Chapter 4 - What Julian Knew
Maya replayed the last sentence in her head until it became unbearable.
Ask him how your father really died.
Her father, Rafael Torres, had died when she was eleven. A car crash on Lower Wacker Drive. Rain. A guardrail. A police officer at the door before sunrise.
That was the story.
She turned toward Julian.
"You knew my father?"
Derek stepped away from the table.
Julian did not answer fast enough.
"You knew him."
"I knew his name."
"That's not what I asked."
"Maya—"
"Did you know my father?"
"Yes."
Her palm hit his face before she realized she had moved.
Derek flinched.
Julian didn't.
Maya stared at the red mark spreading across his cheek.
"You had eighteen months," she said. "Every morning. Every dinner. Every stupid conversation about groceries and dry cleaning and whether you own too many black shirts. You had eighteen months to tell me."
"I didn't know you were Rafael's daughter when I hired you."
"When did you find out?"
Silence.
"When?"
"Three months later."
She laughed, and it sounded broken. "Fifteen months."
"I was trying to protect you."
"Stop using that word like it erases lying."
Julian took the blow.
"Your father kept books for my father's organization," he said. "Not taxes. Real books. Cash, payoffs, names, dates."
"My dad was an accountant."
"He was. And he discovered money being moved through shell companies into something worse than gambling or smuggling."
"What?"
"Predatory medical lending. They targeted families with sick relatives. Bought debt. Raised rates. Used private information to pressure them."
Maya's stomach turned.
"Black Harbor."
"It had another name then. Vale helped build it."
"And my father?"
"He copied records into a blue ledger and threatened to go federal."
Maya's voice dropped. "Then he died."
Julian looked at the floor.
That was enough.
"Your family killed him."
"My father gave an order to stop him."
She backed away.
"Did you know?"
"Not until later."
"How much later?"
"Two days after the crash."
"And you did nothing?"
Julian's face hardened with old shame. "I was twenty-four, inside a family where saying no could get your mother buried next to you. I confronted my father. He told me Rafael had stolen from us and betrayed us. I believed half of it because believing half was easier than admitting what I was part of."
Maya's eyes filled.
"You let my mother and me think he died in an accident."
"I didn't know where you were."
"But once you found me?"
He had no answer that could save him.
Derek's laptop chimed.
"We found the transport van."
Maya turned instantly.
"Where?"
"South Branch, near the old printing plant."
Julian grabbed his coat.
"We're going."
"I'm coming," Maya said.
"No."
"That's my mother."
"And that's a trap."
"Then it's my trap too."
Julian stepped close. "If Vale sees you, he has two hostages instead of one."
Maya stared into his eyes. "If you leave me here after telling me my father died because of your family, I will never forgive you."
He held her gaze for three seconds.
Then he handed her a bulletproof vest.
"Stay behind Derek."
"I'm not wearing that."
"Then you are not leaving."
She snatched it from him. "I hate you."
"Get in line."
Twenty minutes later they were driving south through empty streets.
At the old printing plant, the van sat with its rear doors open.
No guards.
No Elena.
Only a single wheelchair in the middle of the loading bay.
On the seat was a blue notebook.
Maya ran toward it.
Julian shouted, "Don't touch it!"
Too late.
A red light blinked beneath the chair.
May you like
Derek saw it first.
"BOMB!"
