Chapter 6 - The Man in the Basement
The shooter was dead.
Not from our security team.
From his own gun.
He had been hiding in the basement.
And he had something in his pocket.
A photograph.
Me.
Taken six months before I met Reid.
I stared at it.
“How?”
Nolan shook his head.
“We don't know.”
My father looked at the photograph.
“That's not the worst part.”
He turned it over.
A message was written on the back.
SHE REMEMBERS NOTHING.
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
My father didn't answer.
I looked at him.
“Dad?”
He finally spoke.
“When your mother died, you were there.”
My stomach dropped.
“I was twenty.”
“You were twenty-one.”
“I remember the funeral.”
“Not the accident.”
I stared at him.
“What are you saying?”
My father sat down.
“You were in the car.”
The room became silent.
“I don't remember.”
“You hit your head.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because the doctors said the trauma was severe.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“You lost several months of memory.”
I backed away.
“I remember Mom dying.”
“You remember being told she died.”
He opened a drawer.
Inside was an old photograph.
Me.
My mother.
A car.
I stared at it.
Then something flashed in my mind.
Rain.
Headlights.
My mother's voice.
“Don't trust him.”
I gasped.
My father grabbed my shoulder.
“Audrey?”
I closed my eyes.
Another memory.
A man standing beside the car.
A silver watch.
A voice.
“Where's the girl?”
I opened my eyes.
“Victor.”
My father froze.
“What?”
“Victor was there.”
My father's face went pale.
“You remember?”
“I think so.”
Nolan stepped closer.
“Miss Bellamy, there's something you need to see.”
He opened a security file.
Inside were old records.
The night my mother died.
The police report had one missing page.
A witness statement.
Nolan placed it before me.
The witness had described a man leaving the crash site.
Description:
Silver watch.
Gray suit.
Scar on left hand.
Victor Hale had all three.
My father sat back.
“He told me your mother was driving.”
“She wasn't.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“She was murdered.”
“Yes.”
“And Victor did it.”
“We don't know yet.”
I stared at him.
“Then we'll find out.”
My father shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if Victor killed your mother, he won't stop.”
I smiled sadly.
“He already tried.”
I picked up the photograph.
“Now it's my turn.”
That night, I called Reid.
He answered immediately.
“Audrey?”
“Where is Tessa?”
Silence.
“You know.”
“Yes.”
“You're lying.”
“She's gone.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Reid.”
“What?”
“If you want any chance of surviving what comes next, tell me the truth.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You think I'm afraid of you?”
“No.”
I paused.
“You're afraid of Victor.”
Silence.
That was enough.
“Where is he?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“He'll kill me.”
“He already plans to.”
Another silence.
Then Reid whispered:
“Boston Harbor.”
“What about it?”
“Warehouse seventeen.”
I grabbed my coat.
“What's there?”
Reid's voice dropped.
“Everything.”
“What does that mean?”
“The money.”
“The surveillance.”
“The documents.”
“And?”
His breathing changed.
“The evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
He whispered:
“Your mother's murder.”
The call ended.
I looked at my father.
He knew immediately.
“Where?”
“Warehouse seventeen.”
He grabbed his coat.
I stopped him.
“No.”
“Audrey—”
“This time, I'm going.”
He stared at me.
“You're injured.”
“I know.”
“You could die.”
May you like
I looked at the photograph in my hand.
“So could Mom.”
