Vincent reached Elena's room in less than thirty seconds.

He knocked once.

"Elena!"

No answer.

He opened the door.

The room was empty.

The bedcovers were disturbed.

A coffee cup sat on the bedside table.

The balcony doors were closed.

Vincent felt his stomach drop.

"Michael!"

His security chief appeared behind him.

"Sir?"

"Find her."

Michael touched his earpiece.

"All units, locate Miss Brooks. Immediately."

Vincent crossed the room.

The window was locked.

There were no signs of a struggle.

Then he noticed a folded note on the bed.

He opened it.

THOMAS REED. 11:30 P.M. OLD RIVERSIDE OFFICE. COME ALONE.

Vincent looked at the clock.

11:42.

"She went to meet Reed."

Michael examined the note.

"Sir, that address is an abandoned office building near the river."

Vincent was already moving.

"Get the car."

Twenty minutes earlier, Elena had received a message from a number she believed belonged to Thomas Reed.

He claimed to have found the original fire records.

He said someone was watching him.

He begged her to come alone.

Elena had hesitated.

She remembered Vincent's warning.

But the message included a photograph of her father's handwriting.

She recognized it immediately.

The note contained a phrase her father often used:

Truth doesn't disappear just because someone buries it.

She could not ignore it.

She left the estate through a side entrance.

A rideshare dropped her near the old office building.

The street was nearly empty.

The windows were dark.

Elena stepped inside.

"Mr. Reed?"

Her voice echoed through the lobby.

No answer.

She walked toward the staircase.

"Thomas?"

A door slammed behind her.

Elena spun around.

Two men stood near the entrance.

One wore a gray jacket.

The other had a dark baseball cap pulled low over his face.

"Miss Brooks," the man in gray said.

Elena backed away.

"Where's Thomas Reed?"

"He's not here."

Her pulse quickened.

"Then who are you?"

The man smiled.

"Someone who thinks you've been asking too many questions."

Elena turned and ran.

She raced up the stairs.

Footsteps thundered behind her.

She reached the second floor and pushed through a metal door.

An empty office stretched before her.

Broken furniture lay scattered across the floor.

She ran toward another exit.

Locked.

The men were getting closer.

Elena ducked behind a filing cabinet.

Her hands shook as she pulled out her phone.

She called Vincent.

He answered immediately.

"Elena?"

Her voice came out in a whisper.

"I'm at the Riverside office."

"Where exactly?"

"Second floor. Someone's following me."

Vincent's voice sharpened.

"Find somewhere to hide. We're coming."

Elena heard footsteps.

She pressed herself against the wall.

"Vincent, I think they want to kill me."

"Listen to me. Stay quiet. Don't confront them."

The footsteps stopped.

A man's voice echoed through the office.

"Elena. We know you're here."

She covered her mouth.

Vincent spoke again.

"Elena?"

She whispered:

"I'm scared."

His answer came instantly.

"I know. But you're not alone."

A shadow moved across the doorway.

Elena ended the call.

She crawled behind a desk.

The man in gray entered.

"Come out."

Elena held her breath.

He walked past her.

She waited until he turned away.

Then she grabbed a metal wastebasket and threw it toward the opposite wall.

The crash made him spin around.

Elena ran.

She reached the stairwell and hurried downward.

But the second man appeared below her.

She stopped.

Trapped.

"Enough," he said.

Elena backed toward the landing.

"Stay away from me."

The man advanced.

She grabbed the emergency fire extinguisher mounted on the wall.

He lunged.

Elena pulled the safety pin and discharged the extinguisher toward him.

A cloud of white powder filled the stairwell.

The man stumbled backward, coughing.

Elena pushed past him.

She ran toward the ground-floor exit.

A hand caught her sleeve.

The fabric tore.

She twisted free and stumbled into the lobby.

Then headlights flooded the entrance.

A black SUV stopped outside.

Vincent stepped out.

"ELENA!"

She ran toward him.

The man in gray appeared behind her.

Michael intercepted him before he could reach the door.

Vincent caught Elena as she stumbled.

"Are you hurt?"

She shook her head.

Then she looked down.

Blood was running from a shallow cut on her forearm.

Vincent's face changed.

"Michael!"

"Police are on their way, sir."

Vincent wrapped his jacket around Elena.

"Look at me."

She tried.

Her whole body was shaking.

"You're safe."

Elena stared at him.

For a moment, she was twelve years old again.

Smoke filling her lungs.

Flames behind her.

Someone shouting her name.

She clutched Vincent's shirt.

"I thought I was going to die."

Vincent held her carefully.

"I know."

"I thought they were going to kill me like they killed my father."

His jaw tightened.

"They won't."

She pulled back.

"You can't promise that."

Vincent looked at her.

"You're right."

The admission surprised her.

He continued.

"But I can promise I won't stop until the people responsible are brought to justice."

Elena's eyes filled with tears.

For a moment, she wanted to believe him completely.

Then she remembered the message that had brought her there.

"Thomas Reed," she whispered.

Vincent frowned.

