Chapter 11 - THE RED MUSIC BOX
Hannah had not seen the red music box in twenty years.
Then she remembered exactly where it was.
“My mother’s storage unit.”
Dominic looked at her through the video call. “Where?”
“Cambridge. She rented it when we moved apartments. I kept paying the bill because I couldn’t throw her things away.”
Detective Chen arrived at the loading dock and heard enough to swear.
“No one goes there alone.”
Hannah was already pulling on a coat over her hospital gown.
“I’m going.”
“You were nearly dead yesterday,” Dr. Kline said.
“My daughter was taken today.”
There was no answer to that.
An hour later, under police escort, Hannah stood inside a storage unit smelling of dust and cedar.
Boxes of her mother’s life surrounded her.
Christmas ornaments.
Old teaching books.
A yellow raincoat.
Then she found the music box beneath a folded quilt.
Red lacquer. Tiny brass ballerina.
Her hands shook as she turned the key.
The melody played three notes, then stopped.
Dominic examined the bottom.
“False panel.”
Inside was a flash drive wrapped in wax paper and a photograph of Hannah at age seven between her parents.
On the back, her mother had written:
If anything happens to us, truth is safer than silence.
Detective Chen plugged the drive into an isolated laptop.
Folders appeared.
PORT CONTRACTS.
JUDGES.
VICTOR.
BENNETT.
Then one labeled DOMINIC.
Hannah looked at him.
“You’re in it.”
Dominic did not flinch. “Open it.”
The folder contained ledgers proving Dominic’s companies had received millions from tainted contracts years earlier.
Hannah stared.
“You said you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t.”
“That doesn’t make the money clean.”
“No.”
He looked at Chen. “Give this to the U.S. Attorney. All of it.”
Tomas’s phone rang.
He listened.
Then his face changed.
“We found the van.”
Hannah stepped toward him.
“Lily?”
“The bassinet was inside.”
“Was she?”
Tomas shook his head.
“No.”
On the empty blanket was a single envelope addressed to Hannah.
May you like
Inside were divorce papers.
And a hospital bracelet bearing Lily’s name.
