Chapter 2 - The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Elara did not hear the glass hit the floor.
She heard only four words.
Daniel Mercer is alive.
Her father.
The man she remembered mostly as fragments.
A brown leather jacket.
A laugh from another room.
Hands lifting her toward Christmas lights.
Then nothing.
Her mother had always said Daniel left because he was frightened of responsibility.
Eventually Elara stopped asking.
Now a stranger stood inside the Obsidian Lounge telling her Daniel had not vanished at all.
Julian handed the photograph to Marco.
“Verify it.”
The stranger laughed.
“You think I came here with a fake?”
“I think breathing is the only thing you’ve done tonight that I haven't questioned.”
The stranger’s smile thinned.
“My name is Adrian Cross.”
Julian clearly recognized it.
Elara noticed.
“Who is he?”
“Someone who should have stayed in New York.”
Cross ignored the insult.
“Daniel Mercer stole something twenty years ago.”
“What?”
Cross looked at Elara.
“A ledger.”
She almost laughed.
“You brought twelve armed men into a restaurant because my father stole a book?”
“Not a book.”
Julian answered.
“A record.”
Cross nodded.
“Names. Accounts. Judges. Police officers. Politicians. Businessmen. Every payment made by three organizations operating across the Midwest in the early 2000s.”
Elara looked between them.
“And you think I have it?”
“We know you do.”
“I don’t.”
Cross stepped forward.
Julian blocked him.
Cross stopped.
“Ask her about Rebecca’s Christmas box.”
Elara froze.
Her mother had owned a wooden Christmas box.
It had remained unopened in Elara’s closet for six years.
Julian saw her reaction.
“You know it.”
“Yes.”
Cross smiled.
“Then we’re done here. Give me the box.”
“I don't even know what's inside.”
“You don’t need to.”
Julian’s voice hardened.
“She gives you nothing.”
Cross looked at the ring.
“This isn’t your war, Vane.”
“It became mine when you walked through my door.”
Cross leaned closer.
“You might reconsider when you discover whose names are in that ledger.”
For the first time, Julian said nothing.
Cross seemed satisfied.
“We’ll speak again.”
“You won't get another invitation.”
“I didn't have one tonight.”
Cross turned toward Elara.
“Your father made many mistakes.”
He paused.
“His biggest was believing he could protect you forever.”
Then he left.
His men followed.
Only after the SUVs disappeared did the room seem to breathe again.
Elara turned on Julian.
“You knew my father.”
“I knew the name.”
“That photograph says more.”
“It does.”
“Then tell me.”
Julian looked around the room.
“Not here.”
Twenty minutes later, Elara sat in Julian’s private office upstairs.
The room was surprisingly simple.
Desk.
Books.
Two leather chairs.
No throne.
No wall of weapons.
Julian poured water.
She refused it.
“I want the truth.”
“So do I.”
“You’re not the one who just learned your father might be alive.”
Julian sat opposite her.
“No.”
His expression became distant.
“I learned mine was dead when I was fourteen.”
Elara regretted the sharpness of her tone but did not apologize.
“Daniel Mercer worked for my father.”
Her breath caught.
“Doing what?”
“Accounting.”
“That doesn’t sound criminal.”
“It was.”
Julian continued.
“My father ran an organization very different from mine. Daniel kept records because he believed numbers were safer than men.”
“And my mother?”
“Rebecca worked at a hotel where meetings happened.”
“You knew her?”
“I met her.”
Elara looked at the photograph.
“You look twenty.”
“Nineteen.”
“What happened?”
“Daniel discovered people were being killed to hide financial relationships. He copied the records.”
“The ledger.”
Julian nodded.
“My father ordered him to return it.”
“And?”
“He disappeared.”
“With my mother?”
“No. Rebecca stayed in Chicago with you.”
“Then why did she tell me he abandoned us?”
“Maybe because abandonment was safer than the truth.”
Elara looked at Julian’s ring.
It suddenly felt heavier.
“You put this on me because you knew who my father was.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because Cross had twelve armed men outside and you had nobody standing between them and you.”
The simplicity of the answer unsettled her.
“You barely know me.”
Julian looked toward the compass on his desk.
“You noticed something about me nobody else did.”
“That doesn't mean—”
“No.”
His gaze returned to hers.
“But it means something.”
Marco entered carrying a tablet.
“Photo is real.”
He placed it down.
“Taken December 24, 2006. Private residence owned by Julian’s father.”
Elara stared at the date.
Exactly twenty years ago.
Marco continued.
“I found Daniel Mercer too.”
Elara stood.
“Where?”
“Not where. When.”
He turned the screen.
A security image showed an older man entering a train station.
Timestamp: three days ago.
Chicago Union Station.
Elara gripped the desk.
“He’s here.”
“Maybe,” Marco said.
The office phone rang.
Nobody moved.
Julian answered.
“Yes?”
His expression hardened.
“When?”
He hung up.
“Elara.”
“What?”
“Someone broke into your apartment.”
Her heart stopped.
“My box.”
Julian was already reaching for his coat.
They drove through Chicago with two SUVs surrounding them.
Elara sat beside Julian.
His ring remained on her finger.
When they reached her building, the front door hung crooked.
Her apartment had been destroyed.
Drawers emptied.
Mattress cut open.
Cabinets broken.
Photographs scattered across the floor.
Elara ran toward her bedroom.
“Wait.”
Julian caught her wrist.
“Let Marco clear it.”
“It’s my home.”
“And someone may still be inside.”
Two men entered first.
A minute later, Marco called, “Clear.”
Elara hurried to the closet.
The wooden Christmas box was gone.
She stared at the empty shelf.
“No.”
Julian crouched beside a broken photograph.
It showed Elara as a child with Rebecca.
“Did the box have a lock?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever open it?”
“My mother told me not to until I found someone I trusted completely.”
Julian looked up.
“What?”
Elara swallowed.
“She said I’d know when.”
A floorboard creaked behind them.
Julian turned.
His hand moved inside his jacket.
But it was Marco.
He held something.
“Found this under the bed.”
A Christmas card.
Elara recognized her mother’s handwriting.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
Inside was a message she had never seen.
Ellie,
If you are reading this, someone has found the box.
The box is not what matters.
You are.
Trust the man who remembers the compass.
Elara slowly raised her eyes toward Julian.
He had gone pale.
“What compass?” she whispered.
Julian looked at the silver Christmas gift she had given him, now tucked safely inside his coat.
Then Marco’s phone vibrated.
He read the message.
His face changed.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found Daniel Mercer.”
“Where?”
Marco turned the screen toward them.
It was a live security feed from the Obsidian Lounge.
An older man stood alone beneath the Christmas tree.
May you like
He was holding Elara’s missing wooden box.
And he was waiting for them.
