Chapter 6 — The House With No Address
Chapter 6 — The House With No Address
The house did not exist.
That was the first thing Vincent told me.
The second was that nobody could know where we were going.
The third was that if I saw a road sign, I was supposed to forget it.
I stared at him from the back seat.
“That's impossible.”
Vincent kept his eyes on the road.
“Try.”
Dom sat beside me.
He hadn't spoken for almost twenty minutes.
Since we had left the police station, we had changed vehicles twice.
Then a third time.
The first car was a black SUV.
The second was an ordinary gray sedan.
The third was an old delivery van that looked like it belonged to a bakery.
I had started to suspect Dom enjoyed making transportation unnecessarily dramatic.
But nobody laughed.
Not even me.
Because Tommy's final words were still in my head.
Your aunt ordered the hit.
I turned toward Dom.
“Is Elena really trying to kill me?”
“I don't know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I don't know.”
“You believe Tommy?”
“I believe Tommy is afraid.”
“Of Elena?”
Dom looked out the window.
“Of someone.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No.”
I leaned closer.
“Then tell me something you do know.”
He looked at me.
“I know that whoever ordered the hit has access to information only a handful of people possess.”
“What information?”
“Your mother's history.”
“My grandfather's trust.”
“The ledger.”
“And?”
“Me.”
I frowned.
“Why you?”
Dom was silent.
“Dom.”
He finally answered.
“Because your family and mine were connected long before either of us was born.”
“That still doesn't explain who you are.”
His eyes hardened.
“Not yet.”
I stared at him.
“You said you'd tell me everything.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“When we're somewhere safe.”
I looked around.
“We're driving through farmland in a van that smells like flour.”
“Exactly.”
“That makes me feel so much safer.”
For the first time that night, Dom smiled.
Barely.
But it was there.
We drove for another hour.
Then Vincent turned onto a dirt road.
No houses.
No lights.
No signs.
Nothing.
Just trees.
The van stopped beside an old stone wall.
Vincent got out.
He walked toward the wall.
Pressed his hand against a section of stone.
Something clicked.
A narrow gate opened.
I stared.
“You're kidding.”
Dom shook his head.
“Unfortunately.”
The van drove through.
The gate closed behind us.
Then I saw the house.
It sat at the end of a long driveway.
Old.
Beautiful.
Completely isolated.
Stone walls covered in ivy.
Tall windows.
A slate roof.
No mailbox.
No number.
No visible security cameras.
It looked like something from another century.
Vincent parked.
Dom opened my door.
“Welcome.”
I stepped out.
“Whose house is this?”
“Mine.”
I turned.
“You own a house with no address?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“So nobody can find it.”
“Clearly.”
He glanced at the trees.
“Most people don't know it exists.”
I looked at him.
“Who are you, Dom?”
He didn't answer.
Not yet.
Inside, the house was even stranger.
There were no family photographs.
No personal decorations.
No signs that anyone actually lived there.
It looked preserved.
Like a museum.
Dom walked toward the fireplace.
Pressed a hidden switch.
A section of wall opened.
Behind it was a staircase.
I stared.
“Of course.”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“Secret staircase.”
“You expected one?”
“At this point, I'm disappointed when there isn't one.”
Vincent actually laughed.
Dom shook his head.
“Come on.”
We descended.
The staircase led underground.
The room beneath the house was enormous.
Computers.
Maps.
Security monitors.
Filing cabinets.
Shelves filled with old documents.
A wall covered in photographs.
I stopped.
My mother.
My grandfather.
Dom's father.
Elena.
Tommy.
Rafael.
And dozens of people I didn't recognize.
At the center of the wall was one photograph.
Dom.
But he looked younger.
Maybe twenty.
Standing beside a much older man.
My grandfather.
I walked toward it.
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Dom came to stand beside me.
“He trained me.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Your grandfather.”
My mouth went dry.
“He trained you to do what?”
Dom looked at the photograph.
“To protect people.”
“That doesn't sound like a criminal.”
“He wasn't.”
“Then why did everyone fear him?”
“Because he knew things.”
I looked at the wall.
“How did you meet him?”
“My father introduced us.”
“When?”
“When I was nineteen.”
“And what happened?”
“My father wanted me to join the family business.”
“Shipping?”
Dom shook his head.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“What business?”
He pointed toward the wall.
“This.”
He walked to a metal cabinet.
Opened it.
Inside were passports.
Dozens of them.
Different names.
Different countries.
Different photographs.
I picked one up.
The photograph was Dom.
But the name was different.
Domenico Varela.
I looked at another.
Daniel Vasquez.
Another.
Dominic Reyes.
I stared.
“You have multiple identities.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To survive.”
I looked at him.
“Who are you?”
He closed the cabinet.
“My father was not a businessman.”
I waited.
“He was an intelligence operative.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“He worked for governments that officially denied knowing him.”
I stared.
“That sounds insane.”
“It is.”
“What did he do?”
“Recovery operations.”
“Meaning?”
“People. Information. Assets.”
I looked toward the wall.
“And my grandfather?”
“He worked with him.”
“How?”
“Your grandfather financed operations your government couldn't officially fund.”
My stomach tightened.
“So my family wasn't just wealthy.”
“No.”
“They were connected to intelligence.”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
Dom looked at me.
“I inherited the network.”
I couldn't speak.
He continued.
“My father died when I was twenty-six.”
“How?”
“Murder.”
“By whom?”
“People who wanted what he knew.”
I looked at the photographs.
“Was my grandfather involved?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know your father would die?”
“No.”
“Did he try to stop it?”
