Chapter 6 - THE COMPASS THAT POINTED TO A TRAITOR
The numbers inside my father's compass weren't coordinates.
They were a bank deposit reference.
Alexander recognized the format immediately.
"That's from an old private banking institution my father used."
We sat inside his office overlooking Central Park.
Mateo had insisted on coming.
He placed the compass on Alexander's desk.
"Dad said Sophia would know what to do if something bad happened."
I felt tears sting my eyes.
"I didn't even know you had it."
Mateo looked ashamed.
"I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone until I was older."
I squeezed his hand.
"You did nothing wrong."
Alexander examined the compartment.
There was another tiny marking beneath the hinge.
A date.
The day before Dad was attacked.
Marcus Bell entered carrying a folder.
"We've confirmed the deposit reference. The account was closed six years ago, but the original bank retains archival records."
"Who accessed it?" Alexander asked.
Marcus hesitated.
"Daniel Ashford."
Alexander's expression hardened.
"Before or after the subway attack?"
"Forty-eight hours after."
I stared at him.
"Your brother knew my father had been killed."
Alexander nodded slowly.
"And he apparently retrieved something connected to him."
The discovery felt like betrayal all over again.
Had my father died protecting Daniel?
Or had Daniel helped arrange the attack?
Charles entered the office.
When he saw the compass, he stopped.
"Where did you get that?"
"Mateo had it," I said.
Charles picked it up with shaking hands.
"Miguel used this during training."
Alexander frowned.
"Why?"
"Because Quiet Current isn't just a fighting discipline. It's a method of observation."
He turned the compass over.
"The students learned to read small shifts in an opponent's balance. Miguel used the compass to teach patience and direction."
I remembered Dad's voice.
Real strength doesn't need applause.
Charles pressed the brass casing.
A second hidden compartment sprang open.
Inside was a tiny photograph.
Three people stood outside the old Queens training school.
My father.
Anthony Ashford.
And a teenage boy.
Alexander leaned closer.
His breath caught.
"That's Daniel."
Charles shook his head.
"No."
He pointed at the boy.
"That's Victor Kane's son."
Alexander stared at the photograph.
"But he looks exactly like Daniel."
Charles closed his eyes.
"Because Victor Kane wasn't just Anthony's enemy."
May you like
He looked at Alexander.
"He was your mother's first husband."
