Chapter 3 — The Accident Wasn’t an Accident
Chapter 3 — The Accident Wasn’t an Accident
The rain began at midnight.
By one in the morning, Chicago had disappeared behind a curtain of water.
I sat awake in the small room I'd been given at the Moretti estate, listening to Emma breathe.
She slept curled around Mr. Rabbit.
One tiny hand rested beneath her cheek.
I should have felt safe.
Instead, I couldn't stop thinking about what Alessandro had told me.
I think your daughter's father is alive.
For three years, I had forced myself to believe Daniel was dead.
I had attended the funeral.
I had watched the coffin disappear beneath the earth.
I had cried until there were no tears left.
I had told Emma that her father had gone somewhere she couldn't follow.
And now a dangerous man was telling me that everything I believed might have been a lie.
I couldn't sleep.
At 2:17 a.m., someone knocked.
I reached for the lamp.
“Who is it?”
“Me.”
Alessandro.
I opened the door.
He was alone.
His wheelchair was positioned in the hallway.
His face was grim.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“The office.”
“Why?”
“Because I found something.”
I looked at Emma.
“She'll be safe.”
I hesitated.
Alessandro's eyes softened.
“Matteo is outside.”
I nodded.
Then I followed him.
The west-wing office looked different at night.
The fireplace was unlit.
The windows reflected nothing but darkness.
Alessandro stopped beside his desk.
On the surface were three files.
One had my name.
One had Emma's.
The third had Daniel's.
I stared.
“You said you would tell me everything.”
“I will.”
He opened Daniel's file.
“Three years ago, Daniel Carter was listed as dead after a vehicle explosion.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
“You were told the body was identified through dental records.”
“Yes.”
“The identification was wrong.”
My throat tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“The body wasn't Daniel's.”
I stared at him.
“Then whose was it?”
“We don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“No.”
“Then why did everyone say he was dead?”
“Because someone wanted you to believe it.”
I looked at the file.
“Who?”
Alessandro leaned back.
“We're still trying to find out.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That's convenient.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“You're telling me my daughter's father might be alive after three years, but you don't know who lied to me.”
“I know more than you think.”
“Then tell me.”
He opened another folder.
“This was recovered from the crash investigation.”
Inside was a photograph of Daniel's car.
The front end was destroyed.
Smoke.
Twisted metal.
Glass scattered across wet asphalt.
I stared.
“That's the car.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel was driving.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
Alessandro pointed to the photograph.
“Daniel was supposed to be driving.”
My stomach turned.
“What are you saying?”
“The driver was changed at the last minute.”
“By whom?”
“I don't know.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because I ordered the change.”
I froze.
“You?”
Alessandro nodded.
“The night before the accident, I received a warning that someone intended to kill Daniel.”
I stared at him.
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“I tried.”
“You never contacted me.”
“I couldn't.”
“Why?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because I was attacked the same night.”
The room went silent.
Alessandro continued.
“My convoy was ambushed on the way to Daniel's location.”
“Your accident.”
“Yes.”
“You were in a different car?”
“Yes.”
“Then how did Daniel's car explode?”
“That's the problem.”
He opened another document.
The vehicle's brake system had been examined.
The report was stamped:
NO MECHANICAL FAILURE.
I frowned.
“But you said—”
“The original report was falsified.”
He turned the page.
A second report.
BRAKE LINE DELIBERATELY CUT.
My hands began shaking.
“Someone sabotaged both vehicles.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Alessandro looked at me.
“Because someone wanted both of us dead.”
The door opened.
Matteo stepped inside.
“Boss.”
Alessandro looked up.
“What?”
“We found the guard who died tonight.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with the accident?”
Matteo placed a tablet on the desk.
“His name was Frank Bell.”
I recognized the name.
“He was security.”
“Yes.”
Matteo opened a file.
“Before working here, he was employed by a private transportation company.”
Alessandro's expression hardened.
“Which one?”
“Carter Logistics.”
My heart stopped.
“Daniel's company?”
