CHAPTER 2 — THE ROOM BENEATH THE CONSERVATORY
CHAPTER 2 — THE ROOM BENEATH THE CONSERVATORY
By four in the morning, everyone in the house believed I had gone to bed.
That was exactly what I wanted them to believe.
I stood alone in the conservatory with the lights off, staring at the polished marble floor where Delia had been lying only hours earlier.
The blood was gone.
The broken glass was gone.
Even the damaged orchid had been replaced.
Someone had cleaned the room with remarkable speed.
Someone had wanted the night erased.
I touched the floor with the toe of my shoe.
Nothing.
No seam.
No trapdoor.
No sign that anything existed beneath it.
I took the key from my pocket.
Number seventeen.
The metal was cold against my palm.
Ewan had given it to Delia the night before he supposedly died.
Six years ago.
I looked around the room.
My mother had loved this place.
She used to sit beside the windows in the afternoon, surrounded by flowers, while Ewan played the piano in the adjoining room.
I remembered him laughing.
I remembered my father telling him to stop.
I remembered my mother looking frightened whenever they argued.
At the time, I had thought it was a normal family disagreement.
Now every memory looked different.
I walked toward the eastern wall.
Nothing.
I checked beneath the tables.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something I'd never noticed before.
A brass ornament shaped like a small bird.
It sat beside the oldest window.
I touched it.
It moved.
Not much.
Just enough.
I pressed harder.
A faint click sounded beneath the floor.
I froze.
Then the marble shifted.
Only an inch.
I stepped back.
The floor moved again.
A narrow rectangular section separated from the rest of the marble.
I stared at it.
For six years, this had been beneath my feet.
Six years.
And no one had told me.
I crouched and pulled the panel upward.
A staircase disappeared into darkness.
Cold air rose from below.
It smelled of dust, metal, and something older.
I reached for my phone.
Then stopped.
If someone had hidden this room from me for years, I wasn't going to announce that I'd found it.
I called the only man I trusted.
Marcus answered on the first ring.
"Boss?"
"Come to the conservatory."
"Now?"
"Now."
Twenty minutes later, the door opened.
Marcus stepped inside wearing a dark coat, his hand resting near the weapon beneath it.
He looked at the open floor.
Then at me.
"You found something."
"Something my family didn't want found."
He crouched beside the staircase.
"How deep?"
"Don't know."
He switched on a flashlight.
The beam disappeared into the darkness.
"I'll go first."
"No."
He looked at me.
"Boss—"
"I'm going."
He didn't argue.
That was one reason I trusted him.
We descended.
Sixteen steps.
Then seventeen.
At the bottom stood a steel door.
There was a number engraved above it.
17.
I looked at Marcus.
"That's not a coincidence."
"No."
I inserted the key.
It turned easily.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
And the first thing I saw was a photograph.
Ewan.
Standing beside Delia.
Both of them were smiling.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written a date.
November 14.
The day before the Pier 44 fire.
I picked it up.
Marcus looked around.
"What is this place?"
"I don't know."
There were shelves along every wall.
Boxes.
Files.
Old computers.
Bank records.
Photographs.
Shipping manifests.
Medical documents.
And dozens of sealed envelopes.
This wasn't a storage room.
It was an archive.
Someone had been collecting evidence.
For years.
I moved toward the nearest shelf.
A folder carried my father's name.
ADRIAN MORETTI.
I opened it.
The first page was a photograph of my father.
Alive.
Standing outside a warehouse.
The date beneath it was from three years after his supposed death.
I stared at the page.
Marcus said nothing.
I turned to the next photograph.
Another.
Then another.
My father had been alive.
For years.
Living under different names.
Meeting different people.
Moving money.
Giving orders.
I felt something inside me break.
Not because my father was alive.
Because I realized how long everyone had known.
I opened another file.
This one contained bank transfers.
Millions of dollars.
Money leaving companies owned by my family.
Money entering shell corporations.
Then moving overseas.
Then returning through legitimate businesses.
The final destination appeared again and again.
Vandermark Holdings.
I stopped.
"Celeste."
Marcus nodded slowly.
"Looks like it."
I turned the page.
There were payments made six months before I met her.
Then four months before our engagement.
Then two months before our wedding plans were announced.
Celeste's family had been receiving money from my father's network long before she entered my life.
My hands tightened around the file.
"She knew."
Marcus didn't answer.
"She knew."
"I think she knew enough."
I closed the folder.
Then I saw something on the bottom shelf.
A black envelope.
My name was written across it.
Not my full name.
Just:
ELIAS.
My brother used to call me that.
No one else did.
I opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Ewan.
My hands began to shake.
Elias,
If you're reading this, then I failed to stop him.
Don't trust Dad.
Don't trust anyone who tells you the fire was an accident.
And most importantly...
Don't marry Celeste.
I read the final sentence three times.
Marcus watched me.
"Boss?"
I handed him the paper.
He read it.
His face changed.
Then I noticed something else.
