Chapter 7 - THE WATCH THAT OPENED EVERYTHING
The inheritance was Ethan’s watch.
Grace knew it before I said anything.
She sat at the safe-house table holding the old stainless-steel watch Noah kept in his cardboard box.
“Ethan wore this every day.”
“Did it ever open?”
“It’s a watch.”
“No hidden compartment?”
She glared.
“I did not grow up in a spy movie.”
Noah climbed onto a chair.
“Dad’s watch doesn’t work.”
I took it.
Heavy.
Old Omega.
Ethan had earned maybe seventy thousand a year.
The watch was worth several months of his salary.
“Where did he get it?”
Grace frowned.
“His father.”
“Before that?”
“No idea.”
I turned it over.
Engraving on the back.
E.B.
Then smaller letters.
TELL THE TIME TRUE.
Strange phrase.
Grace whispered, “His dad used to say that.”
“What did it mean?”
“I thought it was some family thing.”
I looked at the crown.
Pulled once.
Twice.
Then pressed.
A click.
The back released.
Grace stared.
“You’re kidding.”
Inside, behind the movement, was a microSD card.
Noah gasped.
“Treasure!”
I smiled despite everything.
“Your dad was dramatic.”
Grace laughed through sudden tears.
“He would hate hearing you say that.”
We loaded the card.
Master ledger.
Names.
Payments.
Dates.
Dominic’s entire shadow network.
Judges.
Union officials.
Police.
Port managers.
And one name that made me stop.
Benjamin Marcelli.
My father.
Grace looked at me.
“Who?”
“My father.”
He had died when I was twenty-four.
Before I took control.
Payment dates continued even after his death.
Meaning Dominic had used his name too.
Family tradition.
Forge the dead.
Frame the powerful.
Hide behind surnames.
Then another name appeared.
Carter Voss.
Hundreds of entries.
But the newest payment was only six weeks old.
Recipient:
D. HARROW.
Grace frowned.
“Who’s that?”
I knew.
“Deputy Marshal David Harrow.”
She stared.
“The federal officer?”
“He coordinates prisoner movement.”
Carter’s transfer.
My blood turned cold.
“He isn’t being relocated.”
“What?”
“He’s escaping.”
I called Rebecca.
Then Hannah Price.
No answer.
I called Marco.
“Get to Grace now.”
“What happened?”
“Harrow is bought.”
A noise came from outside.
Tires.
Too late.
The safe-house windows exploded.
Grace dropped.
I grabbed Noah.
Gunfire tore through the front room.
Marco had stationed two men outside.
One shouted.
Then silence.
Grace crawled toward the back hall.
“Basement!”
We moved.
Noah clung to me.
“Bad guys again?”
“Yes.”
“I hate bad guys.”
“Working on it.”
We reached the basement.
No exit except a narrow storm door.
Locked from outside.
Grace grabbed a toolbox.
“I can open it.”
“How?”
“My father taught me.”
She drove a screwdriver beneath the latch.
Above us, footsteps entered the house.
A man shouted.
“Find the card!”
Noah whispered, “They want Dad’s watch.”
“Yes.”
He pulled it from his pajama pocket.
I stared.
“You brought it?”
“It’s Dad’s.”
Fair.
Grace broke the latch.
Storm door opened.
We climbed into the backyard.
A black van waited at the alley.
Not ours.
A man stepped from behind it.
Gun raised.
I pushed Noah behind me.
Then the man dropped.
Marco stood ten yards away holding a pistol.
“You’re welcome.”
“You’re late.”
“You’re impossible.”
More shots from the house.
We ran.
Marco had an SUV two streets over.
We reached it.
Grace climbed into the back with Noah.
I took the passenger seat.
“Where?”
Marco asked.
I called Hannah Price again.
This time she answered.
“Roman?”
“Harrow is dirty.”
Silence.
“What?”
“I have ledger proof. Carter paid him six weeks ago.”
She swore.
“Where’s Carter?”
“Supposed to move tomorrow.”
“No.”
“What?”
“He moved forty minutes ago.”
My blood chilled.
“To where?”
“Harrow signed the transfer.”
Exactly.
“He’s gone.”
Price shouted orders in the background.
Then Grace said, “Roman.”
I turned.
Noah held the watch.
A tiny red light blinked inside.
“What is that?”
Grace stared.
“I don’t know.”
I took it.
Tracker?
No.
The watch contained the memory card compartment.
And another device.
A dormant transmitter that had activated when the case opened.
Ethan had built a dead-man archive with a beacon.
Smart.
Terrible.
Carter’s people had probably tracked it.
I opened the car window.
Noah shouted.
“Don’t throw Dad!”
I stopped.
He thought I meant the watch.
“It’s how they’re finding us.”
Noah’s face fell.
“That’s Dad’s.”
Grace looked torn.
Then she said, “Take out the card.”
I did.
She held the watch.
For a long second.
Eight years of love in one object.
Then she threw it from the speeding car.
Noah began crying.
“I’m sorry,” Grace whispered.
“That was Dad.”
“I know.”
Roman Marcelli, feared by half the waterfront, had no idea how to fix a five-year-old’s heartbreak.
So I did the only thing I could.
I looked at Marco.
“Turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around.”
“Roman, people are chasing us.”
“I know.”
We circled back two blocks.
The watch lay near a storm drain.
I got out.
Grace shouted, “Roman!”
I grabbed it.
A black sedan appeared at the intersection.
Gunman leaning out.
Marco yelled.
I ran.
Shots cracked.
One hit the pavement beside me.
I reached the SUV.
We accelerated.
Noah stared at the watch in my hand.
I gave it back.
“You went back.”
“Yes.”
“You could get shot.”
“Wouldn’t be new.”
Grace’s face had gone white with anger.
“That was idiotic.”
“Yes.”
“Reckless.”
“Yes.”
“Do not agree with me.”
“I don’t know the correct answer.”
Noah hugged the watch.
Then looked at me.
“Thank you.”
Worth it.
My phone rang.
Unknown.
I answered.
Carter.
“Rome.”
I smiled grimly.
“You’re free.”
“For now.”
“Enjoy it.”
“You have the ledger.”
“Yes.”
“And the boy.”
My voice changed.
“Careful.”
Carter laughed.
“That’s why you’ll come.”
“Where?”
“Marcelli Pier Four.”
My father’s original pier.
The birthplace of the empire.
Of course.
“Midnight.”
“For what?”
“To decide who gets to keep the Marcelli name.”
The call ended.
Grace stared at me.
“You’re not going.”
“I am.”
“No.”
“He’ll keep coming.”
“So let federal agents—”
“Harrow proved his reach.”
“Then what?”
I looked at the watch.
At Ethan’s ledger.
At Noah.
“We end it where it started.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed.
“And we?”
“You and Noah disappear.”
“No.”
“Grace.”
“No.”
“You have a child.”
“And he has decided you’re part of this family whether I approved it or not.”
The word family landed strangely.
She heard it too.
Neither of us spoke.
Noah leaned forward between the seats.
“Can we get pizza?”
Marco started laughing.
I looked at the child.
“Kid, we’re discussing life and death.”
“I’m hungry.”
Grace sighed.
“Pizza.”
I stared.
She shrugged.
“Busy is not food.”
May you like
I had apparently lost control of the operation.
For once, I didn’t mind.
