Chapter 2 - The Ledger
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I carried Leo out of the penthouse.
He wouldn't stop shaking. Wouldn't let go of my neck. His breath was hot against my skin, hitching with every step.
"Mommy, I want to go home."
"We're going home. Right now."
Victor didn't try to stop us. He just stood there. Sipping his scotch. Watching.
"Think about it, Maya. You have forty-eight hours. Then I come for something else."
I didn't turn around. Didn't give him the satisfaction.
The elevator doors closed. We descended. The city lights blurred past.
Forty-eight hours.
I took Leo to the hospital. They checked him out. Bruises on his fingers. Cuts on his palms. Nothing broken. Nothing permanent.
But his eyes... his eyes were different. Something had changed.
"Mommy?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Why did Uncle Victor do that?"
I didn't have an answer.
"He said I stole something. But I didn't. I promise."
"I know, baby. I know."
"Then why?"
I pulled him close. Held him tight.
"Because Uncle Victor is sick. He's not well."
"Is he going to hurt us again?"
"No. I won't let him."
But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie.
Victor always got what he wanted.
Always.
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We got home at midnight. Leo fell asleep on the couch. I covered him with a blanket. Watched him breathe.
Then I went to my bedroom. Opened the closet. Moved the shoeboxes. Found the loose floorboard.
The ledger was there. Leather-bound. Worn. Faded.
Dad's handwriting on every page. Dates. Names. Amounts.
Ten years of secrets.
Ten years of crimes.
I'd never looked at it. Not once. When Dad died, he'd left it to me. Made me promise to keep it safe. To never show anyone.
I never asked why.
Now I wished I had.
I opened the cover. Read the first page.
March 3rd, 1987. Payment to Detective Marcus Webb. $15,000. Case dismissed.
I flipped through. Page after page. Names I recognized. Judges. Cops. Politicians.
And then I saw it.
November 12th, 1995. Payment to Victor DeLuca. $50,000. Contract fulfilled.
Victor.
My brother.
He was in the ledger. He was part of this.
I kept reading.
December 5th, 1995. Payment to Victor DeLuca. $75,000. Second contract.
January 18th, 1996. Payment to Victor DeLuca. $100,000. Third contract.
Three contracts. Three payments. In three months.
What had he done?
I turned the page. Found a newspaper clipping. Yellowed with age.
LOCAL BUSINESSMAN FOUND DEAD IN APPARENT SUICIDE
Harold Chen, 52, discovered in his office with a single gunshot wound to the head.
I remembered Harold Chen. He owned a restaurant. Dad's rival. There had been rumors... rumors that he was going to expose Dad's operation.
He died before he could.
The clipping was dated January 20th, 1996.
Two days after Victor's third payment.
I closed the ledger. My hands were shaking.
Victor wasn't just a criminal. He was a killer.
And Dad... Dad had paid him.
I sat there. On the floor. In the dark.
Everything I thought I knew was wrong.
Everything.
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