“Yes.”
Matteo continued.
“Frank wasn't just an employee.”
He paused.
“He was Daniel's personal driver.”
I stared at the screen.
“Then he knew him.”
“Very well.”
“And he was here?”
“For six years.”
I looked at Alessandro.
“You hired him?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Alessandro didn't answer.
Matteo did.
“Your uncle.”
Alessandro's face became cold.
“My uncle died eight years ago.”
“That is what the records say.”
I looked between them.
“What are you talking about?”
Matteo opened another file.
“Your uncle's death certificate is also false.”
Silence.
I felt dizzy.
“Then who is dead?”
Alessandro stared at the screen.
“Apparently,” he said quietly, “we've been burying the wrong people.”
At four in the morning, I couldn't take it anymore.
I left the office.
I walked through the empty hallway.
My mind was filled with Daniel.
His smile.
His voice.
The last night I'd seen him.
Three years ago.
He had kissed Emma's forehead.
She had been six months old.
He had held my face.
And said:
“Whatever happens, don't trust anyone.”
I had laughed.
“Why would anything happen?”
He hadn't laughed.
“I mean it.”
Then he left.
He never came back.
Or so I thought.
I reached the library.
The door was slightly open.
I pushed it.
Nothing.
Then I heard a sound.
A drawer closing.
I turned.
A man stood near the far wall.
Dark coat.
Gloves.
My blood froze.
“Who are you?”
He didn't answer.
He stepped toward me.
I backed away.
“Stop.”
He kept coming.
Then he whispered:
“Daniel told me to find you.”
I stopped breathing.
“Where is he?”
The man smiled.
“He's closer than you think.”
He reached into his coat.
I screamed.
A gunshot exploded.
The man fell backward.
Alessandro appeared in the doorway.
His weapon was raised.
Matteo was behind him.
The stranger was alive.
Barely.
Alessandro rolled toward him.
“Who sent you?”
The man coughed blood.
“Too late.”
“For what?”
The stranger looked at me.
“She's already been found.”
Then he smiled.
“By him.”
He died.
I stared at the body.
“Who?”
Alessandro looked at me.
“I don't know.”
But something in his face told me he did.
The next morning, Alessandro ordered every old file brought to his office.
Shipping records.
Medical records.
Police reports.
Insurance claims.
Security logs.
Daniel's business documents.
My mother's records.
Everything.
By noon, his desk was buried.
I sat opposite him.
Emma was asleep on the couch.
I looked at the files.
“Where do we start?”
Alessandro pointed to one.
“The accident.”
I opened it.
There were photographs.
Witness statements.
Police reports.
Then I noticed something.
A timestamp.
“Alessandro.”
“Yes?”
“Look.”
I pointed.
“The emergency call was made at 10:41.”
“Yes.”
“The crash happened at 10:58.”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“So someone called emergency services seventeen minutes before the crash.”
He went still.
“That's impossible.”
“Exactly.”
He took the file.
His eyes moved rapidly across the page.
Then he reached for another document.
The dispatch recording.
He played it.
Static.
Then a man's voice.
Calm.
Clear.
“There's been an accident on Route 41.”
The operator asked:
“When did it happen?”
The man answered:
“Seventeen minutes from now.”
I felt the blood leave my face.
Alessandro stopped the recording.
Neither of us spoke.
Then he replayed it.
The voice came again.
“Seventeen minutes from now.”
Alessandro whispered:
“I know that voice.”
“Who?”
He stared at the screen.
“Daniel.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“You said Daniel was missing.”
“He was.”
“You said you didn't know where he was.”
“I don't.”
“But that's his voice.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“Then he's alive.”
Alessandro didn't answer.
“Isn't he?”
He looked at me.
“I think so.”
I began crying.
Not because I was afraid.
Because for three years I'd been grieving a man who might have been alive somewhere.
“Why would he let me believe he was dead?”
“I don't know.”
“He knew about Emma.”
“I don't know.”
“He left us.”
“I don't know.”
My voice broke.
