Chapter 4 - Unraveling the Threads of the Past
The drive to the memory-care facility was silent and tense. I sat in the back of Nikolai’s armored SUV, flanked by him and Mikhail, another of his trusted bodyguards. Two decoy vehicles rode ahead of us, scanning the route for any signs of surveillance.
When we arrived at the quiet, suburban facility, Nikolai’s men quickly and quietly secured the perimeter. Nikolai and I walked inside, my heart hammering against my ribs.
My mother’s room was at the end of the hall. When I pushed the door open, I found her sitting by the window, staring out at the moonlit gardens. Her silver hair was tied back in a neat bun, and she looked so small, so innocent.
“Mom?” I called out softly.
Grace turned her head. For a moment, her eyes were vacant, lost in the fog of her dementia. But as she looked at my casted arm and the fading bruises on my face, something sparked in her eyes. A sudden, sharp clarity returned, a mother's instinct cutting through the shadows of her mind.
“Emma,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she stood up. “Oh, my sweet girl. What happened to you? Who did this?”
I rushed into her arms, weeping softly as she held me close, careful not to hurt my injured arm. “I’m okay, Mom. I’m okay now. I’m safe.”
“You’re not safe here,” she whispered, her voice suddenly dropping, filled with a strange, urgent terror. “The men… they were here yesterday. Asking questions. Asking about my phone. I didn’t tell them, Emma. I didn’t tell them about the number.”
Nikolai stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. When Grace’s eyes fell upon him, she froze. She stared at his gray eyes, the scar over his eyebrow, and the commanding presence he carried.
“Nikolai?” she whispered, her voice filled with disbelief. “Is it… is it really you?”
Nikolai took a step forward and bowed his head respectfully. “Yes, Grace. It is me. I am so sorry it took me so long to find you.”
Grace walked over to him, her frail hands reaching up to touch his face. “You grew up. You look just like your father, Nikolai. But you have gentler eyes.”
“Because of you, Grace,” Nikolai said, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved my life. And now, your daughter is in danger. I need to take both of you to my home. You will be safe there. No one can hurt you.”
Grace looked back at me, then at Nikolai. The fog of her illness seemed to hover at the edges of her mind, threatening to pull her back under, but she fought it off with a fierce determination.
“The ledger,” she whispered suddenly, clutching Nikolai’s lapels. “My late husband… Emma’s father. He didn’t die of a heart attack, Nikolai. He was killed because of what he found. The shell companies… they aren’t new. Viktor’s father started them thirty years ago. My husband kept the records. I hid them in our old house. In the fireplace in the study. Behind the loose brick on the left.”
I stared at my mother in utter shock. My father’s death had always been a sudden tragedy to me, a painful memory from my teenage years. But now, the truth was unraveling, revealing a decades-long web of corruption and murder.
“Grace, are you sure?” Nikolai asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Yes,” she insisted, her voice growing weaker as the effort to remain lucid drained her. “The brick… with the carved letter ‘G’. Find it, Nikolai. Protect my girl. Don’t let them destroy her like they destroyed her father.”
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Before we could say another word, the sound of glass shattering echoed from the front lobby of the facility.
Over the earpiece Nikolai wore, Yuri’s voice crackled, tense and urgent. “Boss, we have company. Petrov’s men just breached the front entrance. They’re heavily armed. We need to evacuate now.”
