jackets were gone.

“They took it,” I sobbed. “They took the coat.”

Jack lowered his gun, his face an unreadable mask of cold calculation. “Think, Emily. Did your mother ever leave anything else? A safety deposit box? A locket?”

I shook my head desperately. “We had nothing! When she died, the only thing I kept besides the bracelet was a box of my old school projects.”

Jack’s eyes sharpened. “Where is the box?”

“Under the floorboards in my bedroom,” I said. “The landlord never fixed the rot. I used it as a safe.”

We rushed into the bedroom. The thugs hadn’t checked beneath the floor. I pried the loose board up and pulled out a dusty cardboard box.

I sifted through old report cards and macaroni art.

At the bottom lay a piece of folded construction paper.

“It’s just a drawing I made when I was seven,” I said, opening it.

It was a crude crayon drawing of a lighthouse, a boat, and a man with a cane.

Jack took the paper from my hands. He traced the outline of the lighthouse with his thumb.

“Emily,” Jack whispered, his voice completely devoid of its usual confidence. “You didn’t draw this.”

“What?”

“This is my father’s handwriting on the back,” Jack said, flipping the paper over.

Written in faded ink were coordinates.

And a message: The truth is buried at the old docks. Trust the girl with the bracelet.

Suddenly, Jack’s phone buzzed.

He answered it on speaker.

“Hello, Jack,” a raspy voice croaked.

“Uncle Silas,” Jack snarled.

“Bring me the girl and the bracelet,” Silas demanded. “Or the bomb beneath your car goes off in ten seconds.”

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