Chapter 4 - MICHAEL’S BOX
Roman did not take Marcus to B17.
He took the box to Marcus.
Safer.
More controlled.
The metal case arrived at the estate under guard.
Old steel.
Smoke blackened.
Stamped:
M. VALE.
Marcus placed the brass key beside it.
His hand shook.
Roman noticed.
“You do not have to open it.”
Marcus laughed bitterly.
“My brother got hunted because of this.”
“Maybe.”
“You always say maybe.”
“Because certainty before proof gets people killed.”
Marcus looked at him.
“That sounds rich coming from you.”
Roman almost respected the insult.
He inserted the key.
Turned.
The lock clicked.
Inside were no guns.
No drugs.
No stacks of cash.
Paper.
Three ledgers.
One flash drive.
A photograph.
And a sealed envelope addressed:
ROMAN.
Roman opened the photograph first.
Michael.
Alive.
Standing beside Ethan Shaw.
Date printed on the back:
Six weeks after Michael’s supposed death.
Roman felt the room tilt.
Marcus whispered:
“That’s my brother.”
Roman stared at Michael’s face.
No mistake.
His older brother.
Same scar beneath the left eye.
Same crooked ring finger.
Alive after Roman buried him.
The envelope contained a letter.
Roman,
If you are reading this, either Ethan reached you or Cole failed to stop him.
Do not assume my death was staged to betray you.
I disappeared because someone inside our organization had begun using your seal to authorize payments you never approved.
I thought it was one account.
It is larger.
Do not trust any digital ledger.
Paper only.
M.
Roman read it again.
Then again.
Cole failed to stop him.
Direct accusation.
But Michael could be manipulating him too.
“Why would Michael fake his death?”
Marcus asked.
“I don’t know.”
Roman hated saying it.
The ledgers might explain.
Michael recorded private payments over four years.
Roman recognized many.
Some legitimate bribes and operational expenses.
Some not.
Millions moved into shell businesses Roman had never authorized.
Accounts marked under initials.
CP.
RV.
MC.
One recurring recipient:
C.COLE SECURITY CONSULT.
Another:
VALE FAMILY PROTECTION RESERVE.
Roman had never created either.
Then a larger sequence.
Twelve million dollars transferred over eighteen months from Roman controlled companies into something called:
PROJECT ORCHARD.
No description.
Approvals carried Roman’s private seal.
Forged or copied.
Roman never approved Project Orchard.
Marcus pointed at another line.
“What’s E7?”
Roman stared.
E7.
Monthly payments.
Small compared with the others.
Recipient hidden.
Start date:
Seven years earlier.
The month Eva was born.
His stomach tightened.
“What?”
Marcus asked.
Roman turned the page.
E7 MEDICAL.
E7 CARE.
E7 OBSERVATION.
His daughter.
Could be.
Maybe.
He needed proof.
Then Eva entered the room.
Roman covered the ledger instinctively.
She looked at Marcus.
“Food.”
Marcus smiled.
“You keep feeding me.”
Eva shrugged.
Then her eyes moved toward the photograph.
Michael.
She froze.
Roman noticed.
“Eva?”
She pointed at Michael.
“Uncle.”
Roman stared.
Eva had met Michael before his supposed death.
Of course.
But her expression was not recognition from memory.
Fear.
“Did Uncle Michael scare you?”
She shook her head.
Then pointed toward the photograph again.
“He came.”
Roman stopped.
“When?”
Eva looked toward the window.
“Night.”
His pulse changed.
Michael had visited the estate after his death.
“When?”
Eva looked down.
“Before Marcus.”
“Recently?”
She nodded.
Marcus stared.
Roman knelt.
“Where did you see him?”
Eva pointed toward the hallway.
“Room.”
“What room?”
“Mommy room.”
Roman’s throat tightened.
Eva’s mother, Isabella, died when Eva was eleven months old.
The west bedroom remained locked.
Roman had not entered in years.
Nobody should.
Nobody except Cole had one emergency key.
Roman stood.
Marcus whispered:
“Cole again.”
Roman did not answer.
He crossed the house.
West corridor.
The door to Isabella’s old room appeared untouched.
Dust at the frame.
Lock intact.
Roman inserted his key.
The room smelled closed.
Curtains drawn.
Furniture covered.
Then he saw footprints in the dust.
Recent.
One set adult.
One small.
Eva had been here.
Roman moved toward Isabella’s old desk.
A drawer stood slightly open.
Inside:
Nothing.
Then a faint red light blinked beneath the tabletop.
Camera.
Hidden.
Roman ripped it free.
The battery was active.
Memory card inside.
Someone had been recording his dead wife’s room.
May you like
And Eva had been coming here.
Continue to the next part: Eva’s silence may be connected to secret visits inside her dead mother’s locked room.