"What about him?"

"He sent me a photograph of my father's handwriting."

"Show me."

Elena handed him her phone.

Vincent examined the message.

Michael approached.

"Sir, we detained one of the men. The other escaped through the rear entrance."

"Did either of them have Reed's phone?"

"Not that we found."

Vincent showed Michael the message.

"Trace this number."

Michael nodded.

"There's something else."

He held up a small recording device.

"We found this in the office upstairs."

Elena looked at it.

"What is it?"

"An old digital recorder. It was hidden inside a wall panel."

Vincent's expression sharpened.

"Does it work?"

"We haven't checked."

"Bring it."

They returned to the estate shortly after midnight.

A private physician cleaned Elena's cut and confirmed it was superficial.

Vincent remained outside the room while she was treated.

When the doctor left, Elena found him standing near the window.

"You can come in," she said.

Vincent turned.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I ran through three flights of stairs and nearly got murdered."

He looked pained.

Elena sighed.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize."

She sat on the edge of the bed.

"Vincent, I need to ask you something."

"Anything."

"Why did you come yourself?"

He looked at her.

"Because you called me."

"You could have sent Michael."

"I could have."

"But you didn't."

Vincent was silent.

Then he said:

"Fifteen years ago, I couldn't save you from that fire."

Elena frowned.

"You were unconscious."

"I know. But I woke up believing you'd died because you came back for me."

He stepped closer.

"When I saw that photograph of you sleeping in this room, I thought someone had already taken you."

Elena stared at him.

"You were afraid."

Vincent gave a faint, bitter smile.

"Terrified."

The word hung between them.

Elena had never imagined Vincent Romano admitting fear.

She looked down at her bandaged arm.

"You don't have to carry what happened fifteen years ago forever."

He sat in the chair opposite her.

"Neither do you."

She met his eyes.

For a moment, neither moved.

The silence felt different from the ones they had shared before.

Less hostile.

More dangerous in a way neither understood.

Then Michael knocked.

"Sir, we've recovered audio from the recorder."

Vincent stood immediately.

"Let's hear it."

They gathered in the office.

Michael connected the device to a computer.

The first recording contained only static.

The second was a brief conversation about warehouse deliveries.

The third began with the sound of a door closing.

Then a man's voice.

Daniel Brooks.

Elena recognized it instantly.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

"That's my dad."

Vincent looked at her.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded.

Tears filled her eyes.

The recording continued.

Daniel sounded angry.

"The exits are locked. The sprinkler system has been disconnected. If there's a fire, people will die."

Another man answered.

"That's not your concern."

Daniel spoke again.

"It becomes my concern when you're putting lives at risk."

A pause.

Then the second voice said:

"You're making a mistake, Brooks."

Elena gripped the edge of the desk.

Vincent leaned closer to the speakers.

He recognized the voice.

Richard.

The recording crackled.

Daniel spoke again.

"I'm taking these records to the authorities."

Richard laughed.

"You won't make it out of this building."

Elena began crying silently.

Vincent's expression hardened.

Then came the words that changed everything.

Richard's voice, cold and unmistakable:

"Lock the doors. No one leaves that warehouse."

The recording ended.

Nobody spoke.

Elena stared at the screen.

For fifteen years, she had imagined her father's final hours.

Now she had heard his voice again.

He had been brave.

He had tried to stop them.

And Richard had threatened him.

Vincent slowly stood.

"Michael."

"Yes, sir?"

"Make three copies. One for Detective Mitchell. One for our attorney. One stored somewhere Richard can't reach."

Michael nodded.

Elena wiped her cheeks.

"Is that enough?"

Vincent looked at her.

"It's enough to reopen the investigation. But we still need proof connecting Richard to the fire itself."

Elena swallowed.

"Then we'll find it."

Vincent nodded.

"We will."

Michael's phone vibrated.

He checked the message.

His expression changed.

"Sir."

Vincent turned.

"What?"

"We traced the number that sent Elena to the office."

"And?"

Michael looked at Elena.

"The message was sent from a phone registered to Thomas Reed."

Elena stared.

"Then he really did contact me?"

Michael shook his head.

"There's a problem."

Vincent's eyes narrowed.

"What problem?"

Michael took a breath.

"Thomas Reed was reported missing three days ago."

Elena felt the room tilt.

"Missing?"

"His apartment was found empty. His car was abandoned."

Vincent looked toward the recorder.

Someone had used Reed's phone to lure Elena into a trap.

Someone had hidden evidence in the building.

And someone had known exactly where she would be.

Then Michael added one final detail.

"Sir, the police found something inside Reed's abandoned car."

Vincent waited.

"A photograph of Elena."

Michael placed the image on the desk.

It showed Elena at twelve years old, standing outside the hospital after the fire.

On the back, someone had written:

SHE SAW WHO STARTED IT.

Elena stared at the photograph.

Her blood turned cold.

Because she suddenly remembered something.

Something she had buried for fifteen years.

A man's face.

A red lighter.

And the sound of a door being locked from the outside.