Chapter 5 - The Night of November 14th
The library was lined floor-to-ceiling with thousands of leather-bound volumes, warmed by a roaring fire in a massive floor hearth.
Maya sat in a deep leather armchair, a mug of hot cinnamon tea resting untouched on the brass table beside her. Barnaby—or Ghost, as Raphael called him—lay curled on the rug between her chair and Raphael’s desk, sleeping deeply for the first time in days.
Raphael stood by the window, staring out into the rain-soaked gardens.
"His name is Ghost," Raphael said softly, his back to her. "He was a gift from my younger sister, Clara, on her eighteenth birthday. November 14th, 2016."
Maya watched him closely. "The date on the silver collar."
"Yes." Raphael turned around, leaning his hip against the edge of the heavy desk. "Clara had blood cancer. She spent three years in and out of specialized clinics. Ghost was trained to sit beside her bed during her chemotherapy sessions. He never left her side. Not once."
He took a slow breath, his jaw clenching.
"Seven years ago, my rival—a man named Viktor Vance—decided to hit me where I was weakest. He sent three men to burn down Clara’s cottage in upstate New York while I was in Chicago negotiating a territorial dispute."
Maya gasped, her hand going to her mouth.
"I lost Clara that night," Raphael said, his voice dropping into a flat, terrifying register that sent chills down Maya’s spine. "The house burned to the ground. We found nothing in the ashes except char and ash. We assumed Ghost died in the fire with her."
"Then how is he alive?" Maya asked, looking down at the white dog. "How did he end up in an alley in Brooklyn seven years later?"
Raphael looked at her, his grey eyes piercing her soul.
"Because your father saved him," Raphael revealed.
Maya stared at him, stunned. "My father?"
"Your father, Thomas Foster, was the chief carpenter hired to renovate Clara’s cottage," Raphael explained softly. "He was on site when Viktor’s men arrived. Thomas couldn't save Clara—the room was already engulfed in flames before he could reach her. But he broke through the back window, pulled Ghost out of the fire, and ran into the woods."
Raphael walked over, stopping three feet from her chair.
"Your father knew that if Viktor’s men found out Ghost survived, they would hunt the dog down to erase any trace of that night. So Thomas took Ghost, hid him, and brought him back to Brooklyn. Two days later, your father died in that 'accident' at Pier 42."
Maya’s breath caught in her throat. Tears spilled over her eyelashes, running down her cheeks.
"It wasn't an accident," Maya whispered, the terrible truth crashing down on her. "Viktor Vance killed my father."
"Yes," Raphael admitted quietly. "Your father died protecting my sister's dog. He died protecting a piece of Clara that I thought was gone forever."
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He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather-bound notebook, placing it gently on the table beside her tea.
"Your father left this in my office the day before he died," Raphael said. "It contains every name, every shipment, and every order Viktor Vance gave that night. Thomas died to give me the truth."
