Chapter 2 - Forty-One Hanover Street

I did not sleep on Christmas Eve.

James took us home himself.

Not Tony.

Not a driver.

Him.

The car was black, expensive, and so quiet that Chloe fell asleep before we reached the second traffic light.

I sat in the back beside her.

James sat in front.

No one spoke for six blocks.

Then I said, "Tell me what happened at Pier Fourteen."

His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.

"Not in the car."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know whether this car is clean."

I laughed once.

It came out wrong.

"You don't know whether your own car is safe?"

"I know exactly how safe it was this morning."

"And tonight?"

"Tonight you said your dead husband's name."

The driver glanced toward James.

James noticed.

"Eyes forward, Michael."

"Yes, boss."

I leaned toward the front.

"What does Daniel have to do with you?"

"I don't know yet."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only honest one I have."

"You recognized his name."

"I recognized Bennett."

"There are thousands of Bennetts."

"Not attached to Pier Fourteen."

My hands went cold.

"What happened there?"

He looked out the window.

"My brother died."

I stared at him.

"When?"

"Three years ago."

The same year Daniel died.

I looked at Chloe.

She was asleep with James's coat folded under her head.

"Daniel died in a traffic accident."

James looked back at me.

"Are you sure?"

The question made something inside me break loose.

"Yes, I'm sure. The police came to my apartment. I identified his body. I buried him."

"That wasn't what I asked."

I leaned forward.

"Then ask what you mean."

"Are you sure the accident was an accident?"

I froze.

The city lights moved across the window.

I heard the soft hiss of tires on wet pavement.

Then I said, "You need to stop talking."

"Grace—"

"Stop."

He did.

When we reached my building, James walked us upstairs.

I hated that.

I hated the way he scanned the hallway.

I hated the way he checked the stairwell before letting Chloe turn the corner.

I hated the way he looked at my apartment door and immediately knew something was wrong.

He put one hand out.

"Stay back."

I stopped.

"What?"

He pointed at the lock.

A thin line of splintered wood ran beside it.

My mouth went dry.

"That wasn't there."

"I assumed."

He took out his phone.

"Tony."

He listened.

"My location. Now."

I whispered, "Someone was inside?"

James pushed the door open with the edge of his shoe.

The apartment was dark.

Nothing looked overturned.

That somehow made it worse.

He stepped inside.

I grabbed his arm.

"Don't."

He looked at my hand.

I let go.

"You don't know who's in there."

"Neither do you."

"I have Chloe."

"Exactly."

He entered.

I stood in the hallway holding my sleeping daughter until two of his men arrived.

Then James came back.

"No one's inside."

I went past him.

The apartment looked normal.

The couch.

The thrift-store lamp.

The pile of unopened mail.

The tiny plastic Christmas tree Chloe had decorated with paper stars.

Then I saw the bedroom.

Every drawer had been opened.

Not dumped.

Searched.

The closet boxes had been moved.

My jewelry box was untouched.

The envelope with emergency cash was still under the socks.

Whoever had entered wasn't looking for money.

James stood in the doorway.

"What did your husband leave behind?"

I turned on him.

"You don't get to ask me that."

"Someone else already did."

"Get out."

"Grace."

"Get out of my bedroom."

He stepped backward into the hall.

I shut the door.

Then I sat on the bed.

For one minute, I couldn't breathe.

A knock came.

"Mommy?"

I opened the door.

Chloe was awake in Tony's arms.

She looked scared.

I took her.

"It's okay."

From behind me, James said, "Tell her the truth."

I spun around.

"Not now."

Chloe looked at me.

"Did somebody break in?"

I swallowed.

"Yes."

"Did they steal my tablet?"

"I don't know."

She wriggled out of my arms and ran to the living room.

"It's here!"

I pressed my hands to my face.

James said quietly, "You're doing well."

I lowered them.

"Don't compliment me."

"Why?"

"Because I might cry."

"You're allowed."

"Not with six armed men in my kitchen."

