Chương 9
“Peter Salazar.”
Julian felt the garage tilt around him.
“That man died seven years ago.”
“I know.”
Marcus looked up.
Grace stared at Julian.
Adrian said, “That’s why I called.”
Julian’s voice became very quiet.
“You told me you saw the fire.”
“I did.”
“You saw Peter Salazar die?”
Silence.
“Adrian.”
“No.”
The word barely came through.
Julian closed his eyes.
“Then who died in that warehouse?”
Adrian’s answer took too long.
“A man your father needed everyone to believe was Peter.”
Julian opened his eyes.
The garage smelled faintly of oil, hot concrete, and the sharp metallic edge of Tomas’s blood.
For one second, nobody moved.
Then Julian said, “Say that again.”
Adrian’s voice came through the phone.
“The body identified as Peter Salazar wasn’t him.”
Marcus stood slowly.
Grace pressed one hand against the doorframe.
Julian’s gaze fixed on nothing.
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know it wasn’t Peter?”
“Because Peter used that badge eight months ago.”
Julian’s expression hardened.
“That proves somebody used his identity.”
“No.”
Adrian swallowed audibly.
“I found a traffic-camera capture from two months after the fire.”
Julian said nothing.
“Peter was driving your father’s sedan.”
The words hung there.
Grace looked down at Tomas.
One of the guards had pressed gauze to his forehead.
Tomas seemed more embarrassed than injured.
Julian asked, “Where was the car?”
“Outside a bank in Delaware.”
“Which bank?”
“First Atlantic.”
Grace’s head lifted.
Julian noticed.
“What?”
She stared at him.
“That’s where the safe-deposit box is.”
Nobody spoke.
Adrian said, “Who said that?”
Julian looked at Grace.
She closed her eyes.
Then she whispered, “I did.”
Adrian’s voice sharpened.
“Julian, who is that?”
“Grace.”
“The Grace?”
Marcus glanced at Julian.
Julian ignored him.
Grace said, “Claire gave me a key with a brass tag.”
Her voice shook now, but she continued.
“The tag had 417 stamped into it.”
Adrian was silent.
Julian said, “Go on.”
“I called banks after the break-in.”
Grace looked toward the open garage door.
“I didn’t tell anyone my name.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
“And First Atlantic?”
“They asked whether I had a branch number.”
“What did you say?”
“I hung up.”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
“You called from your phone?”
“No.”
“Whose?”
“A prepaid one.”
“Where is it?”
“I destroyed it.”
Marcus gave Julian a small nod.
Grace saw.
“What?”
Marcus said, “That was smart.”
She looked almost offended by the compliment.
“I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You sounded surprised.”
Marcus opened his mouth.
Julian said, “Not now.”
Adrian cut in.
“First Atlantic had a private-vault branch in Wilmington seven years ago.”
“Had?”
“It closed four years ago.”
Grace frowned.
“Then how is the box still there?”
“It may not be.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed.
“What happened to the contents?”
“I’m checking.”
“Check faster.”
Adrian exhaled.
“You’ve said that.”
“I’ll keep saying it.”
Julian ended the call before Adrian could respond.
He looked at Marcus.
“Get Tomas upstairs.”
“I’m fine.”
Tomas tried to stand.
His knees disagreed.
Marcus caught him by the arm.
“You’re concussed.”
“I’m not.”
“You just tried to stand sideways.”
Tomas frowned.
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Grace looked away.
Despite everything, a brief smile crossed her face.
Julian saw it.
The ordinary absurdity of injured men arguing over balance felt obscene and useful at the same time.
It reminded everyone that the world had not ended.
Not yet.
Julian pointed toward the medical room.
“Get him checked.”
Tomas muttered something about not needing stitches.
Marcus guided him away.
Julian turned to Grace.
“You’re telling me where the key is.”
She looked toward the stairs.
“Not here.”
“Then where?”
“I said not here.”
Julian stepped closer.
“Someone just cut the brake line on a car you and your daughter were supposed to ride in.”
“I saw.”
“So stop protecting a secret that has already put her in danger.”
Grace’s face tightened.
“You think I don’t know that?”
Her voice cracked.
“I have been thinking about nothing else for three weeks.”
Julian stopped.
Grace pressed her fingers against her forehead.
“I moved her bed away from the window.”
She gave a small, embarrassed laugh that had no humor in it.
“I changed grocery stores because I thought the same man was behind me twice.”
Julian listened.
“I stopped letting her wear the backpack with her name on it.”
Grace’s eyes filled, but she blinked the tears away angrily.
“I told my sister I was being paranoid because saying the truth out loud would make it real.”
Julian’s anger thinned.
Grace looked toward the garage where Tomas had been.
“And now a man is bleeding because of me.”
“No.”
Julian’s answer came too quickly.
Grace stared at him.
He said, “Because of whoever came here.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I kept the key.”
“Claire asked you to.”
“I could have thrown it into the river.”
“You didn’t.”
“That was my choice.”
Julian stepped closer.
“And if you had thrown it away, Claire’s last attempt to protect whatever truth she found would be gone.”
Grace’s mouth tightened.
“You don’t know if she was protecting truth.”
“What else?”
“Maybe she was protecting you.”
Julian went still.
Grace lowered her voice.
“Maybe those are not the same thing.”
The sentence landed quietly.
Julian looked toward the black SUV with its severed brake line.
He could hear his father’s voice in his head.
Truth was useful only when controlled.
Arthur had said that once during a business dispute.
Julian had been twenty-five.
He had thought it sounded intelligent.
Now it sounded like something a frightened man would teach his sons.
“Where is the key?” Julian asked again.
Grace looked at him for a long moment.
Then she said, “At Saint Agnes.”
Julian frowned.
“The church?”
“Yes.”
“You go there?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“My mother did.”
Grace folded her arms tightly.
“She died when I was nineteen.”
Julian waited.
“There’s a memorial wall in the basement chapel.”
May you like
Grace looked down.
“People leave small things behind the plaques sometimes.”