“I need answers.”
Alessandro nodded.
“You'll get them.”
“How?”
He looked at the recording.
“We follow the voice.”
That evening, Matteo traced the emergency call.
The call had originated from a disposable satellite device.
But the signal had been bounced through three locations.
Chicago.
Milwaukee.
Then a remote facility in Michigan.
A storage warehouse.
Owned by a company that had been dissolved five years earlier.
The company name was:
Carter Security Holdings.
Daniel's old company.
Alessandro stared at the screen.
“Send a team.”
Matteo nodded.
“How many?”
“All of them.”
I looked at Alessandro.
“I'm coming.”
“No.”
“You said you'd tell me everything.”
“This is dangerous.”
“My daughter's father may be there.”
“I know.”
“Then I'm coming.”
He stared at me.
“You could die.”
“So could you.”
Silence.
Finally, he nodded.
“Stay beside me.”
They left at midnight.
The convoy moved through the darkness.
Four black SUVs.
Two motorcycles.
One armored vehicle.
Emma remained at the estate with Mrs. Bell.
I sat beside Alessandro.
Rain struck the windshield.
Neither of us spoke for nearly an hour.
Then he said:
“Anna.”
“Yes?”
“If Daniel is alive…”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Don't assume he's the man you remember.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Three years is a long time.”
I looked out the window.
“He's still Emma's father.”
Alessandro nodded.
“I know.”
“And I still love him.”
He looked at me.
I swallowed.
“Or at least, I love the man I remember.”
Alessandro said nothing.
But something in his expression changed.
Something I didn't understand yet.
Then the convoy stopped.
Matteo stepped out.
The warehouse stood ahead.
Dark.
Silent.
Abandoned.
Alessandro looked at me.
“Stay behind me.”
We entered.
The place smelled of oil and dust.
Old crates filled the room.
Then Matteo found a door.
Locked.
He broke it open.
Inside was a small office.
A desk.
A chair.
A lamp.
And a wall covered with photographs.
I walked closer.
My face appeared first.
Then Emma.
Then Alessandro.
Then Daniel.
My hand covered my mouth.
Someone had been watching us for years.
But one photograph made my blood run cold.
It showed Daniel standing beside a man.
The man was older.
Gray-haired.
And unmistakably familiar.
Alessandro stared at him.
“That's impossible.”
“Who is he?”
His face turned pale.
“My father.”
I looked at him.
“Your father is dead.”
Alessandro didn't answer.
Because beneath the photograph was a handwritten sentence.
THE ACCIDENT WAS NEVER MEANT TO KILL DANIEL.
A second line had been written underneath.
IT WAS MEANT TO MAKE ALESSANDRO BELIEVE HE HAD.
Then a phone rang.
Somewhere inside the warehouse.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Matteo raised his weapon.
Alessandro looked at me.
I couldn't breathe.
The phone kept ringing.
Finally, I answered.
No one spoke.
Then a man's voice whispered:
“Anna.”
I closed my eyes.
I knew that voice.
Three years of grief had burned it into my memory.
“Daniel?”
A pause.
Then:
“I'm sorry.”
The line went dead.
Alessandro stared at me.
I looked at him through tears.
“He's alive.”
Before either of us could move, every light in the warehouse switched on.
Dozens of photographs illuminated the walls.
And in the center of them all was one final image.
Daniel.
Holding baby Emma.
Taken three years earlier.
The date beneath it was six months after his supposed death.
Alessandro stared at the photograph.
Then his eyes hardened.
“Now we know one thing.”
“What?”
“Daniel didn't disappear.”
He looked toward the dark corridor.
“Someone hid him.”
A gunshot echoed from somewhere outside.
Matteo shouted:
“DOWN!”
Alessandro grabbed my arm.
We dropped behind the desk.
More shots tore through the warehouse windows.
And somewhere in the darkness, a man laughed.
The same laugh I'd heard three years ago.
The night Daniel supposedly died.
May you like
The accident hadn't been an accident.
It had been the beginning.