"Only four are armed."

Tony called from the kitchen, "That is not reassuring, boss."

I laughed.

I didn't mean to.

It just happened.

James looked almost relieved.

Then one of his men came from the second bedroom holding a cardboard box.

"Mr. Moretti."

I stood.

"Put that down."

He froze.

James said, "Do what she says."

The man placed it on the table.

I knew the box.

Daniel's things.

The hospital had given it to me after the accident.

Wallet.

Watch.

Keys.

Work badge.

A crushed pack of gum.

A receipt from a gas station.

His wedding ring.

I had opened it twice in three years.

Once the night they brought it home.

Once on the first anniversary of his death.

Now the lid was crooked.

Someone had searched it.

I moved toward the table.

James stayed back.

I lifted the lid.

Everything was there.

Except the keys were out of the plastic evidence bag.

"These were sealed."

James stepped closer.

"What keys?"

"House key. Van key. Work keys."

He looked down.

There were four keys on the ring.

Three ordinary.

One small brass key with a stamped number.

M7.

James's face changed again.

I saw it this time.

"You know what that is."

He didn't answer quickly enough.

"James."

"It's a private storage key."

"Where?"

He looked at Tony.

Tony muttered, "Damn."

I said, "Where?"

James picked up the key but did not touch it with his bare hand. He used the corner of the plastic bag.

"Pier Fourteen."

My knees weakened.

I sat.

"No."

"Grace."

"No. Daniel never said anything about a storage unit."

"It isn't a storage unit."

"What is it?"

"An old locker corridor under the east warehouse."

"Why would he have a key?"

"I don't know."

"You keep saying that."

"Because I won't invent answers to make you feel better."

I stood again.

"What happened to your brother?"

James glanced at Chloe.

I followed his eyes.

She was on the couch, pretending to watch cartoons.

Pretending badly.

I said, "Kitchen."

We went in.

Tony started to follow.

James shook his head.

The door closed.

I crossed my arms.

"Start talking."

He leaned against the counter.

"My younger brother's name was Anthony."

"Was he in your business?"

"Yes."

"What kind of business?"

"The kind people whisper about."

"Crime."

"Yes."

I stared at him.

He didn't soften it.

That almost made it worse.

"Three years ago, Anthony told me someone inside our organization was stealing from us."

"How much?"

"Millions."

"That gets people killed?"

"In my world, less gets people killed."

I flinched.

He noticed.

"I don't say that proudly."

"Keep going."

"He said the theft wasn't the important part. He thought someone was using my companies to move things I had forbidden."

"What things?"

"Guns."

My stomach turned.

"Drugs."

I looked away.

"People."

I snapped my eyes back to him.

James's voice went flat.

"I didn't allow trafficking."

"You expect me to be impressed by your ethical boundaries inside organized crime?"

"No."

"Good."

"I expect you to understand why Anthony became a threat to someone."

I hugged myself.

"Where does Daniel fit?"

"Anthony met an outside contractor at Pier Fourteen."

"Daniel?"

"I never knew the name."

"Why not?"

"Anthony wouldn't tell me. He said the man had a family and he wanted distance between that man and us."

My throat tightened.

James continued.

"Anthony was supposed to bring me proof on December twenty-third."

"Three years ago?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"The warehouse alarm went off at eleven forty-seven."

I felt cold.

"Daniel called me at eleven fifty-three."

James looked at me.

"What did he say?"

"I missed it."

"You missed it?"

"I was putting Chloe to bed."

His face changed.

I could see he understood what that sentence had cost me for three years.

"There was a voicemail."

I closed my eyes.

"Grace."

"I deleted it."

"Why?"

"Because it was nothing."

"What did he say?"

My voice cracked.

"He said he loved me. He said he was sorry he was working late. He said to kiss Chloe. Then he said..."

James waited.

I gripped the counter.

"He said, 'If anything happens, don't believe the first story.'"

The room went silent.

James whispered, "You deleted that?"

