Marissa looked at the building.
"This is where everything started."
Ethan nodded.
"Maybe."
They crossed the street.
The front door was locked.
Ethan used the key he had found.
It turned.
The door opened.
Inside, the restaurant smelled different.
Empty buildings always did.
Marissa walked slowly toward table twelve.
The chairs were still there.
The tables were covered.
She touched the back of one chair.
"This is where you sat."
"I remember."
"You looked angry."
"I was."
"You didn't even know me."
"I knew enough."
She smiled.
"What did you know?"
"That you were the only person in the room who cared whether a stranger ate."
Marissa looked down.
"Sometimes caring is expensive."
Ethan smiled.
"Maybe."
He placed the key on table twelve.
Nothing happened.
Marissa frowned.
"That's it?"
"I don't think so."
He looked around.
Then he remembered something.
His father had once told him:
"When you don't know which door to open, look for the room nobody uses."
Ethan walked toward the back.
There was a storage room.
Locked.
He tried the key.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Inside were shelves.
Old boxes.
Receipts.
Broken chairs.
A dead refrigerator.
Marissa switched on the light.
Nothing.
Ethan moved toward the wall.
He tapped it.
Solid.
Then another section.
Hollow.
He looked at Marissa.
"Stand back."
He pushed.
A panel moved.
Behind it was a narrow staircase.
Marissa stared.
"You have got to be kidding."
They descended.
At the bottom was a small room.
There was a desk.
Two chairs.
And a metal cabinet.
On the desk was a single photograph.
Edward Calloway.
Richard Hayes.
Thomas.
Anna.
And someone else.
Marissa stepped closer.
She recognized the fifth person.
Her mother.
Elaine Hayes.
She looked at Ethan.
"Why was my mother there?"
Ethan didn't answer.
On the desk lay a note.
IF YOU FOUND THIS, THEN THE LIE IS ALREADY DEAD.
Beneath it was another sentence.
THE LEDGER IS NOT HERE.
Marissa exhaled.
"Then why leave the room?"
Ethan opened the cabinet.
Inside was a single folder.
He opened it.
A purchase agreement.
Bellweather Grill.
Buyer:
Northstar Holdings.
Seller:
Richard Hayes.
Marissa stared.
"My father owned this place?"
"Apparently."
"But how?"
Ethan read the document again.
The sale date was 1998.
The year Richard was accused of stealing the twelve million dollars.
Marissa's face went pale.
"Then my father wasn't stealing money."
Ethan looked at her.
"He was moving property."
"For Northstar."
"Yes."
She stepped back.
"Why would he do that?"
A sound came from upstairs.
Both froze.
Someone was walking across the restaurant floor.
Ethan switched off the light.
Marissa stood beside him in the darkness.
Footsteps.
Slow.
One.
Two.
Three.
They stopped above the hidden room.
Ethan whispered:
"Don't move."
The floor creaked.
Then a voice spoke.
"Mr. Calloway."
Ethan recognized it.
Roger Vance.
Ethan opened the door.
Roger stood at the top of the stairs.
His face was pale.
"You shouldn't have come here."
Ethan climbed toward him.
"Why?"
Roger looked at Marissa.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
Roger swallowed.
"Your father tried to save people."
Marissa stepped forward.
"From what?"
Roger looked behind him.
Someone had entered the restaurant.
His face changed.
"He's here."
"Who?"
Roger whispered:
"Victor."
A gunshot shattered the silence.
Roger collapsed.
Marissa screamed.
Ethan pulled her behind the wall.
Another shot.
Then footsteps running toward the back door.
Ethan wanted to chase him.
But Roger was bleeding.
He knelt beside him.
"Stay with me."
Roger's eyes fluttered.
"The ledger..."
Ethan leaned closer.
"Where is it?"
Roger struggled to breathe.
"Not... Northstar..."
"What?"
"Hospital."
Then his eyes closed.
Marissa knelt beside Ethan.
"What did he say?"
Ethan looked at her.
"The hospital."
Sirens sounded in the distance.
But neither of them noticed the small object lying beneath Roger's hand.
A key.
Stamped with a single number.
17.
And across town, in a quiet apartment overlooking the lake, Margaret Vale received a phone call.
"Roger talked."
She closed her eyes.
"How much?"
"The hospital."
Margaret stood.
"Then we have very little time."
"Should we move the ledger?"
She looked toward the photograph on her desk.
A younger Anna.
A younger Ethan.
Edward.
Elaine.
Richard.
She whispered:
"No."
"Why?"
"Because the ledger was never the most dangerous thing."
"What is?"
Margaret looked out over Chicago.
"The truth."
She hung up.
And somewhere beneath the city, another secret waited to be found.
THE ROOM BENEATH THE HOSPITAL
The ambulance arrived in less than six minutes.
To Marissa, it felt like an hour.
She stood against the wall of Bellweather Grill, her hands trembling, while paramedics worked over Roger Vance.
He was alive.
Barely.
Ethan stood beside her.
Neither spoke.
The police asked questions.
What happened?
Who fired the gun?
Did they see the shooter?
Ethan answered most of them.
Marissa couldn't.
She could only think about Roger lying on the floor.
The same man who had humiliated her.
The same man who had fired her.
The same man who, only minutes earlier, had apologized.
That frightened her more than the shooting.
People did not apologize to the people they had hurt unless they believed they were about to die.
Eventually, the paramedics carried Roger outside.
One officer approached Ethan.
"Mr. Calloway, we're going to need you downtown."
Ethan nodded.
"Of course."
The officer looked at Marissa.