The brick yard was a sprawling, derelict complex of crumbling chimneys and rusted metal sheets near the riverbank.

Matteo parked the car behind a stack of rotting wooden pallets and killed the engine.

The silence of the yard was heavy, broken only by the distant hum of city traffic.

“Keep this,” Matteo said, handing me a small silver key from his pocket. “It is for a safety deposit box in Switzerland. The backup codes are there.”

“Why are you giving this to me now?” I asked, a sudden wave of dread washing over me.

“Just in case,” he said, his face shadowed in the dark car.

We got out of the car, the gravel crunching softly beneath our shoes as we approached the main warehouse.

The metal door of the warehouse was slightly ajar, a sliver of yellow light spilling out onto the dirt.

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of damp earth and old machinery.

A single chair sat in the center of the concrete floor, under a hanging bulb.

My father was tied to it, his head hanging low, his shirt stained with dirt and dark red blood.