The cab pulled up to Victor's mansion.
Adrian stepped out. Andrew followed. Stacy climbed out last, laptop under her arm.
The front door opened before they knocked. One of Victor's men. He nodded. Led them inside.
Victor was waiting in the study. Same desk. Same cold eyes.
He looked at Stacy. Then at Adrian.
"You got her."
"She's alive," Andrew said. "Barely."
Victor ignored him. Gestured to a chair. "Sit."
Stacy didn't sit. Just stood there. Holding her laptop.
"I need a workspace," she said. "Encrypted. No windows."
Victor nodded. "Downstairs. My man will show you."
Stacy looked at Adrian. "I owe you one."
Then she left.
Victor turned to Adrian. "You did well tonight."
Adrian didn't respond.
Victor reached into his desk. Pulled out a folded paper. Same yellowed look as before.
"Your father's address. The one I promised."
Adrian took it. Didn't open it yet.
"What's there?" Adrian asked.
Victor leaned back. "That's for you to find out."
Andrew stepped forward. "You're just sending him alone?"
Victor's eyes flicked to Andrew. Cold. "He's not a child."
Andrew looked at Adrian. "You want backup?"
Adrian shook his head. "No."
He turned. Walked out.
Tony was still outside. Engine running.
Adrian got in the back.
"Where to now?" Tony asked.
Adrian unfolded the paper. An address. Brooklyn.
"This."
Tony nodded. Pulled away.
The street was old. Brownstones on both sides. Some boarded up. Some converted into apartments.
Tony dropped him a block away. Adrian got out. Told Tony to wait.
Rain started. Light. Cold.
Adrian pulled his hood up. Walked.
The address was a three-floor brownstone.
Ground floor used to be a laundromat. Boards over the windows. Graffiti on the roll-down gate.
Above, windows were dark except one. Third floor. Dim light.
Adrian stopped at the front door. Looked at the buzzers. Old. Rusted. A small brass nameplate next to them. Too worn to read.
He traced the letters with his finger.
V O S S
Part of it scratched out. But he could still see it.
His stomach tightened.
The front door was locked.
Adrian walked to the alley. Found a basement window. Cracked open. Wide enough.
He slipped through. Dropped into darkness.
Dust. Cobwebs. Smelled like old paper and mildew.
He stood still. Let his eyes adjust.
A hallway. Stairs leading up.
Adrian moved.
Second floor. Apartment door. Unlocked.
He pushed it open.
Inside, an apartment frozen in time. Furniture covered in white sheets. Dishes in the sink. Dust on everything.
No one had been here in years.
Adrian walked slowly. Looked at the walls. The shelves.
A photograph caught his eye.
A man. A woman. No child.
The man was younger. Clean-shaven. But Adrian recognized him.
His father.
Adrian picked up the frame. Stared at it.
Then he heard something. A floorboard creaked upstairs.
He froze. Listened.
Nothing.
He set the frame down. Kept searching.
Bedroom. A bed stripped of sheets. A closet with empty hangers. A nightstand with a single drawer.
Adrian opened the drawer. Empty.
He knelt down. Ran his hand along the floor.
One board felt loose.
He pried it up.
A metal box. Small. Rusted.
Adrian pulled it out. Opened it.
Inside:
A birth certificate. His name. "Adrian Voss". But the hospital was wrong. Not the one he remembered.
A photograph. His mother. Pregnant. Standing in front of this same building.
A folded piece of paper. Handwritten.
Adrian unfolded it.
One line.
"If I'm gone, don't look for me. Keep him safe."
His father's handwriting.
Adrian read it three times.
His hands shook.
He folded the note back. Put everything in the box. Stood up.
A knock at the door.
Adrian froze.
"Hello?" A woman's voice. Old. "I heard someone. Who's there?"
Adrian walked to the door. Opened it.
An old woman stood in the hallway. Gray hair. Thin robe. Slippers.
She squinted at him.
Then her eyes widened.
"You look just like him."
Adrian said nothing.
She stared for a long moment. Then stepped back.
"Come. I'll make tea."
Her apartment was across the hall. Smaller. Warmer. Cluttered with old things.
She put the kettle on. Didn't ask questions.
Adrian sat at her kitchen table. The metal box in his lap.
"You knew my father," he said.
She nodded. Sat across from him.
"He was quiet. Kept to himself. But he was kind." She paused. "Always watching, though. Like he was waiting for something."
"When did he leave?"
The old woman thought. "One night. Maybe... twenty years ago. He had a suitcase. Didn't say goodbye. Just left."
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"Before he left," she continued, "he came to me. Gave me something." She stood. Walked to a cabinet. Pulled out a small box. Opened it.
A key. Small. Brass. No label.
"He said, 'For the boy. If he ever comes.'"
She handed it to Adrian.
He held it in his palm. Felt the weight.
"Do you know what it opens?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Never asked."
Adrian tucked the key into his pocket. Stood up.
"Thank you."
The old woman smiled. Sad. "You have his eyes."
Adrian didn't know what to say. So he just left.
Back on the street. Rain heavier now.
Adrian walked to the cab. Got in.
Tony looked at him. "Find anything?"
Adrian held up the key. Said nothing.
"Back to Victor's?"
Adrian nodded.
Tony hit the gas.
Adrian leaned back. Watched the city pass through the rain-streaked window.
The key was cold in his palm.
His father left him something. Not answers. Not money. A key.
The question was: what did it open?
And why had his father been so sure Adrian would come looking?
Adrian closed his eyes.
He was closer now...