Chapter 5 - The Doppelgänger
Dominic slowly turned his head to look at Nora.
His eyes were completely devoid of warmth.
"What is he talking about?" Dominic demanded, his voice dangerously low.
Nora backed away, her hands raised defensively.
"I don't know!" she protested.
"I've been asleep in your apartment all morning!"
"You locked me in!"
Dominic grabbed the bank manager by the lapels of his cheap suit, lifting him slightly out of his chair.
"Show me the security footage," he hissed.
"Now."
The terrified manager fumbled with his keyboard, quickly pulling up the morning's camera feed.
He turned the monitor so Dominic and Nora could see.
The grainy, black-and-white footage showed the bank lobby exactly one hour prior.
A woman walked confidently up to the manager's desk.
She was wearing a dark trench coat, her hair pulled back into a severe bun.
She handed over a silver key, signed the access log, and followed a guard into the vault.
Ten minutes later, she emerged carrying a thick, leather-bound ledger.
She walked out the front doors and vanished into the crowded street.
Nora stared at the screen in absolute horror.
The woman on the camera was identical to her.
The same height, the same build, the same facial structure.
"That's not me," Nora whispered, panic rising in her throat.
"I swear to God, Dominic, that is not me."
Dominic released the manager, who slumped back into his chair, gasping for air.
He stared hard at the paused image on the screen.
"I know it's not you," Dominic said quietly.
Nora looked at him in surprise.
"You do?"
"Yes," Dominic replied, tracing a finger across the monitor.
"Because she doesn't have a scar on her left cheek."
Nora touched her face, tracing the faint, jagged line she had carried since she woke up in Chicago twelve years ago.
The woman on the screen had flawlessly smooth skin.
Dominic turned back to the manager.
"Did she speak?"
"Yes," the manager stammered.
"She had a slight accent. Maybe Russian? I couldn't quite tell."
Dominic's jaw tightened.
"Print the access log," he ordered.
The manager hastily complied, handing over a sheet of paper.
Dominic scanned the signature and shoved the paper into his pocket.
He grabbed Nora's arm.
"We need to leave. Now."
They hurried out of the bank, blending into the heavy mid-morning foot traffic.
Dominic hailed a cab and gave an address in Queens, far away from his Tribeca penthouse.
"Who was that woman?" Nora asked once they were moving.
Dominic didn't answer immediately.
He pulled the access log from his pocket and stared at the signature.
He handed the paper to Nora.
She looked at the elegant, looping handwriting.
It read: Emily Vale.
Nora dropped the paper as if it burned her.
"Your sister is alive?" she gasped.
Dominic looked out the window, his expression unreadable.
"I don't know," he admitted softly.
"But someone who looks exactly like you just used her name to steal the ledger."
The cab pulled up to a rundown auto body shop in a gritty industrial park.
Dominic paid the driver and led Nora inside the cavernous garage.
A heavy-set mechanic wiped grease from his hands and approached them cautiously.
"Dominic," the mechanic said.
"You shouldn't be here."
"Word on the street is Rourke put a massive number on your head."
"I need a clean car, Tony," Dominic said firmly.
"Something fast and untraceable."
Tony sighed, gesturing toward a sleek, black muscle car in the back of the shop.
"Keys are in the ignition. Plates are clean."
"Don't bring it back."
Dominic tossed a thick envelope of cash onto a nearby workbench.
He and Nora climbed into the car and tore out of the garage.
"Where are we going?" Nora asked, gripping the handle above the door.
"To find the man who trained my father," Dominic answered, his eyes locked on the road.
"He's the only one who knows the truth about the safety deposit box."
They drove in tense silence for two hours, eventually pulling up to a secluded cabin deep in the Catskills.
Dominic drew his weapon and approached the front door cautiously.
He pushed it open.
The cabin was completely empty.
But pinned to the wall with a heavy hunting knife was a photograph.
It was the same Polaroid Dominic had described in the basement.
The picture of a young girl's shoulder, branded with the broken compass symbol.
May you like
And written across the bottom in fresh, red ink were three chilling words.
Welcome home, Dominic.
