Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the ArchivesClaire’s hands trembled as she clutched Sophie tighter. For a long moment, the color drained completely from her face. She looked down at Sophie, who was blissfully unaware of the storm brewing around them, then back at Dominic.
"Fine," Claire whispered, her voice laced with bitter resignation. "Come with me. But keep your voice down."
She led him through a narrow corridor at the back of the warehouse into a small, cluttered office overflowing with art supplies, stacked invoices, and framed photographs of smiling children. She locked the heavy wooden door behind them, motioning for him to sit. Dominic remained standing, towering over the cramped space.
"I didn't know Vincent Vale," Claire began, crossing her arms defensively. "At least, I didn't know him as a mob boss. To me, he was just an old, broken man who showed up on my doorstep four years ago, bleeding from a gash on his head after a mugging two blocks away."
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. "My father? Mugged?"
"He refused to go to a hospital," Claire said, leaning against her desk. "I cleaned his wound. I gave him a cup of coffee. He sat in that exact chair you're looking at, stared at a picture of Danielle—my best friend who had just passed away—and asked me how much it cost to keep a place like this alive."
"And you told him."
"I told him the truth. That we were drowning." Claire swallowed hard, her eyes flashing with unshed tears. "The next day, twenty-five thousand dollars appeared in our account. It happened every single month like clockwork. When I tried to find out who was sending it, the bank accounts were encrypted behind shell corporations. But a year later, an envelope arrived in the mail. No return address. Just a handwritten note."
Claire walked over to a locked filing cabinet, unlocked it with a small brass key, and pulled out a yellowed envelope. She handed it to Dominic.
With steady fingers, Dominic unfolded the paper. He recognized his father’s jagged, ruthless handwriting immediately.
“Keep them safe, Claire. Protect that little girl like I failed to protect mine. If anyone ever comes looking for this place, tell them the sins of the father are paid in full right here.”
Dominic stared at the words, his mind racing. Protect that little girl like I failed to protect mine.
"Mine," Dominic muttered aloud. "He meant me."
"He talked about you constantly during those visits," Claire said softly, her anger fading into something resembling pity. "Not as a criminal mastermind. He talked about a boy who loved books, a boy who built model ships in the attic before the darkness took over the family business. He said he corrupted you, Dominic. He said funding Harbor House was his way of trying to buy back a fraction of his soul."
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Dominic closed his eyes. The fortress he had built around his heart for decades began to crack, letting in a cold, suffocating draft of regret.
Suddenly, the front of the warehouse echoed with the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass.
