Page 42 of Cause of Action

“Hide where?”

“Half of one of the walls in my bedroom was made up of bookcases. Pull one of the books out, and a secret door opened, revealing a tiny room. I had a futon in there, along with a table and lamp. It was my little hideout. That night, when the men arrived, there was a lot of arguing. They wanted the program he created.”

“How did they even know about it?” I asked.

“My father made a mistake and told someone he thought he could trust—the man who murdered him for it. I heard everything from upstairs as I sat on the floor, gripping the spindles. They told him that if he didn’t hand over theprogram, they would kill him. He gave them the flash drive with the program on it, and then I heard a gun go off three times. One of the men, named Tony, told the other guy he was an idiot for shooting him and he wasn’t going to prison. So, they made it look like a robbery. When I heard the gun go off, I ran into my room, opened my bookcase, and hid. A few moments later, I heard my bedroom door open and footsteps inside the room. I heard the man tell the other that no one else was in the house. I waited until I heard the chime of the front door being opened and then shut. I ran down the stairs and over to my father, who was lying there in a pool of blood, dead.”

“My God, Morgan. I’m so sorry.”

“I ran back up the stairs, called my Uncle Louie, and he was over within ten minutes. He parked down the street and came in through the back so nobody would see him. He told me to pack my suitcase because we had to leave immediately. Once we left, he made an anonymous call to 911 and reported that he was out for a walk and heard gunshots at our address. The police ruled it a break-in. A week later, after the funeral, my uncle moved us to New York City. He needed to get me out of California because he knew they’d return to the house and look for me once they found out the flash drive my father gave them was fake.”

“He gave them a fake?” My brows furrowed.

“Yes. I didn’t know it, but my dad put the real flash drive in my backpack with a note that said, “Always keep this safe, and trust nobody. I love you, Madison.”

“Madison?”

“My real name is Madison Morgan Lucido. Before we left for New York, my uncle erased my existence and created a new identity for me. But I didn’t want to give up my entire name, so I kept the name Morgan.”

“Where did Ashley come from?”

“My aunt, my father’s sister. Her name was Ashley. We were really close. She passed away when I was thirteen.”

I walked over to where she stood and wrapped my arms around her. “I’m so sorry.” My lips pressed against her head.

“That was a long time ago.” She broke our embrace. “We moved to New York, where I graduated high school, and then I went to Harvard, all with the plan that I’d get those two sons of bitches who murdered my father one day. I kept tabs on the one named Tony because it was the only name I heard my father say. The other man that was there that night is still nameless. Tony quit the FBI two years ago and moved to Seattle to open a security firm. I applied for a job, was hired, and moved there—all under an alias. I got close to him.”

“How close?” I asked.

“Not in the way you’re thinking. I spent a year getting close to him and his wife. They considered me family, which was enough to get him to trust me. Until he didn’t. I’m not sure what triggered it, but he started looking into me and asking many weird questions, so I had to get out. Before I left, I told my uncle that things had gone south, and I was returning to New York. He immediately erased the alias I was using in case Tony tried to track me down.”

“Did you ever get the name of the man who shot and killed your father?”

“No.”

“And you don’t know what he looks like?”

“I only saw the back of him as he pointed the gun at my father. He was about six feet three, two hundred thirty pounds, with dark hair and a large bald spot in the back of his head. But I’ll never forget his voice. That deep, threatening voice. So, now you know why I had to lie to you. Nobody can ever find out about that program or me, Roman. Please tellme I can trust you because it’s very hard for me to trust anyone.”

“You have my word.” I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her into me.

“Thank you.” She broke our embrace and held my gaze. “I’ll go freshen up, and then we can leave.”

I walked over to the bar and poured a scotch. Tipping the glass to my lips, I processed what she had just told me.

“Roman, can you grab my purse and bring it to me?” she shouted from the bedroom.

Grabbing her purse, I walked it into the bedroom. When I went to hand it to her, I accidentally dropped it, and the contents spilled all over the floor. Staring down at the gun lying there, I looked up at her.

“You carry a gun?”

“Yes.” She bent down and put the contents back in her purse. “It’s for protection.”

“And you know how to use it?”

She laughed. “Of course, I know how to use it. My father always took me to the shooting range when I was a kid.” She stood up and set her purse on the bed. Taking her hairbrush, she went into the bathroom.

“Have you ever used it?” I asked, following behind.

---