Chapter 6 - BENEATH THE OLD LIGHTHOUSEThe symbol pointed to Rhode Island.
Specifically, to an abandoned lighthouse outside Newport where Eleanor, Dominic, and Michael had spent summers in their twenties.
Federal agents wanted to handle the search.
Maya insisted on going.
Rebecca Shaw reluctantly allowed it because the property had been privately owned by Eleanor’s former nursing-school roommate, and Maya was technically being invited by the current owner.
Dominic came too.
Rebecca hated that part.
“If you interfere with evidence,” she warned him, “I’ll arrest you.”
Dominic looked at her.
“I’m touched by your consistency.”
“I practice.”
Maya hid a smile.
The lighthouse stood above gray Atlantic water beneath a cloudy sky.
Wind snapped at their coats.
Maya climbed the narrow interior stairs while Dominic followed several steps behind.
Their relationship had changed.
Not repaired.
Changed.
Maya believed he was her uncle.
DNA testing had confirmed it.
But biology did not erase deception.
At the top, they found nothing.
No hidden compartment.
No documents.
No dramatic box conveniently labeled CRIMINAL EVIDENCE.
Rebecca looked at the walls.
“Maybe the map refers to the property rather than the tower.”
Maya took photographs of Dominic’s half-medallion and compared them with an old picture of her locket.
When digitally aligned, the engraved lines resembled coastline contours.
One tiny star appeared near the lower edge.
Maya looked out the window.
Below the cliff stood an old boathouse.
“There.”
They descended.
Inside the boathouse, rotting ropes hung from nails.
A wooden skiff leaned against the wall.
Dominic stared toward the back corner.
“What?”
Maya asked.
“There used to be a workbench.”
Rebecca found marks on the floor.
“It was removed.”
They searched.
Behind a loose wall panel, an agent discovered a metal tube.
Everyone stopped.
Rebecca photographed it.
Gloved hands opened it.
Inside was a roll of microfilm sealed in plastic.
And a letter.
Addressed:
TO DOMINIC — IF ELEANOR NEVER MAKES IT BACK
Dominic stared at it.
Rebecca opened the letter.
Michael Sullivan’s handwriting filled three pages.
He described Caldwell Maritime’s predecessor company.
Illegal shipments.
Bribery.
Money laundering.
Politicians paid through construction contracts.
And one name appearing repeatedly.
Richard Caldwell.
At twenty-six, Caldwell had been far more than a junior accountant.
He had designed the financial system.
He had arranged Michael Sullivan’s murder.
But another sentence changed Dominic’s expression completely.
Michael believed Caldwell had an accomplice inside the DeLuca organization.
A senior figure.
Someone with access to shipping schedules.
Someone who later warned Caldwell that Eleanor possessed copies of the evidence.
The accomplice was identified only by initials:
A.D.
Dominic sat down.
Maya looked at him.
“Who is A.D.?”
He didn’t answer.
“Dominic.”
“My father’s younger brother.”
“Your uncle?”
“Anthony DeLuca.”
“Is he alive?”
Dominic stared at the ocean through the broken window.
“Yes.”
Maya felt the room contract.
“Where?”
“Brooklyn.”
“What does he do?”
“He retired years ago.”
Rebecca stepped closer.
“From?”
Dominic’s eyes met hers.
“Everything.”
The microfilm contained account ledgers supporting Michael’s claims.
Most crimes were too old to prosecute directly.
But financial records suggested some shell corporations remained active.
Money had continued moving.
Including payments within the last year.
This was not history.
The network had survived.
And Anthony DeLuca might still be part of it.
Dominic insisted he had not spoken to Anthony in three years.
Rebecca believed approximately half of that.
Maya believed less.
On the return drive, Maya sat beside Dominic.
“You’re afraid.”
“No.”
“You are.”
He glanced at her.
“You sound like your mother.”
“You keep saying that whenever I annoy you.”
“She annoyed me frequently.”
Maya almost smiled.
Then became serious.
“Did Anthony know about me?”
“I don’t know.”
“He knew Eleanor had the evidence.”
“Apparently.”
“He could have been the one watching us.”
“Yes.”
“Could he have caused the accident?”
Dominic looked away.
“Yes.”
That evening, Rebecca’s agents went to Anthony DeLuca’s home.
It was empty.
No luggage.
No phone.
No passport.
Gone.
At almost the same moment, Maya received another anonymous message.
This one contained an address in Brooklyn.
And three words.
COME WITHOUT DOMINIC.
Maya stared at it.
Tasha, sitting beside her, said, “Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face said it.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Excellent. Delete it.”
Maya didn’t.
Instead she sent it to Rebecca.
Agents surrounded the address within an hour.
It was an abandoned warehouse.
Inside, they found a chair.
A digital recorder.
And another photograph of Eleanor.
Rebecca pressed play.
A man’s voice filled the warehouse.
Old.
Measured.
“Maya. If you’re hearing this, you inherited your mother’s refusal to follow instructions.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“Anthony.”
The recording continued.
“You’ve been told a version of our history designed to make Dominic heroic. He was never a hero. Ask him who approved the shipment that killed Michael Sullivan.”
Maya slowly turned toward Dominic.
His face had gone white.
The recording ended.
Nobody spoke.
Maya stared at him.
“What shipment?”
Dominic looked at Rebecca.
Then at Maya.
“Not here.”
Maya laughed bitterly.
“That answer is getting old.”
“Maya—”
“What shipment?”
Dominic closed his eyes.
When he opened them, whatever he had spent thirty years hiding was finally there.
“In 1997, I approved a container transfer.”
“So?”
“I was told it contained stolen electronics.”
Maya felt sick.
“It contained guns.”
Dominic nodded.
“Michael found out.”
“And that’s why Caldwell killed him.”
“Yes.”
Maya stepped back.
“You said you didn’t cause his death.”
“I said my world killed him.”
“No. You signed the order.”
“I didn’t know what was inside.”
“But you were committing a crime anyway.”
“Yes.”
Rebecca watched silently.
Maya shook her head.
“My mother was right to leave you.”
“Yes.”
Dominic’s eyes glistened.
“She was.”
That answer broke Maya’s anger in a way denial never could.
She walked away.
Then the warehouse lights died.
A gunshot exploded.
Agents shouted.
Maya dropped.
Another shot.
Someone grabbed her from behind.
She fought.
A cloth covered her mouth.
Dominic shouted her name.
May you like
The last thing Maya saw before darkness swallowed her was Dominic collapsing beside the chair—
blood spreading across his shoulder.
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