Chapter 5 - THE SECRET UNDER HALCYON TOWER
"Your brother is alive."
I said the words slowly.
Roman didn't respond.
He stared at the photograph until Dominic gently touched his shoulder.
"Boss."
Roman looked up.
"We need to verify it."
But his voice had changed.
He wanted to believe.
I understood that feeling.
For three years, I'd watched my father struggle after his stroke.
Every time he moved a finger or managed a new word, I'd convinced myself things were about to improve.
Hope could be dangerous.
But sometimes it was the only thing keeping us alive.
Roman contacted a retired structural engineer who had worked on Halcyon Tower.
The man agreed to speak with investigators.
His name was Walter Price.
He was seventy-two.
And when he saw my father's photograph, he began crying.
"Henry Whitmore."
I leaned forward.
"You knew my dad?"
Walter nodded.
"He was the best engineer on that project."
"What happened?"
Walter looked at Roman.
"Your brother discovered that the building's underground levels weren't being constructed according to approved plans."
Roman crossed his arms.
"What was hidden there?"
Walter hesitated.
"Storage facilities. Private archives. Secure rooms."
"Archives of what?"
"Financial records."
I frowned.
"Why would someone hide financial records under a skyscraper?"
Walter looked frightened.
"Because those records proved who really owned several major construction and shipping companies."
Roman's jaw tightened.
"The Black Crown."
Walter nodded.
"Your brother planned to expose them."
"And my father?"
"Henry helped him."
I leaned closer.
"Then why did Preston steal Dad's company?"
Walter looked at me with pity.
"Because your father kept copies of the original plans."
I felt the breath leave my chest.
"Where?"
Walter shook his head.
"I don't know."
Then he added:
"But your father once told me that if anything happened, he would leave the truth somewhere only his daughter could find."
I froze.
"Me?"
Walter nodded.
"He said you were the only person he trusted with the building's original design."
I stared at him.
At twenty-two, I'd spent countless nights studying my father's architectural drawings.
Sometimes he'd let me help organize them.
He'd even encouraged me to create my own designs.
Then I remembered.
A sketchbook.
A black leather sketchbook my father had given me for my twenty-first birthday.
I hadn't opened it in years.
It was sitting in a cardboard box beneath my bed.
Roman noticed my expression.
"Sloan?"
I looked up.
"I think I know where the plans are."
Then my phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
DON'T GO HOME. THEY'RE ALREADY INSIDE.
Attached was a photograph of my apartment door.
Standing outside it was Preston Hayes.
And beside him stood someone I recognized from the nightclub.
My manager.
The man who had watched Preston humiliate me.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Then whispered:
"He was working for Preston all along."
