Chapter 4: The Photograph That Should Not Exist
The photograph should have been impossible.
I stared at it until the pixels blurred.
Until my eyes burned.
Until my mind started searching for any explanation that would allow the world to return to normal.
A mistake.
A trick.
A fake.
Anything.
But the face was mine.
The coat was mine.
The watch on my wrist was mine.
Even the small scar across my left hand was visible.
The same scar I got when I was seventeen and stupid enough to believe a knife fight could be won by being faster.
I remembered that night.
I remembered every scar.
Every mistake.
Every person I lost.
But I did not remember standing outside Garden City Preschool three days after my wife's murder.
Because I had not been there.
I couldn't have been.
I was at the Romano estate.
Surrounded by people.
Grieving.
Broken.
At least, that was what everyone told me.
My phone buzzed again.
Another message.
*Ask yourself why you don't remember.*
I felt something cold move through my chest.
Not fear.
Something worse.
Doubt.
I had spent my entire life making other people doubt themselves.
Now someone had found the one thing that could destroy me.
My own memory.
“Dominic?””
Grace's voice came from behind me.
I turned the phone away.
Too late.
She had already seen my face.
“What happened?””
“Nothing.””
It was the oldest lie in the world.
And Grace knew it.
“Your expression changed.””
“People die when they pay too much attention to my expressions.””
She didn't smile.
“I am not people.””
That answer bothered me.
Because it was true.
I looked back at the photo.
“Where are the girls?””
“Downstairs.””
“Take them to the panic room.””
Grace's expression changed.
“The panic room?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
I looked at her.
“Because someone just sent me a picture of my daughters sleeping inside this house.””
Her face went pale.
For the first time since I met her, I saw real fear.
Not fear of me.
Fear for them.
She moved immediately.
“Dominic.””
I stopped.
“If this person can get inside your house…”
“I know.””
“No.””
She shook her head.
“You don't.””
I looked at her.
“You keep saying that.””
“Because you keep thinking like a man protecting his territory.””
Her eyes moved toward the stairs.
“You need to think like a father protecting his children.””
The words stayed with me.
Because she was right.
A territory could be defended.
A family could only be saved.
I followed her downstairs.
The girls were sitting together on the living room floor.
Olivia held the old photograph of Isabelle.
Sophie was drawing something.
Nora had her head resting against Grace's shoulder.
When I entered, Nora looked up.
For a moment, I expected her to hide again.
She didn't.
She just watched me.
“Daddy?””
The sound nearly broke me.
I crouched down.
“Yes?””
Her fingers tightened around a small stuffed rabbit.
“Are you angry?””
The question hit harder than any weapon.
“No.””
She looked uncertain.
“People get angry when they find secrets.””
I swallowed.
“Who told you that?””
She looked toward the staircase.
Nobody answered.
“Sophie?””
My middle daughter lowered her eyes.
“She said Mommy had secrets.””
“Who said?””
Sophie was quiet.
Then she whispered:
“The man who came upstairs.””
Every muscle in my body locked.
“What man?””
No answer.
Grace knelt beside her.
“Sophie, sweetheart, tell us.””
The little girl looked terrified.
“He smelled like Daddy.””
The room went silent.
I felt the blood leave my face.
“What does that mean?””
Sophie pointed at me.
“He smelled like your coat.””
I looked down.
My coat.
The one I had worn every day.
The one every person in my organization knew.
The one that carried the scent of my cologne.
Someone had been pretending to be me.
Someone had been close enough to my children that they thought he was their father.
I stood.
“Everyone leaves.””
Grace looked up.
“What?””
“Everyone except my daughters.””
“Dominic—”
“Now.””
She understood the tone.
She took the girls toward the security room.
I walked toward the security monitors.
The system covered every inch of the property.
Every entrance.
Every hallway.
Every room.
Except one.
My eyes narrowed.
The camera near the upstairs hallway was disabled.
Not broken.
Disabled.
Someone knew exactly where to cut the view.
I called my head of security.
“Anthony.””
He answered immediately.
“Boss.””
“Who accessed the camera system today?””
Silence.
A second too long.
“Anthony.””
“Dominic, I—”
“Who?””
His breathing changed.
Then he said:
“No one.””
I stared at the screen.
“Try again.””
Another pause.
Then:
“I don't know.””
That was the answer I feared.
Because Anthony was not a man who didn't know.
He was a man who was afraid to say.
I lowered my voice.
“Anthony, if you are protecting someone, understand something.””
I looked toward the security room where my daughters were hiding.
“I have spent twenty years protecting people who didn't deserve it.””
Silence.
Then he whispered:
“Check the old guest wing.””
My eyes narrowed.
“Why?””
“Because that is where she kept the files.””
“Who?””
Anthony didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
I already knew.
Isabelle.
I walked toward the guest wing.
The door had been locked since her death.
Nobody went there.
Nobody.
Except apparently someone.
The lock was scratched.
Freshly.
I opened the door.
Inside was darkness.
And on the floor was a single object.
A child's drawing.
I picked it up.
Three girls.
A woman.
A man.
A house.
But there was something strange.
The man had no face.
Above him, written in a child's handwriting:
*Daddy's friend.*
I turned it over.
On the back were four words.
Words that made my entire body go still.
*He watched Mommy die.*
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
Slow.
Calm.
Familiar.
A voice spoke from the darkness.
“Dominic.””
I turned.
And the man standing there was the last person I expected to see.
“Marcus.””
My oldest friend looked at me with tired eyes.
May you like
Then he said:
“I think it's time you remembered what happened that day.””