“Yes.”
“Was that when the debt began?”
Dom nodded.
“The five million wasn't a normal loan.”
“What was it?”
“Protection money.”
I stared.
“Your grandfather needed my father's network to protect someone.”
“Who?”
Dom's eyes met mine.
“Your mother.”
I stepped backward.
“Why?”
“Because she had something.”
“The ledger.”
“Yes.”
“What was in it?”
Dom opened another file.
Inside were photographs of bank accounts.
Offshore companies.
Property records.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
I scanned them.
“This is enormous.”
“It is.”
“What does it prove?”
“That several powerful families built their fortunes using stolen assets.”
“Whose assets?”
Dom looked at me.
“People who disappeared.”
I swallowed.
“And my grandfather?”
“He discovered it.”
“And my mother?”
“She helped him expose it.”
“Then why did she disappear?”
Dom's face darkened.
“Because she changed her mind.”
“About what?”
“About releasing the evidence.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because the evidence would have destroyed innocent people too.”
“Who?”
“Families.”
“Children.”
“Employees.”
“People who had nothing to do with the crimes.”
I understood.
“So she hid it.”
“Yes.”
“Then why is everyone searching for it now?”
“Because your grandfather left one final instruction.”
“What?”
Dom walked toward a locked drawer.
He opened it.
Inside was a letter.
He handed it to me.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My grandfather.
I unfolded it.
If the ledger is ever found, it must not be opened by anyone except Nema Reyes.
I stared at the words.
“Why me?”
Dom shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“You knew this existed.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“I didn't have the letter.”
“Then who did?”
Dom looked toward another photograph.
My mother.
“She did.”
My hands began shaking.
“My mother had this?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did she leave it here?”
“She didn't.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
Dom's voice became quiet.
“She brought it to me.”
“When?”
“Three days before she disappeared.”
I couldn't breathe.
“You saw my mother?”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Three days before she disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was trying to find her.”
I stared at him.
“You knew she wasn't dead.”
“Yes.”
“And you let me believe she was.”
“Yes.”
My voice broke.
“How could you?”
He didn't defend himself.
“I thought keeping you ignorant would keep you alive.”
I laughed bitterly.
“It didn't.”
“I know.”
I walked away.
My chest hurt.
My entire childhood had been a lie.
My mother wasn't dead.
My grandfather had known.
Dom had known.
Everyone had known except me.
I turned.
“Where is she?”
Dom didn't answer.
“Where is my mother?”
“We don't know.”
“You just said you were looking for her.”
“Yes.”
“For twelve years?”
“Yes.”
“And you haven't found her?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
Then I noticed something.
A photograph on the far wall.
A woman standing beside a lake.
Older.
Gray streaks in her hair.
But unmistakably my mother.
I walked toward it.
“When was this taken?”
Dom went silent.
“Dom.”
“Eight months ago.”
My heart stopped.
“You found her.”
“No.”
“Then who took the photograph?”
“I don't know.”
I looked closer.
My mother wasn't alone.
Someone stood behind her.
A man.
Partially hidden.
I zoomed in on the photograph.
I knew him.
I had seen him before.
In the diner.
In the background.
Near the kitchen door.
I turned.
“That's him.”
Dom stepped closer.
“Who?”
“The man who gave Tommy the poison.”
Dom stared at the photograph.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He took the photograph from my hand.
His expression changed.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because he's dead.”
I looked at him.
“Who is he?”
Dom whispered:
“My father.”
The room went silent.
I couldn't breathe.
“Your father died years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Then that's impossible.”
“Yes.”
I looked back at the photograph.
My mother was standing beside a dead man.
Or a man everyone believed was dead.
Dom walked toward the security console.
He activated a screen.
A file appeared.
MIGUEL VASQUEZ — DECEASED.
Date of death.
Twenty-three years ago.
Cause.
Car explosion.
I looked at Dom.
“Then who is that?”
He stared at the photograph.
“I don't know.”
The screen suddenly flickered.
A red warning appeared.
INTRUSION DETECTED.
Vincent rushed into the room.
“Sir.”
Dom turned.
“What?”
“We've been breached.”
“From where?”
Vincent looked at the monitors.
“Inside.”
Dom's expression hardened.
“Impossible.”
“No.”
Vincent pointed toward the security map.
“Someone is already in the house.”
My blood ran cold.
“How?”
Vincent looked at me.
“Through the old tunnel.”
Dom immediately reached for his weapon.
“What tunnel?”
Vincent looked toward the floor.
“The one your father built.”
Dom froze.
I looked at him.
“You didn't know?”
“No.”
A loud metallic sound echoed somewhere beneath us.
A door opening.
Then footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Coming closer.
Dom moved in front of me.
Vincent drew his weapon.
The underground lights flickered.
Then a woman's voice echoed through the tunnel.
“Nema.”
I froze.
I knew that voice.
My mother's voice.
Dom looked at me.
The footsteps stopped.
Then she spoke again.
“Don't trust him.”
I couldn't breathe.
Dom tightened his grip on his weapon.
The voice continued:
“Because the man you think you're hiding with…”
A pause.
“…is the reason I disappeared.”
The lights went out.
And in the darkness, I realized the secret beneath the house was no longer the biggest secret in my life.
The biggest secret was standing right in front of me.
Dom Vasquez.
The man who had saved my life.
The man who had protected me.
The man my mother had warned me against.
And now, according to her voice in the darkness, the man responsible for destroying my family.
I reached for Dom's arm.
He didn't move.
May you like
Then a single gunshot echoed through the underground room.
And someone screamed.