A second sheet was attached.
I unfolded it.
It contained a list of names.
Some were familiar.
Some weren't.
At the top was one name circled in red.
CELeste Vandermark.
Below it:
ACCESS — FAMILY TRUST
Then:
OBJECTIVE — SIGNATURE
I felt sick.
She hadn't simply entered my life.
She had been assigned to it.
I looked at Marcus.
"Find out everything about her."
"We already have background checks."
"Not enough."
"What do you want?"
"Everything."
He nodded.
I turned back toward the shelves.
And then I saw the photograph that made me stop breathing.
Ewan stood beside Celeste.
But that wasn't what shocked me.
Behind them stood my mother.
She wasn't unconscious.
She wasn't sick.
She was standing.
And beside her was a man.
My father.
Alive.
The photograph had been taken four years ago.
Two years after the Pier 44 fire.
I stared at it.
Marcus whispered:
"That's impossible."
I didn't answer.
I picked up the photograph.
My mother looked terrified.
My father looked calm.
Ewan wasn't smiling.
He was staring directly into the camera.
As if he knew one day I would see it.
I turned the photograph over.
Three words were written on the back.
SHE KNOWS EVERYTHING.
I looked toward the ceiling.
My mother.
She had been unconscious for four years.
Or so I thought.
I ran upstairs.
Marcus followed.
We entered my mother's room.
Delia was sitting beside the bed.
She looked up.
"What happened?"
I held out the photograph.
She saw it.
Her face went white.
"You knew."
She didn't answer.
"Delia."
She stood slowly.
"I knew the photograph existed."
"You knew my mother was standing with my father?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because your mother asked me not to."
I stared at her.
"She can't even speak."
Delia looked at my mother.
"She could."
The room went silent.
"What do you mean?"
"Four years ago, your mother could still speak."
I felt my stomach turn.
"What happened?"
Delia's voice dropped.
"She was given something."
"Poison?"
"I don't know."
"Then what?"
"A medication that wasn't prescribed for her."
"Who gave it to her?"
Delia looked toward the door.
"I never saw the person's face."
"But you know who ordered it."
She didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"Who?"
She whispered:
"Adrian."
My father's name.
Again.
I looked at my mother.
She was motionless.
Then her fingers moved.
Once.
Twice.
Delia noticed.
"She's awake."
I moved beside the bed.
"Mom?"
Her eyes opened.
Slowly.
For the first time in four years, she looked directly at me.
I felt my chest tighten.
"Mom?"
Her lips moved.
No sound came.
I took her hand.
"I'm here."
She squeezed my fingers.
Weakly.
But deliberately.
Then she looked at the photograph.
My father.
Her eyes filled with tears.
I showed her the image.
"Did Dad do this?"
She closed her eyes.
One tear escaped.
Then she nodded.
I couldn't speak.
She raised one trembling finger.
She pointed toward the photograph of Ewan.
Then toward herself.
Then she drew a circle in the air.
A circle.
A family.
I understood.
"You tried to protect him."
She nodded.
"From Dad."
Another nod.
I leaned closer.
"Did Ewan survive the fire?"
Her breathing changed.
She looked terrified.
She tried to speak.
Only a broken whisper came out.
I bent closer.
"What?"
Her lips moved again.
This time I heard it.
Barely.
"Alive."
I froze.
"Ewan is alive?"
She nodded.
I looked at Delia.
She was crying.
"Where is he?"
My mother raised her hand.
She pointed toward the floor.
The same direction as the hidden room.
I understood.
The room beneath the conservatory wasn't just an archive.
It had been used for something else.
I ran back downstairs.
Marcus followed.
We searched every wall.
Every cabinet.
Every floor panel.
Then Marcus noticed something.
A ventilation grate.
Behind it was a narrow passage.
The passage led deeper underground.
At the end was another steel door.
This one had no number.
It had a word.
EWAN.
I stared at it.
My brother's name.
I reached for the handle.
It was locked.
Marcus checked it.
"Heavy mechanism."
"Can you open it?"
"Give me ten minutes."
I looked at the door.
For six years, I had mourned my brother.
For six years, I had believed I knew how he died.
Now I was standing in front of a door that carried his name.
And suddenly I heard something.
A sound.
From behind the steel.
Three slow knocks.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Marcus froze.
I stared at the door.
Another three knocks came.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Ewan?"
Silence.
Then one final knock.
I stepped toward the door.
My hand touched the cold steel.
And from somewhere in the darkness beyond it...
a man's voice whispered:
"Elias."
I stopped breathing.
It was him.
My brother.
Alive.
But before I could answer, another sound came from the hallway behind us.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Someone was coming down the stairs.
Marcus turned.
I looked back.
And in the dim light at the top of the staircase stood Celeste.
She was staring directly at me.
Her face was pale.
Her eyes were fixed on the steel door.
Then she whispered the words that changed everything.
May you like
"You're not supposed to find him."
END OF CHAPTER 2
