Chapter 2 - The Train to Philadelphia

Christian did not wait until morning.

He looked at the ticket.

Then at Beatrice.

“Can I go tonight?”

She nodded.

“There is a late train.”

Alessandra stepped closer.

“Christian.”

He looked at her.

She stopped.

No excuses.

Not yet.

Martin Reed stood behind his daughter.

Silent.

Christian folded the transcript.

Then looked at Martin.

“You knew where my father was.”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Most of the nineteen years.”

Christian laughed once.

“Most.”

Martin lowered his eyes.

“He changed locations.”

“That is not what I asked.”

Martin looked at him.

“Seventeen years.”

Silence.

Christian stared.

“And you never told me.”

“No.”

“Because of witness protection.”

“At first.”

Beatrice closed her eyes.

Christian noticed.

“At first.”

Martin nodded.

Christian looked at Alessandra.

“That phrase again.”

She began crying.

Christian turned toward Beatrice.

“You are coming.”

The old clerk blinked.

“To Philadelphia?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone else seems to have forgotten how to answer questions without protecting themselves.”

Beatrice smiled sadly.

“Fair.”

I came too.

My name is Emma Dawson.

Christian had looked at me before leaving.

“You found Beatrice before security removed her.”

I shook my head.

“She found me.”

“Still counts.”

The train left after midnight.

Christian sat alone by the window.

Beatrice across from him.

I sat farther down.

Alessandra had asked to come.

Christian said no.

Not angrily.

That hurt her more.

After an hour, Beatrice opened her handbag.

Another file.

Christian noticed.

“What now?”

“A copy of the sealed docket.”

“Why did you not show me this at the gala?”

“Because the transcript was enough to stop the lie.”

Christian stared.

“And this?”

“To explain why it lasted.”

She handed it over.

He read.

Motion to seal.

Protective order.

Witness relocation authorization.

Then one line.

SECONDARY WITNESS: LILLIAN REED.

Christian looked up.

“Alessandra’s mother.”

“Yes.”

“Her name was protected too.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Beatrice looked out the window.

“She saw something your father did not.”

“What?”

“A payment.”

Christian frowned.

“What payment?”

“To a judge.”

Silence.

“From who?”

Beatrice looked at him.

“Your grandfather’s former partner.”

Christian’s jaw tightened.

The elderly man from the gala.

Edmund Shaw.

Beatrice continued.

“Lillian discovered the transfer.”

“Then gave it to Martin.”

“Yes.”

“And Dad found out.”

“Yes.”

Christian looked at the transcript.

“Why does my father accuse Martin of withholding evidence?”

Beatrice took a breath.

“Because Martin did.”

“What did he hide?”

“The judge’s name.”

“Why?”

“To protect Lillian.”

Christian stared.

“That does not make sense.”

“It did to Martin.”

“Explain it.”

Beatrice leaned back.

“The judge was Lillian’s father.”

Christian stopped.

“Alessandra’s grandfather.”

“Yes.”

Christian looked toward the dark window.

“So Martin’s wife discovered her own father was taking money.”

“Yes.”

“And Martin buried that part.”

“Yes.”

“Then prosecuted everyone else.”

Beatrice nodded.

Christian laughed quietly.

“Selective justice.”

“Yes.”

“Did my father know?”

“Eventually.”

“What did he do?”

“He threatened to expose Martin too.”

Christian nodded.

“That sounds like him.”

Beatrice’s face changed.

“He also threatened to expose Lillian.”

Christian frowned.

“Why?”

“Because he believed she had known longer than she admitted.”

Christian looked at her.

“Did she?”

Beatrice hesitated.

“Yes.”

Silence.

“How long?”

“Three years.”

Christian stared.

“She knew her father was taking bribes for three years.”

“Yes.”

“And still kept the books.”

“Yes.”

Christian looked at the sealed testimony.

“So nobody in that room was clean.”

Beatrice smiled sadly.

“No.”

A conductor passed.

The train moved through darkness.

Christian asked:

“When did my father enter protection?”

“Nineteen years ago.”

“When did he come back to the United States?”

Beatrice looked down.

“Three years ago.”

Christian stopped.

“Three?”

“Yes.”

“He has been here three years?”

“Not continuously.”

“Where?”

“Philadelphia.”

“Why?”

“Because he wanted to see you.”

Christian stared.

“Did he?”

Beatrice did not answer.

That was enough.

“He saw me.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Twice.”

Christian closed his eyes.

“Where?”

“Once outside your office.”

Another pause.

“Once at your mother’s grave.”

Christian looked up.

“My mother knew?”

Beatrice’s face went still.

Christian noticed.

“What?”

She said nothing.

“Beatrice.”

The old clerk opened another envelope.

A photograph.

Christian’s mother.

Standing beside a man with gray hair.

His father.

Taken four years ago.

Christian stopped breathing.

“My mother died two years ago.”

“Yes.”

“So she knew he was alive.”

Beatrice nodded.

Christian stared at the picture.

“For how long?”

“Six years.”

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The train kept moving.

Christian did not.