Chapter thirteen

ANNA’S POV

Matt left us three blocks outside the gates of the estate. The SUV drove away without Headlights. I held my shoulders down and walked with Michael. The rain had now fallen to a slow drizzle, and soaked through my blazer and stuck my hair to my neck. I didn’t care. I concentrated on the cameras on the perimeter, and counted the sweeps, how we moved between the blind areas.

Michael proceeded, inspecting the chain-link fence around the service driveway. He didn’t hesitate. He simply slipped under the bottom rail, and motioned me to come with him. I fell on one knee, plucked through, and was on my feet before the mud seized my footwear. He did not turn his head back. He simply continued to walk towards the side door.

You are aware of the blind spots, I said, and I kept my voice low.

“I grew up here.” He had a look at the keypad next to the steel door. My mother rearranged the codes with the merger. She forgot that I had memorized the previous order before she began to trust guards more than family.

He typed in six numbers. The green light came on. The lock disengaged. He banged the door and entered the dark passage. I followed.

The service passage was reeking of concrete and cleaning agent. Fluorescent lamps were flickering above. We stuck to the walls and proceeded to the stairwell that headed to the basement server room. My cell phone remained in my pocket. Screen off. No signals. I did not want the system of Elena to pick up a ping.

Michael led the way down the stairs. I kept a tally of the steps. Twenty-four. The basement door was below a biometric scanner and a manual override panel. He tapped his thumb on the scanner. It flashed red. Denied. He didn’t curse. He simply drew a little magnetic strip out of his wallet, slipped it under the panel, and punched a code on the manual keypad. The green light came on. The door squeaked open.

I stepped inside. Cold air hit me. The server room was filled with whirring racks, glowing status lights, and a workstation at the opposite end. I went directly to the console and fished out a flash drive in my inner pocket. I inserted it into the USB, evaded the firewall using a script I had created to run internal audits at Basano, and extracted the security archive.

The terminal loaded. I typed in the date range. Five years ago. The evening Don Enzo was killed.

Michael was standing behind me. I could sense him searching the room, glimpsing the door, following my hands. He didn’t speak. He just waited.

I tapped the main camera feed. The screen was divided in four angles. Driveway. Study. Hallway. Kitchen. I selected the hallway feed and hit play.

The timestamp matched. Rain upon the windows. Hardwood footsteps. Don Enzo entered the frame, with a phone in his hand. He looked tired. He walked towards the door of the study. The hallway mirror was captured by the camera. A shadow passed behind him. Not a guard. Not a hitman. Don Alex Basano. My father.

I leaned closer. The video remained clear. Don Alex didn’t raise a weapon. He extended a tablet. Don Enzo glanced at it and shook his head and passed by him. They stepped into the study. The feed was changed to the study camera. Don Alex put the tablet on the desk. Don Enzo read it. His posture stiffened. He threw a paperweight. It broke against the wall.

Then the sound came on.

“Sign the override,” Elena’s voice said. She was in the door. I hadn’t seen her enter. Or I spill the beans to the feds by morning.

Don Alex didn’t flinch. “You’re overplaying your hand, Elena. You don’t have the leverage.”

“I have the boy.” She didn’t look at him. She gazed at the camera. He has already been within the system, he only does not know it yet.

Don Enzo banged his hand on the desk. You are shielding yourself with your own son?

I am taking him as insurance. She swiveled around and looked down the corridor. The fall is established. The records shift to-night. Walk, and I shoot the story. Michael takes the rap on the leak. You take the rap on the cover-up. Select.

Don Alex laughed. Actually laughed. “You think you can control this? You have a ledger that you do not comprehend.

I know what I am holding all right. She went nearer to the desk. “Sign it.”

A shot rang out.

Don Enzo dropped. The blood fell on the floor. The camera glitched. The feed switched to dead. Then it rebooted. The time stamp flew ahead. Three days. Not five years.

I sat back. My hands went still on the keyboard.

Michael went to the console. His eyes remained fixed on the screen. “They looped it.”

“They didn’t just loop it.” I called up the access log. It was not activated off the hallway, but activated off the inside of the server rack. The code was planted by someone prior to the night of the hit. It took five years to drop the code.

I rolled up to the user tag of the override command. My breath caught. The access code was not that of Elena. It didn’t belong to Don Alex. It was similar to an ancient Basano employee badge. The one that I lost the week my mother drove off the bridge. The one I claimed was stolen. The one that my father said I should forget.

Michael saw it. His jaw tightened. Your father did not only finance the leak, he gave Elena the keys to my house.

I didn’t answer. I called up the second archive. I had to go to the rest. I had to find out who pulled the trigger.

My phone was vibrating on my ribs. I ignored it. It buzzed again. Then a third time. I ultimately drew it out. Cracked screen, yet operational. An unknown number sends a new message.

Check the camera in the basement. Angle four. You’ll see her.

I didn’t hesitate. I switched the feed. The supply room was indicated by angle four next to the server rack. The time was on the fly. A chair was depicted in the feed. A desk. A woman sitting by a single lamp. Her hair was gray. Her face was thinner. But I had known the set of her jaw. I was familiar with the scar on top of her left eyebrow.

My mother.

She was alive. She was down in the basement. And she was having a pen, and writing in a ledger which was the same one I had.

The message updated.

Since the accident, she has been here. Your father hushpuppied her. Ask him what the ledger is called.

The door leading to the basement closed behind us. The lock engaged. Heavy. Final.

On the stairs went footsteps. Not tactical boots. Dress shoes. Slow. Deliberate. Familiar.

The intercom crackled. The voice of Don Alex broke in. Calm. Measured. Precisely as it was in board rooms.

You ought to have left it in the box, Anna. You are both locked up now. And the cameras are already on.

I gazed at Michael. He had already headed to the door, examining the frame, probing the hinges. I put my phone back in my pocket, took the flash drive and stood up.

The steps took the head of the staircase. The handle turned.

I didn’t step back. I simply waited by the door and waited until my father came in.