Chapter 3 - The Door Behind the Wine Cellar
Roman did not tell Sadie what he had read.
Not immediately.
He folded the card and placed it inside his jacket.
Sadie watched him.
“What does it say?”
“Nothing useful.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Yes.”
Her eyebrows rose.
At least he had surprised her.
Roman motioned to Clara.
“Take Sadie upstairs.”
“No.”
Sadie remained beside the table.
Clara looked between them.
Roman sighed.
“Clara.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Leave us.”
Clara disappeared gratefully.
Sadie crossed her left arm over her chest.
“You’re terrible at asking people to stay somewhere.”
“I rarely ask.”
“I noticed.”
Despite everything, Roman nearly smiled.
Then the phone vibrated.
Tomas again.
Roman watched the name.
Sadie noticed.
“That’s him?”
Roman answered.
“Yes.”
Tomas sounded normal.
Too normal.
“We can have six men at Pier Nine in twenty minutes.”
Roman looked at the card inside his jacket.
“No.”
Silence.
“No?”
“Hold everyone.”
“Roman, there’s a hostage.”
“I said hold.”
Another pause.
“You think it’s a trap?”
“I think everything is a trap until proven otherwise.”
Tomas’s voice cooled slightly.
“Understood.”
Roman ended the call.
Sadie whispered, “You think Tomas is involved.”
Roman looked at her.
“What makes you say that?”
“You changed after reading the last card.”
Sharp.
He respected it.
“Someone wants me to think he is.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
“So what do you believe?”
Roman walked toward the windows.
“I believe someone has spent months building a machine inside my organization.”
Sadie listened.
“They moved money. Used properties. Threatened employees. Took your brother. They knew enough about my habits to predict what I would do.”
He turned.
“That means this is bigger than one captain.”
Sadie’s face tightened.
“And you still want me upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“To you.”
“That is generally the standard I use.”
Sadie almost smiled again.
Then Roman’s gaze fell toward the service corridor.
“Show me where you were Tuesday.”
She stiffened.
“Why?”
“You heard them near the west stairs.”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
Sadie led him out of the dining room.
The mansion was enormous but quiet.
Staff avoided them.
Everyone had already heard something.
In houses full of servants, secrets traveled faster than electricity.
They entered the west gallery.
Sadie stopped near a bronze statue.
“I was here.”
Roman examined the corridor.
“Where were the voices?”
She pointed.
“Below.”
They descended narrow service stairs.
At the bottom waited a storage hallway.
Wine cellar.
Dry pantry.
Cold room.
Old linen storage.
Roman had walked this corridor hundreds of times.
Sadie moved toward the wine cellar.
“There.”
Roman listened.
Nothing.
She pointed to a wall.
“I heard them behind that.”
Roman frowned.
“That’s the cellar.”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
He opened the wine cellar door.
Rows of bottles stretched beneath brick arches.
Roman turned on the lights.
Sadie followed.
The air smelled of cork, oak, and cold stone.
She walked to the rear wall.
“I heard one man say, ‘Move the girls before Friday.’”
Roman stopped.
Girls.
Not goods.
Not shipments.
Girls.
He forced his voice to remain level.
“What else?”
“The other man said the route wasn’t ready.”
“Which route?”
“I don’t know.”
Sadie ran her fingers along the brick.
“Then someone hit something metal.”
Roman examined the shelves.
Nothing obvious.
Sadie looked down.
“There.”
A scrape crossed the stone floor beneath one wine rack.
Roman crouched.
Fresh.
He pushed the rack.
It did not move.
Sadie studied the bottles.
One was crooked.
She reached for it.
Roman caught her left wrist.
“Don’t.”
She gave him a look.
“My other hand isn’t exactly available.”
“Stand back.”
Roman pulled the bottle.
Click.
The entire rack shifted forward.
Sadie stared.
Roman did too.
Behind it was a steel door.
Inside his house.
A door he did not know existed.
Sadie whispered, “That’s where they were.”
Roman drew a pistol.
Sadie looked at it.
“You carry that at breakfast?”
“I carry it in church.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“No, it isn’t.”
He opened the steel door.
A narrow staircase descended underground.
Roman turned to Sadie.
“Upstairs.”
“Absolutely not.”
“This is not bravery.”
“I know.”
“This is stupidity.”
“Possibly.”
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Roman realized she had no intention of obeying.
He removed his phone.
“Stay behind me.”
“That sounded almost like permission.”
“It wasn’t.”
They descended.
The staircase ended in a small concrete room.
A desk.
Two chairs.
A filing cabinet.
An industrial shredder.
Roman looked around slowly.
The room was recently used.
Coffee cup.
Ashtray.
Fresh cigarette.
Sadie pointed.
“Those.”
Photographs covered one wall.
Roman approached.
Shipping docks.
Trucks.
Women.
Young women.
Some looked barely eighteen.
Each photograph had dates.
Locations.
Numbers.
Sadie turned pale.
“Is this trafficking?”
Roman did not answer.
He ripped the photographs down.
Beneath them was a map.
Red lines crossed three states and ended at the harbor.
Pier Nine circled in black.
Roman studied it.
A route.
Built inside his own distribution network.
Sadie noticed a drawer beneath the desk.
“Roman.”
It was the first time she had used his name.
He looked at her.
She pointed.
The drawer was locked.
Roman broke it.
Inside lay a ledger.
Black leather.
He opened it.
Initials.
Payments.
Dates.
Eight million dollars.
And fifteen numbered accounts.
Sadie whispered, “The fifteen.”
Roman turned pages.
One through fourteen contained initials he recognized.
Captains.
Managers.
Transport supervisors.
Number fifteen was blank.
No name.
No amount.
Only one sentence.
HE DOES NOT KNOW.
Roman stared at it.
Sadie moved beside him.
“That sounds like you.”
“Yes.”
“So you’re number fifteen?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because someone wants me to believe number fifteen is Tomas.”
Sadie frowned.
Roman opened the back cover.
A small envelope fell out.
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Roman’s late wife, Elena.
Taken fifteen years earlier.
She stood outside the same mansion.
Beside her was Calvin Rusk.
Sadie watched Roman’s face.
“You knew her.”
“My wife.”
“I’m sorry.”
Roman did not hear the rest.
Because behind the photograph was a handwritten note.
He knew Elena’s handwriting instantly.
Roman,
If you find this, Calvin lied.
Do not trust—
The note ended there.
Torn in half.
Roman stared.
His wife had been dead fourteen years.
A sudden sound came from above.
Footsteps.
Several.
Roman extinguished the room light.
Sadie froze.
He raised a finger to his lips.
The steel door opened upstairs.
A man descended.
Then another.
Then a third.
Roman silently pulled Sadie behind the filing cabinet.
The first man reached the bottom.
Roman recognized his voice.
“Search everything.”
May you like
Sadie’s eyes widened.
Because the man giving the order was Tomas.
