Chapter 7 - The Father Who Ran
Dylan arrived in Chicago two days later.
Not willingly.
But alive.
Tommy met him at O’Hare and brought him to a private room above Callaway’s before I even knew he had landed.
When I walked in, Dylan was sitting at a long table with a cup of untouched coffee in front of him.
He looked older.
Smaller somehow.
The expensive confidence he used to wear had been replaced by a tired jacket, cheap jeans, and the restless eyes of a man who knew he had made too many bad choices.
Then he saw Ava in my arms.
Everything stopped.
“She’s beautiful,” he whispered.
I hated that he had the right to say it.
“She’s eight months old,” I said. “You missed that part.”
Dylan looked down.
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
Reed stood near the window with Tommy. Silent. Watching.
Dylan finally looked at him.
“So it’s true.”
“What is?” I asked.
“You work for Reed Callaway.”
“I work at his restaurant.”
“Same difference.”
“No,” Reed said quietly. “It is not.”
Dylan swallowed.
“I didn’t know Moretti would find her.”
My blood went cold.
I stepped closer.
“What did you say?”
Dylan’s face drained.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You knew about Moretti?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Your dad called me before he died.”
The room became silent.
“My father called you?”
“He knew I was leaving town. He asked me to take something.”
“What?”
“A key.”
Reed moved away from the window.
“What kind of key?”
Dylan looked toward Ava.
Then back at me.
“He said it opened a storage locker. He told me not to trust the police. He said if anything happened to him, I needed to protect you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You left me.”
“I was scared.”
“You left while I was pregnant.”
“I didn’t know you were pregnant.”
“You never asked.”
Dylan flinched.
Good.
“He gave me the key,” Dylan continued. “Then two days later, your dad died. I panicked. I went to Phoenix. I told myself I would come back.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Where is the key?”
Dylan reached into his jacket pocket.
For a moment, I could not breathe.
He placed a small brass key on the table.
Stamped into its head was a number.
214
Reed studied it.
“Storage unit?” Tommy asked.
Dylan shook his head.
“Bank box. I think.”
“Why did Moretti photograph you?” I asked.
Dylan’s lips pressed together.
“Because a man came to my apartment last week. He asked whether I still had it. I told him no.”
“Did you tell him about Ava?”
“No.”
“You are lying.”
“I swear I didn’t.”
Reed looked at Tommy.
“Check his phone.”
Dylan stood abruptly.
“You can’t just take my—”
Tommy took it anyway.
Within minutes, he found the messages.
One from an unknown number.
THE CHILD WILL PAY FOR THE FATHER’S MISTAKE.
Another from Dylan to the same number.
I DON’T KNOW WHERE SHE IS.
Then a final reply.
YOU WILL.
I closed my eyes.
Dylan had not betrayed us.
Not yet.
But he had been watched.
Used.
Scared into silence.
The exact thing he always did best.
Reed took the brass key.
“Box 214 belongs to First Chicago Trust,” he said.
“How do you know?” Dylan asked.
“My father used the same vault.”
I looked at Reed.
“You knew?”
“No,” he said. “But I know the key style.”
The next morning, we went to the bank.
Reed brought security.
I brought Ava.
And Dylan came because, for once in his life, he was too ashamed to run.
Box 214 held three things.
A flash drive.
A ledger.
And a sealed letter in my father’s handwriting.
I opened the letter with shaking hands.
> Mara,
> If you are reading this, I failed to get us out.
>
> Victor Moretti used Callaway Shipping and Moretti Shipping to move money through false deliveries. But someone inside Reed Callaway’s organization helped him. I do not know who.
>
> The evidence is on the drive. Do not trust anyone who tells you they can keep you safe by hiding the truth.
>
> I love you.
> Dad.
I read the last line twice.
Then I looked at Reed.
Someone inside his organization had helped Moretti.
Someone close enough to know where my father hid evidence.
Someone close enough to know I had Ava.
Tommy’s phone rang.
He listened.
Then his face went gray.
“Boss,” he said.
Reed turned.
“What?”
“Victor Moretti just took responsibility for the fire.”
My heart stopped.
Tommy continued.
May you like
“And he says he has proof of who helped him.”
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