Chapter 2 - The Photograph
Norah spent the next three hours in Dominic Mercer's private office.
She hated every second of it.
Not because she was afraid of him.
That was the problem.
She wasn't sure she was.
The office was on the third floor of an old brick building overlooking the Chicago River. There were no family photographs. No trophies. No sentimental objects.
Only books, files, a large desk, and one framed photograph facing the wall.
Dominic stood near the window.
“You knew someone was following me?”
“No.”
“Then why did the attacker come after me?”
“I don't know.”
“Who have you been talking to?”
“Customers. Coworkers. My landlord. My sister.”
“You have a sister?”
Norah's eyes narrowed.
“You investigated me.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
She stood.
“I want to leave.”
Dominic didn't stop her.
“Then leave.”
She reached the door.
“Norah.”
She stopped.
“Your mother.”
Her hand froze on the doorknob.
“What about her?”
“She worked at the Bellmont Hotel twenty-three years ago.”
Norah slowly turned.
“How do you know?”
Dominic didn't answer.
Instead, he walked to the desk and picked up a photograph.
He handed it to her.
Norah looked down.
Her mother's face stared back at her.
Young.
Beautiful.
Terrified.
She was standing beside a man Norah had never seen before.
Norah's fingers began shaking.
“Where did you get this?”
“My father kept it.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
She looked closer.
The man beside her mother wore a Mercer family ring.
Norah stared at Dominic.
“Who is he?”
“My uncle.”
Silence.
“My mother knew your family?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“That is what I'm trying to find out.”
Norah shook her head.
“No. You're hiding something.”
Dominic didn't deny it.
“You're right.”
“What?”
“I've been investigating your mother for six months.”
Norah felt betrayed despite barely knowing him.
“Why?”
“Because she disappeared from Chicago the same week my uncle was murdered.”
Her mouth went dry.
“My mother didn't murder anyone.”
“I never said she did.”
“You implied it.”
“No. I implied she knew something.”
Norah looked at the photograph again.
“What happened to your uncle?”
“He was shot.”
“By who?”
“We don't know.”
“Then why investigate my mother?”
“Because before he died, he wrote one name on a piece of paper.”
Dominic opened a drawer.
He removed a yellowed sheet.
Norah recognized the handwriting immediately.
Her mother's.
There were only three words.
Trust no Mercer.
Norah stared.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does to me.”
“Then explain.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“My uncle was preparing to expose someone inside our organization.”
“Someone in your family?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Norah looked at him.
“Then why involve me?”
“Because whoever killed my uncle believes your mother took something.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
“What kind of ledger?”
“A list of payments, names, politicians, judges, police officers…”
Norah's heart pounded.
“…and murders.”
She stepped backward.
“My mother never had anything like that.”
Dominic's voice softened.
“Maybe she didn't.”
“What does that mean?”
“Maybe someone wanted us to believe she did.”
Before Norah could answer, the office door opened.
A man entered.
“Boss.”
Dominic turned.
“What?”
“We found something in the attacker's phone.”
“What?”
The man looked at Norah.
“A photograph.”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“Show me.”
The man placed the phone on the desk.
Norah looked down.
It was a picture of her.
Standing outside her apartment.
Taken that morning.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written:
SHE HAS HER MOTHER'S EYES.
Norah stopped breathing.
Dominic picked up the phone.
“From this moment on,” he said quietly, “you're not going home alone.”
Norah looked at him.
“And who exactly decided that?”
“I did.”
“I don't work for you.”
“No.”
May you like
His eyes met hers.
“But someone just declared war on you.”
