Chapter 6 - The Debt Roman Never KnewRoman did not sleep that night.
Naen knew because she did not sleep either.
At 2:17 a.m., she found him standing beside the living-room window in the apartment he had insisted they use until Vance was located.
It was not really an apartment.
It occupied the entire thirty-second floor of a secured building overlooking the river.
Three bedrooms.
Marble kitchen.
Windows taller than Naen’s old apartment.
A refrigerator filled with food she had not purchased.
Leo had spent his first twenty minutes running from room to room shouting about the bathtub having “water that comes from the ceiling.”
He was sleeping now.
Safe.
Two armed men guarded the elevator.
Victor occupied the guest room.
Another team watched the street.
And Roman still stood at the window as if danger could climb thirty-two floors of glass.
Naen approached quietly.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”
Roman did not turn.
“Go back to bed.”
“You first.”
Silence.
Naen stopped beside him.
The city stretched beneath them.
Millions of lights.
Millions of windows.
Millions of lives Roman could never completely control.
“Tell me about Vance.”
“No.”
“Roman.”
“No.”
She sighed.
“You realize saying no to me has an extremely low success rate.”
That earned nothing.
Not even the beginning of a smile.
Naen leaned against the glass.
“You’re scared.”
Roman looked at her.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Stop telling me what I feel.”
“Then tell me.”
His jaw tightened.
Naen waited.
Finally:
“Vance worked for Dominic Vale.”
“Who?”
“The man my father owed.”
Roman looked toward the river.
“Vale controlled the docks before I did.”
“Loans.”
“Protection.”
“Smuggling.”
“Everything moving through the east terminals passed through him.”
Naen listened.
“My father borrowed eight thousand dollars.”
Roman continued.
“By the time Vale finished adding interest, he claimed the debt was sixty thousand.”
“That’s impossible.”
“That was the point.”
Roman’s voice hardened.
“You didn’t repay Vale.”
“You belonged to him.”
Naen thought about the photograph.
“Your father owed more than money.”
Roman nodded.
“My father began working for Vale.”
“What did he do?”
“I never knew.”
Roman looked at his hands.
“He came home late.”
“Sometimes injured.”
“Sometimes carrying cash.”
“My mother stopped asking questions.”
“Then one night he told us we were leaving.”
Naen’s chest tightened.
“He had tickets?”
“Bus tickets.”
“Three.”
“Chicago.”
Roman laughed without humor.
“We never reached the station.”
Naen already knew how the story ended.
Still, hearing it was different.
“Vance came to the house.”
Roman’s voice flattened.
“He dragged my father outside.”
“My mother made me hide beneath the kitchen table.”
“I watched through the window.”
Naen reached for his hand.
Roman let her take it.
“He begged.”
Those two words almost broke.
Roman swallowed.
“I had never heard my father beg.”
Naen squeezed his fingers.
“Vance shot him.”
Silence filled the room.
“And your mother?”
“She died four years later.”
“Cancer.”
Roman looked at Naen.
“She spent those four years terrified Vale would come for me.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I thought because I was a child.”
Roman turned toward the window again.
“Now I’m not sure.”
At 7:00 a.m., Victor arrived carrying a locked metal box.
Inside were old documents.
Roman’s father’s employment records.
Dock manifests.
Photographs.
And a ledger.
Naen sat at the kitchen island while Roman and Victor went through it.
Numbers.
Initials.
Container codes.
Dates from almost two decades earlier.
Roman pushed it aside.
“Nothing.”
Naen picked it up.
“Maybe you’re reading it wrong.”
Roman looked at her.
“I’ve been reading ledgers since you were in school.”
“And I’ve spent the last three months cleaning up your accounting.”
Victor hid a smile.
Roman glared.
Naen opened the ledger.
At first, she saw nothing unusual.
Then she noticed something.
“Why are some container numbers repeated?”
Roman leaned closer.
“They aren’t.”
“They are.”
She pointed.
“C-1187.”
Another page.
“C-1187.”
Again.
Different date.
Same number.
Victor frowned.
“Container numbers don’t repeat.”
“Exactly.”
Naen took a legal pad.
Within twenty minutes, she had twelve repeated codes.
Roman watched her.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for a pattern.”
The repeated codes corresponded with cash withdrawals.
Not large.
Five thousand.
Eight thousand.
Twelve thousand.
Then suddenly:
$1.8 million.
Roman leaned forward.
“What the hell?”
Naen found another.
$2.4 million.
Another.
$3.1 million.
Victor whistled.
“Your father was moving serious money.”
“No.”
Roman shook his head.
“He was a dockworker.”
Naen turned several pages.
“Maybe that’s why Vance came back.”
She found the final entry.
$14,700,000.
Roman went still.
Beside the amount was a handwritten note.
TRANSFERRED — RC.
Naen looked up.
“RC?”
Roman’s expression had changed.
“My initials.”
The room became silent.
Victor spoke first.
“You were thirteen.”
“I know.”
Roman stared at the page.
Naen understood before he did.
“Your father put something in your name.”
Roman looked at her.
“What?”
“Money.”
“Property.”
“An account.”
“Something.”
She tapped the ledger.
“He wasn’t just running from Vale.”
“He stole from him.”
Roman’s phone rang.
Victor checked the number.
“Unknown.”
Roman answered.
“Vance.”
