Chapter 10 - The Ticket To The Past
I sat at the kitchen island in Luca’s quiet, empty mansion.
The police had finally left. The sun was just beginning to rise over Lake Michigan, casting a pale, golden light through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Toby was asleep on the massive leather sofa in the living room, completely safe, watched over by one of Luca’s trusted new guards.
Luca sat across from me, nursing a cup of black coffee.
He nodded toward the yellowed envelope in my hands.
“Are you going to open it?” he asked gently.
My hands were shaking.
Thomas Reed. The man I had believed was my father for twenty-nine years. The man who had allegedly died in a car crash two days before I was placed in Clara’s arms.
I broke the wax seal.
I reached inside and pulled out two objects.
The first was a photograph.
The second was a train ticket.
I looked at the photograph first.
It was black and white, taken decades ago at a lively outdoor festival.
There were two young men in the photo, laughing, their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders.
One of them was a young Michael Moretti.
The other man was tall, with kind eyes and a familiar smile.
Thomas Reed.
I turned the photo over.
Written on the back in faded ink:
Michael and Tommy. Brothers in everything but blood.
I gasped softly.
“Luca,” I whispered, sliding the photo across the marble counter.
Luca picked it up. His eyes widened.
“Your father… knew my father? Before all of this?”
“They were best friends,” I realized, my mind racing.
“That’s why Michael chose Clara to hide me. He didn’t pick a random working-class woman. He picked his best friend’s widow.”
Luca set the photo down.
“Look at the ticket.”
I picked up the heavy, punch-card style train ticket.
It was for the Silver Streak, an old express train line that used to run from Chicago to Montreal.
But the date on the ticket wasn’t from thirty years ago.
The date punched into the paper was today.
October 5th.
Leaving at 10:00 AM from Union Station.
I stared at it in confusion.
“This doesn’t make any sense. Why would a ticket purchased thirty years ago be dated for today?”
Luca frowned, pulling his phone out.
He typed rapidly for a few seconds.
“Emma. The Silver Streak line was decommissioned twenty years ago. There are no passenger trains running that route today.”
“Then what is this?” I asked, turning the ticket over.
On the back, written in my father’s handwriting, were three lines:
Locker 414.
Union Station.
Bring the Moretti boy.
I looked up at Luca.
My heart was beating out of my chest.
“He knew,” I whispered.
“My father knew Michael was going to steal me. He knew Michael was going to fake his death. He orchestrated the whole thing.”
Luca stood up, grabbing his keys from the counter.
“He didn’t just orchestrate it, Emma. He left us a map.”
He looked at the clock on the wall.
It was 8:30 AM.
“Grab your coat,” Luca said, his eyes blazing with a fierce, protective energy.
“We’re going to Union Station.”
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TITLE: The Locker At The Station
