Chapter 5: The Name in the Photograph
We reached the underground garage with the alarm still screaming above us.
Damien's hand never left mine.
Victor ran ahead.
“Car's ready!””
A black SUV waited near the elevator.
Two other vehicles were already positioned around it.
Men stood beside them.
Armed.
Watching.
I stopped.
“This is insane.””
Damien turned.
“Yes.””
“You're taking me somewhere?””
“Somewhere safe.””
“Does such a place exist?””
“For you tonight, yes.””
He opened the SUV door.
I didn't get in.
“Tell me the truth.””
He looked at me.
“All of it.””
“Not tonight.””
“Yes, tonight.””
His jaw tightened.
I stepped closer.
“You showed me my father's file. You know about Brandon. You know about my marriage contract. Someone threatened my mother.””
I pointed toward the building.
“And somehow, everyone keeps acting like I'm holding a secret I don't even know exists.””
Damien said nothing.
“So tell me.””
His eyes stayed on mine.
Then he reached inside his coat.
He pulled out a small photograph.
Old.
Bent at one corner.
He handed it to me.
I stared.
My father stood beside a young woman.
She had dark hair.
Elegant clothes.
A confident smile.
I didn't recognize her.
But Damien did.
“This was taken twenty-five years ago.””
“Who is she?””
“My mother.””
I looked at him.
“What?””
“Your father knew her.””
I looked back at the photograph.
My father's hand rested lightly against the woman's shoulder.
They looked familiar.
Too familiar.
“Were they…”
“No.””
Damien's answer came quickly.
“They were business partners.””
I looked at him.
“You're sure?””
“Yes.””
“Then why do they look like that?””
“Like what?””
“Like they trusted each other.””
Damien was silent.
Then:
“They did.””
I swallowed.
“What happened?””
“My mother disappeared.””
“When?””
“Twenty-five years ago.””
“Did she die?””
“We don't know.””
The answer sent a chill through me.
“What does that have to do with me?””
Damien didn't answer.
Instead, he took another photograph from his pocket.
This one was newer.
I looked at it.
My breath stopped.
It was me.
As a child.
Maybe seven or eight years old.
I was standing beside my father.
And beside him was the same woman from the first photograph.
I stared at Damien.
“I've never seen this.””
“I know.””
“Who took it?””
“My father.””
“Why?””
“I don't know.””
I looked closer.
Behind us was a building.
A red brick building with a faded sign.
I recognized it.
My childhood home.
Except there was something else in the photograph.
A man stood in the doorway.
I zoomed in with my eyes.
Even after twenty years, I knew that face.
My father's old business partner.
Brandon's father.
I whispered, “Why was he there?””
Damien took the photograph back.
“That's what I've been trying to find out.””
“You've been investigating my family?””
“For years.””
“Why?””
“Because your father left behind a debt.””
I shook my head.
“My father died broke.””
“Publicly.””
“What does that mean?””
“It means the money was moved before anyone knew he was dying.””
I stared at him.
“How much?””
Damien hesitated.
“Enough to start a war.””
My pulse raced.
“What kind of war?””
“The kind where people disappear.””
I stepped backward.
“No.””
“Hannah—”
“No. My father was a good man.””
“I believe you.””
“You don't.””
“I do.””
“Then why are you telling me all this?””
“Because you deserve to know why you're being hunted.””
A car screeched somewhere above the garage.
Victor turned.
“Boss.””
Damien's attention snapped toward the ramp.
Headlights appeared.
One vehicle.
Then another.
Then three more.
Victor raised his weapon.
“Those aren't ours.””
Damien pushed me behind the SUV.
“Get in.””
“But—”
“Now.””
I climbed inside.
Damien followed.
Victor jumped into the driver's seat.
The convoy accelerated out of the garage.
Behind us, gunfire erupted.
I ducked.
“Are they following us?””
Victor checked the mirror.
“Yes.””
Damien pulled out his phone.
“Take Lake Shore.””
Victor shook his head.
“Too exposed.””
“Then use the west route.””
“They'll anticipate it.””
Damien looked at me.
Then at the photograph.
Something clicked.
“Stop.””
Victor hit the brakes.
The SUV swerved.
“What?””
Damien stared at the old picture.
“Turn around.””
“Boss?””
“The photograph.””
He took it from my hands.
“The building behind Hannah.””
I looked.
“What about it?””
Damien pointed.
“That's not your childhood home.””
I frowned.
“Yes, it is.””
“No.””
He turned the photograph sideways.
“Look at the street sign.””
I squinted.
My heart stopped.
It wasn't our street.
It was another neighborhood.
One I'd never lived in.
But I'd seen the name before.
On the legal document.
The same company.
The same address.
The same initials.
“Where is that?”” I whispered.
Damien's answer was barely audible.
“Blackwood's first warehouse.””
I stared at him.
“Then why was I there?””
“I don't know.””
He looked at the photograph again.
Then at me.
“Unless your father wasn't hiding money.””
“What was he hiding?””
Damien turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
Four words.
My father's handwriting.
*Protect her from Brandon.*
I couldn't breathe.
Damien read it twice.
Then a fifth word became visible beneath the faded ink.
A name.
Not mine.
Not Brandon's.
Not Damien's.
A woman's name.
Damien's face went completely still.
“What's wrong?””
He didn't answer.
“Damien.””
His fingers tightened around the photograph.
Finally, he whispered:
“That's my mother's name.””
The SUV fell silent.
Then my phone began ringing.
I looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
I answered before Damien could stop me.
A woman's voice whispered one sentence.
“Hannah, if Damien is with you, don't trust him.””
The call ended.
And beneath the screen, another message appeared.
A photograph.
My mother.
Alive.
May you like
Standing beside Brandon.
And the timestamp on the picture was *five minutes ago*.
