Chapter 8 - The Midnight Escape
The sirens were deafening now.
Luca hauled the heavy steel box out of the grave and shoved it into my arms.
It was incredibly heavy, but I gripped it tightly against my chest.
“Mr. Moretti, I can't take this!”
“You have to,” Luca commanded, his eyes locked onto mine. “If the police search this property, they’ll freeze the trust. We won't be able to protect my son.”
“Where do I go?”
“Take Frank’s car. It’s parked behind the greenhouse. Go to your mother’s facility and wait for me.”
I looked at Vanessa.
She was nodding urgently.
“Go, Maggie. Please.”
I turned and ran.
My feet slipped in the mud, the rain blinding me, but I didn't stop.
I rounded the glass walls of the greenhouse and found Frank’s beat-up sedan.
The keys were in the ignition.
I threw the steel box onto the passenger seat, cranked the engine, and tore out of the service entrance just as four police cruisers crashed through the main gates.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I sped down the dark, slick roads.
The box sat beside me, dripping mud onto the upholstery.
Inside that box was the future of a little boy who didn't even know his real name.
Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the quiet parking lot of Oakwood Assisted Living.
The storm was finally breaking.
I lugged the heavy box inside, bypassing the front desk, and slipped into my mother’s room.
She was still asleep, the rhythmic beep of her heart monitor the only sound in the room.
I set the box on the floor and collapsed into the visitor’s chair, utterly exhausted.
I looked at the box.
The latch was loose.
I knew I shouldn't pry, but I had to know what was so important that people were willing to kill for it.
I opened the lid.
The ledgers were stacked neatly.
But tucked beneath the bottom book was a small, sealed envelope.
It wasn't addressed to Luca.
It wasn't addressed to Vanessa.
It was addressed to my mother.
Nurse Mary Sullivan.
My breath caught in my throat.
I gently pulled the envelope out. The seal was unbroken. Thirteen years old.
With trembling fingers, I tore it open.
Inside was a single sheet of paper, written in elegant handwriting.
Anna’s handwriting.
Dear Mary, it read.
If you are reading this, I am gone. Thank you for holding my hand in the dark.
May you like
I read the next line, and the room started to spin.
Thank you for taking my son and hiding him in plain sight.