"I thought he was talking about the job. He complained about safety. He said the site manager cut corners."

"Did police hear it?"

"No."

"Anyone?"

"No."

"Why didn't you tell them?"

"Because six hours later a detective told me Daniel's van hit black ice on an access road."

James stared at me.

"There was no ice that night."

I stopped breathing.

"What?"

"It rained."

"No."

"It was forty-three degrees."

"No."

"I remember because Anthony hated rain."

I backed away.

"No."

James moved toward me.

I raised a hand.

"Don't."

He stopped.

I pressed both palms to the counter.

"The police report said black ice."

"Do you still have it?"

"Yes."

"Who signed it?"

"I don't know."

"Find out."

"Why?"

"Because my brother was found dead inside Pier Fourteen at twelve fifteen."

I stared at him.

"Shot?"

"Yes."

"And Daniel?"

"Found three miles away."

"Yes."

"You think they were connected."

"I think someone searched your apartment on Christmas Eve for a three-year-old locker key."

My legs shook.

I sat at the kitchen table.

James took the chair across from me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I said, "Who knew about the lockers?"

"A few people."

"Names."

"Grace—"

"Names."

He looked at me.

"My brother."

"Dead."

"Me."

"Anyone else?"

"Frank DeLuca."

"Who is he?"

"My consigliere."

"Your what?"

"Advisor."

"That's a very polite word."

"It isn't meant to be."

"Anyone else?"

"Old maintenance crews."

"Daniel."

"If he had the key."

I looked toward the living room.

"What was in locker M7?"

James's eyes hardened.

"I don't know."

"You own the pier."

"I owned it."

"What happened to it?"

"Sold after Anthony died."

"To whom?"

"A shell company."

"Yours?"

"No."

"Whose?"

"I don't know."

I laughed without humor.

"For the most feared man in Boston, you don't know much."

He accepted that.

Then his phone rang.

He answered.

"Yes."

His eyes shifted toward the window.

"How many?"

A pause.

"Don't engage."

He hung up.

I stood.

"What?"

"Two cars have been circling the block."

"Police?"

"No."

"Your people?"

"No."

Chloe came into the kitchen holding his coat.

"Mr. Moretti?"

He turned.

"Yes?"

"You forgot this."

"Thank you."

She handed it to him.

Then she asked, "Are bad people outside?"

I closed my eyes.

James looked at me.

I gave the smallest nod.

He crouched.

"Maybe."

Chloe thought about that.

"Are you a bad person?"

Tony went completely silent in the other room.

James did not look offended.

He answered, "I've done bad things."

"That's not what I asked."

I almost smiled despite everything.

James glanced at me.

"She gets that from you."

"Answer her."

He looked back at Chloe.

"I am trying to be a better person than I was."

Chloe considered him.

"Okay."

"That's all?"

"You made chicken."

I covered my mouth.

James almost smiled.

Then his expression turned serious.

"Chloe, I need you to pack a small bag."

"Why?"

"Because you and your mother can't stay here tonight."

She looked at me.

I said, "He's right."

"Where are we going?"

James answered, "My mother's house."

I blinked.

"Absolutely not."

He stood.

"It's the safest place I have."

"Your mother's house?"

"Nobody is stupid enough to go there without permission."

Tony called, "That is very true."

I glared toward the door.

James said, "Grace, you can fight me tomorrow."

"I can fight you now."

"I know."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"Because you're coming."

"I'm not."

A loud crack came from the front window.

Something struck the glass.

Chloe screamed.

James moved faster than I thought possible.

He pulled both of us down behind the counter.

Tony and the others rushed toward the living room.

No gunshots followed.

After a moment, Tony shouted, "Brick."

James stood.

On the living room floor lay a red brick wrapped in white paper.

I picked up the paper before anyone could stop me.

Three words were written in black marker.

GIVE BACK M7.

James looked at me.

I looked at Daniel's brass key.

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Then at my daughter.

"Pack the bag," I said.