Chapter 6 - The Locker at Union Station
The brass key had a number engraved on it.
417.
Underneath, barely visible beneath years of tarnish, were two words:
Union Station.
Vincent knew exactly where it was.
An abandoned train station in downtown Syracuse, closed to the public for decades. It had once housed hundreds of lockers for commuters. Most had been removed.
Some remained.
The key had survived because Adam had planned for everything.
Except himself.
“We go tonight,” Vincent said.
Claire stood in the living room of the estate, looking out at the snow-covered grounds. The storm had finally weakened, but the sky remained dark and heavy.
“Russo will expect that,” she said.
“Yes.”
“So why go?”
“Because he will find the station eventually.”
Claire turned. “Then let him find it empty.”
Vincent’s gaze held hers.
“You have an idea?”
“I have a desperate mother’s idea.”
“The dangerous kind.”
“The smartest kind.”
For the next two hours, Claire sat with Vincent, Daniel, and a team of men who treated her like she had suddenly become part of a military operation.
She explained her plan.
Russo thought the ledger was in the locker. He would send men to take it.
So they would give him a reason to believe he had won.
At nine that night, Vincent’s convoy arrived near Union Station.
The old building stood like a ghost at the end of a deserted street. Its cracked stone exterior was half buried beneath snow. Broken windows stared down at them like empty eyes.
Claire wore a black coat, a knit hat, and an earpiece Daniel had shown her how to use.
“You stay behind me,” Vincent said for the fourth time.
“I know.”
“If anything happens—”
“I get into the vehicle.”
He looked at her.
“And?”
“And I don’t try to be a hero.”
Vincent’s mouth tightened. “Good.”
Claire wanted to tell him she wasn’t trying to be a hero.
She was trying to survive.
There was a difference.
They entered through a side door.
The station smelled like dust, rust, and frozen concrete. Their footsteps echoed through the vast empty hall.
Vincent led them down a narrow corridor toward the old locker room.
Rows of dented metal doors lined the walls.
417 was near the back.
Claire’s heart pounded as Vincent inserted the key.
The lock turned.
The door opened.
Inside sat a small black duffel bag.
Nothing else.
Vincent crouched and unzipped it carefully.
Inside were three items.
A leather ledger.
A flash drive.
And a sealed envelope with Claire’s name written across the front.
Her breath caught.
She reached for it.
Vincent didn’t stop her.
The paper was yellowed, the handwriting unmistakably Adam’s.
Claire.
If you are reading this, then I failed to keep you away from this. I am sorry. I am so sorry.
Her hands trembled as she read.
I need you to know that everything I did was for you and Owen. I was scared every day, but I kept thinking about the first time he held my finger. I knew I had to get us out.
There is evidence in the ledger and on the drive. Enough to put Russo away. Vincent Moretti is the only person I trust to get it where it needs to go.
Please don’t hate me.
Tell Owen I loved him more than anything.
Claire broke.
She covered her mouth, but the sob escaped anyway.
Vincent stood beside her, silent.
He didn’t touch her.
He didn’t offer empty comfort.
He simply stayed.
Then Daniel’s voice crackled through the earpiece.
“Vehicles approaching. Multiple.”
Vincent’s entire body went still.
“How many?”
“Six. Russo’s convoy.”
Claire wiped her face quickly.
“They followed us.”
“Of course they did,” Vincent said.
The lights flickered.
Then went out.
The station was swallowed by darkness.
Owen.
Claire’s heart seized.
He was supposed to be in the armored SUV two blocks away with Rosa and two guards.
“Daniel,” Vincent said into the radio, “status on the child.”
Static.
Then a voice she did not recognize came through.
“Hello, Vincent.”
Russo.
Claire went cold.
“You really should have listened when I told you mothers make excellent leverage.”
Vincent’s face changed.
Not into rage.
Into something worse.
Pure fear.
“Where is my son?” Claire shouted.
Russo laughed softly through the earpiece.
“Alive. For now.”
Claire stumbled backward.
Vincent caught her shoulders.
“Listen to me,” he said.
“He has Owen.”
“I know.”
“He has my baby.”
“I know.”
Her panic rose like a wave. She couldn’t breathe.
Vincent held her face between his hands.
“Claire. Look at me.”
She did.
“I will bring him back,” he said.
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can.”
“Vincent—”
“I have failed people before,” he said, voice rougher than she had ever heard it. “I will not fail your son.”
A gunshot echoed through the station.
Daniel shouted over the radio. “Ambush! Get out now!”
Vincent grabbed the duffel bag and Claire’s hand.
They ran.
Men appeared from both ends of the corridor. Vincent’s security team fired back, pushing Claire behind a concrete pillar.
“Go!” Vincent ordered.
“I’m not leaving you!”
“You’re not leaving me. You’re getting to the vehicle.”
Another shot.
Vincent staggered.
Claire screamed.
Blood spread across his shirt near his shoulder.
He looked down at it as if annoyed.
“It’s not bad,” he said.
“That is blood!”
“I’m aware.”
Even then, she almost laughed.
Then Vincent’s eyes locked on hers.
“Russo took Owen because he thinks you will break.”
Claire’s tears froze on her cheeks.
“He doesn’t know you,” Vincent continued. “Neither did I.”
He handed her the ledger.
May you like
“Let’s prove him wrong.”
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