Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Dominic stared at me as though I'd just opened a door he had spent six years trying to break down.
“What's your mother's name?”
I swallowed.
“Evelyn Bennett.”
His expression changed.
He repeated the name slowly.
“Evelyn Bennett.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
My throat tightened.
“She died four years ago.”
Dominic looked away.
For a moment, the room was completely silent.
Then he asked, “What did she do?”
“She taught music. Piano, mostly. Sometimes voice lessons.”
“Where?”
“Brooklyn. Before we moved to Yonkers.”
Dominic crossed toward a cabinet and removed a thick leather folder.
He opened it on the piano.
Inside were photographs.
Old letters.
Newspaper clippings.
And one faded picture of his sister standing beside a woman wearing a green coat.
My breath caught.
“Mom?”
Dominic looked at me.
“You recognize her?”
I touched the photograph with trembling fingers.
“That was her favorite coat.”
My mother was smiling.
She looked younger than I remembered.
Beside her stood Dominic's sister.
On the back was a handwritten date.
October 18, 2019.
Six years earlier.
Two weeks before the disappearance.
“What's your sister's name?” I whispered.
“Isabella.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“She never mentioned Isabella.”
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“Isabella told me she was investigating something involving an old music foundation. She said a teacher named Evelyn Bennett had evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at him.
For years, I'd believed my mother lived an ordinary life.
She taught piano.
Made terrible coffee.
Collected grocery coupons.
And sang while washing dishes.
But apparently, she had been involved in something dangerous enough to attract the attention of a mafia family.
Dominic turned another page.
“This was found in Isabella's apartment.”
He showed me a handwritten note.
If anything happens, listen to the last verse.
My stomach tightened.
“The last verse?”
Dominic nodded.
“The recording ends before the song is finished.”
He pressed play again.
I listened carefully.
The melody was familiar.
But something felt wrong.
The rhythm changed just before the final chorus.
My mother had always taught me that music could carry messages.
Sometimes she hid little jokes inside her compositions.
Sometimes she changed notes to remind students where to breathe.
I leaned closer.
“Play that section again.”
Dominic obeyed.
I closed my eyes.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Then I heard it.
A sequence of notes that didn't belong.
Seven notes.
Repeated twice.
I opened my eyes.
“That's not part of the song.”
Dominic went still.
“What is it?”
I swallowed.
“My mother used that pattern whenever she wanted me to remember something.”
“What?”
“A number.”
His expression hardened.
“What number?”
I listened again.
Then whispered:
“Four. One. Seven. Nine. Two. Six. Three.”
Dominic immediately looked toward Marcus, who had been waiting outside.
“Check it.”
Marcus disappeared.
Twenty minutes later, he returned looking stunned.
“Boss, those numbers match an old storage account.”
Dominic stood.
“Whose?”
Marcus looked at me.
May you like
Then answered:
“Evelyn Bennett's. And someone accessed it yesterday.”
