Chapter 4 - The Red Envelope
I set the kettle down on the cold burner as quietly as possible. My heart was beating so fast I could feel it pulsing in my throat, in my ears, behind my eyes.
"Lucia," I whispered, stepping softly toward her. "Go into my bedroom. Get under the bed and stay completely quiet. Do not come out until I tell you. Do you understand?"
Her eyes filled with instant terror, but she nodded, slipping silently out of her chair and scurrying down the short hallway into my bedroom, clicking the door shut behind her.
I picked up the iron fire poker resting beside the radiator, gripping the cold metal until my knuckles turned white, and stepped into the small entryway.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Mrs. Reyes," the voice repeated from the other side of the wood. "We don't want to break the frame. It makes a loud noise, and your neighbors will call the police. That creates complications for everyone."
I approached the door, keeping my body turned to the side, positioning myself near the hinge where a bullet wouldn't easily penetrate if they fired through the lock.
"I have already called the police," I lied, my voice remarkably steady despite the terror raging inside me. "They are on their way. Leave now, or you'll be arrested for trespassing."
A cold, dry chuckle came from the hallway.
"The 12th District police response time in Pilsen on a Friday morning is twenty-two minutes, Mrs. Reyes," the man said smoothly. "We will be long gone before a patrol car turns the corner. Now open the door, or we will open it for you."
I swallowed hard, looking at the thin wooden panel, the simple deadbolt, the fragile brass chain. It wouldn't hold against a kick from a grown man.
If they burst in here, I could swing the poker once, maybe twice, but if there were two of them, I had no chance. And then Lucia would be left entirely at their mercy.
"What do you want?" I demanded, my hands tightening on the iron bar.
"Mr. Vincent Kane sent us," the voice replied. "He wishes to express his gratitude for your daughter's... intervention yesterday. He has a small gesture of appreciation for you."
"I don't want his money, and I don't want his gratitude," I snapped. "Leave it in the hallway and go."
Silence fell outside the door. Three long seconds passed. Then four.
"Underneath the door, Mrs. Reyes," the voice said. "Take a look. Then decide if you want to keep talking through the wood."
I heard the crisp scrape of paper against the threshold.
I looked down. A thick, crimson-red envelope slid slowly through the gap between the bottom of the door and the hardwood floor, coming to rest near my shoes.
I didn't move for ten seconds. I kept my weapon raised, listening for the sound of retreating footsteps.
Heavy boots clicked against the concrete steps of the stairwell, moving down toward the street level. A heavy heavy metal exit door slammed shut in the courtyard below.
They were gone.
I let out a long, ragged breath, my knees trembling so violently I almost collapsed against the wall. I lowered the iron fire poker, crouched down, and picked up the red envelope with shaking fingers.
It was heavy, made of high-grade stock paper, sealed with a circle of dark black wax stamped with an embossed letter K.
I slid my thumb under the flap, tearing it open.
Inside was a single thick sheet of cream stationary and a photograph.
I pulled out the photograph first.
My breath caught in my throat, a wave of sickening nausea washing over me.
It was a photograph taken three hours ago, at seven o'clock this morning. It showed Lucia standing near her bedroom window, taken from the roof of the residential building across the narrow alleyway. She was framed perfectly in the center of the crosshairs of a long-range camera lens.
My hand shook so violently the photo almost slipped from my fingers.
I turned the cream stationary over and read the short, handwritten message written in dark black ink:
Mrs. Reyes,
Miracles are beautiful things, but they are also unpredictable. My brother’s recovery is a sensitive matter for our family and our business partners.
Enclosed is $50,000 in a cashier's check. Take your daughter, pack your bags, and leave Chicago by midnight tonight. Do not return. Do not speak to the press, the police, or anyone at St. Adrian’s Hospital.
If you are still in Illinois by sunrise on Saturday, the next picture I send will not be taken through a camera lens.
V.K.
I stared at the paper, the words burning into my brain like acid. Fifty thousand dollars. A fortune for someone like me. Enough to pay rent for three years, enough to move to another state, start over, buy a used car, and keep Lucia safe.
It wasn't a bribe. It was an eviction notice signed by a murderer.
Vincent Kane wasn't trying to protect his brother. He was trying to eliminate anyone who had witnessed Dario’s awakening before he could finish what he started in that underground garage three weeks ago.
If I took the money and ran, Vincent would win. He would take control of Kane Maritime, he would shut off Dario’s life support, or worse, make sure he never woke up again.
And if I stayed... my daughter would die.
"Mama?"
I spun around. Lucia was standing in the doorway of the hallway, clutching her small brown teddy bear against her chest, looking at me with wide, terrified eyes.
"Are the bad men gone?" she asked softly.
I looked at the photograph in my hand, then at the red envelope, then at my beautiful, innocent daughter.
May you like
There was no choice. A mother doesn't negotiate with monsters. She flees, or she fights.
"Yes, baby," I said, my voice turning to absolute steel as I stuffed the red envelope into my coat pocket and grabbed our travel bags from the closet. "The bad men are gone. But we have to pack. Right now."
