Chapter 3

The Phoenix Casino rose out of downtown Detroit like a glass tomb. I had built it on the ashes of the old building, the one that burned with Danielle inside. Now I walked through the back service entrance at 3:17 a.m., my cane striking the concrete, my crew behind me. The gaming floor was still bright with chandeliers and slot machines. I ordered the pit bosses to lock the doors. Guests complained. I didn’t care.

Ellis had managed security here for nine years. He had chosen the cameras. He had hired the guards. He had signed off on every renovation, every inspection, every square inch of concrete. That thought made my stomach turn.

“Sub-basement B-2,” I told Vance. “Bring a torch. And a crowbar.”

We took the service elevator down. The air grew cold and wet. The lower levels were supposed to be storage. At B-2, the hallway ended at a steel door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Ellis’s keycard reader blinked red.

I shot the lock. The door swung open.

The room beyond was not a storage room. It was a cell.

Twelve feet by twelve. Concrete walls. No windows. A bare mattress on a metal frame. A bucket in the corner. A child’s drawings taped to the wall: a woman with dark eyes, a boy holding her hand, a silver case with a bird on it. The drawings were signed TOBY in crooked letters.

I touched the wall. The concrete was cold. There were scratches near the floor, tally marks. Hundreds of them. Years of them.

Vance swore under his breath. “Boss, what is this?”

I didn’t answer. I picked up a hospital bracelet from the mattress. It was tiny, meant for a newborn. The name read BABY BOY BELL. Mother: DANIELLE CALLOWAY. Date of birth: nine years ago. Two months after the fire.

My knees almost gave out.

She had been pregnant. I had known that. Eight months. I had buried an empty coffin because Ellis told me the fire had taken her and the baby both. But here was proof. She had given birth. She had named him Toby. She had kept him alive in this room.

And Ellis had known.

I remembered every time Ellis had talked me out of inspecting the sub-basements. “Flooded, Marcus. Structural damage. Not worth the risk.” I remembered him sending search teams to Chicago, to Atlanta, to Mexico. I remembered him holding me while I cried at the empty grave.

He had been standing on top of her the whole time.

I put the bracelet in my pocket. “Find every key on Ellis’s ring,” I said. “Find every locked door in this building. Tear the walls out if you have to.”

My phone buzzed. Unknown number. I answered.

“Hello, brother.” Ellis’s voice was calm. “You found B-2. Good. That saves time.”

“Where is she?”

“Alive. For now.” A pause. “I want to make a trade. You bring me the ledgers. All of them. And you give me a clear road out of the city. I give you Danielle and the boy.”

“You expect me to trust you?”

“No. I expect you to love her more than you hate me.” Another pause. “You have two hours. The boy is already missing you.”

The line went dead.

I stood in the cell, the hospital bracelet in one hand, the cigarette case in the other. The lullaby was still stuck in my head. Danielle had kept our song alive for ten years. She had taught it to her son. She had sent him through the rain to find me.

I would not let Ellis take them back into the dark.