Chapter 11: The Priest's Secret
Richard Calloway died before the ambulance arrived.
Rain washed crimson blood across the wooden planks of Pier 17 as Vincent Moretti knelt beside the body, unable to shake the last words he'd heard.
Don't... trust... the priest.
Behind him, police sirens echoed through the harbor.
Marco's SUV skidded to a stop.
He jumped out with four armed men.
"What happened?"
Vincent didn't answer immediately.
He kept staring at Richard's lifeless face.
Finally, he stood.
"A sniper."
Marco examined the wound.
"Professional."
"He never missed."
Vincent nodded.
"The shooter wasn't trying to kill me."
"He was silencing Richard."
Before the police reached the pier, Vincent disappeared into the fog.
Within twenty minutes he was back inside Bellarosa Manor.
No one slept.
Emma was waiting in the library.
"You found him."
Vincent looked at the little girl.
"Yes."
"He's dead."
It wasn't a question.
Vincent nodded once.
Emma lowered her eyes.
"They always kill people who know too much."
Marco entered carrying Richard's coat.
"Our cleanup team searched him."
"Anything?"
"A wallet."
"Old photographs."
"A train ticket."
"And this."
He placed a brass key on the table.
Not silver.
Brass.
Engraved with another number.
3
Vincent frowned.
"The other key was seventeen."
Marco nodded.
"So why number three?"
Daniel examined both keys side by side.
"They belong to the same set."
"How many?"
Daniel looked carefully at the engraving.
"I'm guessing..."
"...seventeen."
The room fell silent.
Seventeen keys.
Seventeen locks.
Cabinet Seventeen.
Pier 17.
Nothing about the number was accidental.
Yet Vincent couldn't ignore Richard's final warning.
Don't trust the priest.
Father Thomas had baptized him.
Buried his parents.
Listened to his confessions for thirty years.
The thought seemed impossible.
Still...
Richard had died to deliver that message.
At sunrise, Vincent drove alone to Saint Michael's Church.
Father Thomas was sweeping the front steps.
He smiled warmly.
"You look tired."
Vincent remained silent.
The priest noticed immediately.
"Something happened."
Vincent stepped closer.
"Richard Calloway is dead."
The broom slipped from the priest's hands.
For the first time...
Father Thomas looked frightened.
Inside the church, neither man sat.
Vincent remained standing near the altar.
Richard's words echoed in his mind.
"Did you know Richard Holloway?"
Father Thomas hesitated.
"Yes."
"How long?"
"A very long time."
"You never told me."
"You never asked."
Vincent stared into his eyes.
"Who was Robert Holloway?"
The priest closed his eyes.
"I prayed this day would never come."
He disappeared into a small storage room.
Minutes later he returned carrying an old wooden box.
Dust covered the lid.
The brass lock had long since rusted away.
Father Thomas placed it on the altar.
"I've hidden this for nineteen years."
Vincent slowly opened it.
Inside lay dozens of letters.
Old photographs.
Cassette tapes.
A child's wooden cross.
The first letter bore Robert Holloway's signature.
Vincent unfolded it carefully.
"Father Thomas..."
"If anything happens to Richard or me..."
"Never let the Chairman find these records."
"Promise me."
The letter continued.
"The children don't disappear."
"They're selected."
"Every generation..."
"The Chairman chooses another successor."
Marco, who had quietly entered the church, whispered,
"What does that mean?"
No one answered.
Father Thomas finally spoke.
"When Richard and Robert were boys..."
"...the orphanage wasn't just an orphanage."
"It was a recruitment ground."
"For what?"
The old priest looked toward the stained-glass windows.
"For power."
He explained everything.
Decades earlier, wealthy businessmen had created a secret society.
Publicly, they funded charities.
Hospitals.
Scholarships.
Privately...
They bought influence.
Judges.
Politicians.
Police chiefs.
When members grew old...
They selected younger replacements.
Children without families were easier to control.
The brightest.
The strongest.
The most obedient.
Those children grew into lawyers.
Executives.
Officials.
Some became criminals.
Others became heroes.
Most never realized they had been chosen.
Vincent frowned.
"So Richard..."
"...was selected."
Father Thomas nodded.
"But Robert refused."
"And that's why they called him insane."
Marco slowly pieced everything together.
"So Richard joined them..."
"...to destroy them."
The priest nodded sadly.
"But after so many years..."
"He became trapped inside."
Vincent looked again at the photographs.
One image caught his attention.
A banquet.
Twenty men standing together.
One face had been scratched away completely.
Only that person.
Father Thomas noticed.
"That's the Chairman."
"You know who he is."
"I knew."
"Past tense?"
The priest sighed.
"I've never seen him since that night."
"What night?"
"The orphanage fire."
Silence settled over the church.
Then Father Thomas confessed something Vincent never expected.
"I helped Robert escape."
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"The police believed Robert died."
"I arranged that."
"You lied."
"Yes."
"I committed a crime."
"Yes."
The priest lowered his head.
"But I saved an innocent boy."
Vincent struggled to decide what to believe.
Richard's warning.
The letters.
The photographs.
Everything pointed in different directions.
Then Marco's phone rang.
His expression changed instantly.
"What happened?"
Marco swallowed.
"The mansion."
Vincent's heart stopped.
"What about it?"
"The children..."
The call cut off.
Vincent sprinted from the church.
SUV tires screamed against wet pavement.
The drive back felt endless.
When Bellarosa Manor finally appeared...
Smoke drifted above the trees.
Not from a fire.
Smoke grenades.
The front gates stood open.
Several guards lay unconscious.
No blood.
Only dart wounds.
Tranquilizers.
Professional.
Vincent burst inside.
Furniture overturned.
Broken glass everywhere.
Maria rushed toward him.
"They're gone!"
His world seemed to stop.
"Who?"
"Emma..."
"Noah..."
"Lucy..."
"Ava..."
"They took them."
Buddy limped into the hallway.
The puppy barked desperately.
Something was tied around his collar.
A folded note.
Vincent opened it.
Only six words appeared.
THE CHAIRMAN REQUESTS YOUR PRESENCE.
Below the message...
An address.
Union Station. Midnight.
Marco whispered,
"It's another trap."
Vincent looked at the empty staircase where children's laughter had echoed only hours before.
His voice became colder than ice.
"No."
"This time..."
"...it's an invitation."
He folded the note carefully and slipped it into his pocket.
Outside, thunder rolled across Chicago once again.
May you like
The hunt was over.
Now Vincent was walking directly into the Chairman's game.