A voice spoke.
Roman’s face hardened.
Naen could not hear the words.
Then Roman said:
“Where?”
A pause.
“No.”
Another pause.
His eyes moved toward Naen.
Vance said something else.
Roman ended the call.
“What?”
Naen asked.
“He wants to meet.”
“Where?”
“The old east terminal.”
Victor shook his head.
“Trap.”
“Obviously.”
“When?”
Roman looked at the clock.
“Midnight.”
Naen crossed her arms.
“And you’re not going.”
Roman almost laughed.
“I am.”
“Then I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Roman—”
“Absolutely not.”
She stood.
“This concerns me.”
“This concerns my father.”
“He photographed my son.”
“That is exactly why you’re staying here.”
Naen stared at him.
Then she nodded.
“Fine.”
Roman narrowed his eyes.
“What?”
“I said fine.”
Victor looked immediately suspicious.
Roman knew her better.
“No.”
Naen smiled.
“You don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“Whatever you’re planning, no.”
She walked toward the bedroom.
“Good talk.”
At 11:40 p.m., Roman discovered that Naen had disappeared.
At 11:44, Victor discovered that Ellis had helped her.
At 11:51, Roman threatened to kill Ellis.
At 11:52, Victor reminded Roman that killing the man currently driving Naen toward the east terminal would be logistically inconvenient.
At 11:58, Naen stepped from Ellis’s car wearing a black coat and the expression of a woman who had already decided the argument was worth surviving.
Roman stood beside his SUV.
His face was terrifying.
Naen walked toward him.
“You can yell later.”
“I may strangle you.”
“Also later.”
“Naen.”
She stopped before him.
“You brought six armed men.”
“Eight.”
“Exactly.”
She looked toward the abandoned terminal.
“I brought the ledger.”
Roman froze.
“You what?”
“Relax.”
She held up her purse.
“It’s a copy.”
Victor appeared behind Roman.
“You made copies?”
“I work in an office, Victor.”
She looked at him.
“It’s practically my entire skill set.”
Roman rubbed a hand over his face.
“Get in the car.”
“No.”
“Naen.”
A light appeared inside the terminal.
Then another.
Vance was waiting.
The old freight terminal smelled of rust, river water, and history.
Michael Vance stood alone beneath a hanging industrial lamp.
He was older than his photographs.
Sixties.
Silver hair.
Expensive coat.
Nothing about him suggested the brutal man from Roman’s childhood.
That made him worse.
His eyes went to Naen.
“So.”
He smiled.
“The famous waitress.”
Roman stepped in front of her.
“You wanted me.”
“I wanted both of you.”
Vance looked amused.
“Though I admit, I didn’t expect her to come voluntarily.”
“You photographed my son.”
Naen’s voice was cold.
Vance’s smile faded slightly.
“I needed Roman’s attention.”
“You had it.”
She stepped around Roman.
“Do it again and you’ll have mine.”
Vance studied her.
Then laughed.
“I understand the attraction.”
Roman’s hand moved toward his coat.
Naen touched his wrist.
Not yet.
She opened her purse.
Pulled out the copied ledger.
Vance’s face changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
Naen saw it.
“So that’s what you want.”
Vance recovered.
“You don’t know what you’re holding.”
“Then explain it.”
Vance looked at Roman.
“Your father stole fourteen million dollars from Dominic Vale.”
Roman’s expression remained blank.
“He hid it.”
Vance continued.
“Vale believed your father transferred it to you.”
“I was thirteen.”
“Exactly.”
“That made you the perfect hiding place.”
Roman stared.
“Where is it?”
Vance smiled.
“That is the question that has kept me awake for seventeen years.”
Naen frowned.
“If you don’t know where the money is, why come back now?”
Vance looked at her.
“Because Dominic Vale died six months ago.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“And?”
“And his estate was opened.”
Vance stepped closer.
“Inside his private records was a note written by your father.”
Roman’s breathing changed.
Vance removed a folded piece of paper.
Roman did not take it.
Naen did.
Three lines.
If I die, Roman owns the truth.
Laura knows where it sleeps.
Naen read it twice.
Then looked up.
“Laura?”
Roman’s face went still.
The restaurant.
Laura.
The place where Naen had been fired.
The place Roman had purchased.
Vance smiled.
“Now you understand.”
Roman turned toward Naen.
Her mind was already racing.
Laura.
Not a woman.
A location.
A secret hidden for seventeen years.
Inside the very restaurant where their lives had crossed again.
Vance stepped backward.
“I’ll give you forty-eight hours.”
“For what?” Roman asked.
“To find what your father hid.”
Vance smiled.
“Then you give it to me.”
“And if I don’t?”
Vance’s eyes moved toward Naen.
Roman drew his gun.
Instantly.
Vance raised both hands.
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re not.”
“Roman.”
Naen’s voice stopped him.
Vance smiled.
“You really have changed.”
He disappeared into the darkness.
Roman turned on Naen.
“You should never have come.”
“And if I hadn’t?”
She held up the note.
“You might have shot the only man who knew this existed.”
Roman said nothing.
Naen moved closer.
“Your father left you something.”
Roman stared at the paper.
Not money.
Not yet.
Something far more dangerous.
May you like
An answer.
And somewhere inside Laura, seventeen years of blood were waiting to be uncovered.
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