Chapter 4 - The Box Behind the Wall
Amelia watched the video three times.
The gray box came out of the wall each time.
Same dented corner.
Same metal latch.
Same pale scrape along the side.
Raymond’s box.
“No,” she whispered.
Vincent took the phone.
“When did you put that there?”
“I didn’t.”
“You recognize it?”
“Yes.”
“Then how did it get into your room?”
“I don’t know.”
Angela looked at Amelia.
“Were you the first tenant?”
“No.”
“Could Raymond have rented the room before you?”
Amelia shook her head.
“The landlady said the previous tenant was an old woman.”
Marco was already typing.
“What’s the landlady’s name?”
“Mrs. Kaplan.”
He stepped away.
Vincent replayed the clip.
“There’s no timestamp.”
“It was sent tonight.”
“That doesn’t mean it was recorded tonight.”
Amelia looked at him.
“You think Raymond planted it?”
“I think somebody did.”
“Why?”
“To make you believe you had it.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if the goal is to force you somewhere.”
She looked at the message.
YOU HAVE UNTIL SUNRISE.
Vincent continued.
“If you believe the box was hidden in your room without your knowledge, you panic. You go looking for answers.”
“At the warehouse.”
“Maybe.”
Amelia crossed her arms.
“So we don’t go.”
Vincent nodded.
“Correct.”
She stared at him.
“That easy?”
“No.”
He picked up his coat.
“We go somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“To your apartment.”
Angela objected immediately.
“Absolutely not.”
“We need to know whether the box is actually there.”
“He sent a video showing somebody removing it.”
“Which may be old.”
Amelia understood.
“If it’s still there, the video is fake.”
“If it’s gone, we learn something else.”
Angela looked between them.
“I hate all of this.”
Tony poured himself coffee.
“You hated the brunch menu too.”
“That was justified.”
Forty minutes later, they reached Amelia’s building.
Marco went first.
Then Sal.
No signs of forced entry.
No movement.
Vincent insisted Amelia wait downstairs.
She refused.
They compromised.
She stayed behind him.
The apartment door was unlocked.
Amelia stopped.
“I locked it.”
Vincent turned.
“You’re sure?”
“I check twice.”
Marco entered.
Lights on.
Nothing visibly disturbed.
The little rented room looked exactly as Amelia had left it before work.
Bed made.
Book on nightstand.
Gray sweater over chair.
Then she saw the closet.
Open.
Vincent looked at her.
“You left that open?”
“No.”
Marco checked inside.
“Where was the panel?”
Amelia pointed.
The cheap wood backing behind a row of hanging clothes looked normal.
Marco pressed.
One edge moved.
A hidden cavity.
Empty.
Amelia covered her mouth.
Vincent examined the space.
Dust around the edges.
Scrape marks.
Something had been stored there.
Recently.
Angela whispered, “How did you not know?”
Amelia looked at her.
“I don’t dismantle my closet.”
Marco ran a flashlight along the cavity.
“Wait.”
He reached inside.
Pulled out a folded envelope.
Amelia’s name was written on the front.
Not printed.
Handwritten.
AMELIA.
Her knees weakened.
She recognized the handwriting.
Raymond.
Vincent saw her face.
“You know it.”
She nodded.
“Open it?” Marco asked.
Amelia reached for it.
Vincent stopped him from handing it directly.
“Gloves.”
Marco nodded.
Angela looked at Vincent.
“Planning to turn this over to police?”
“Yes.”
That surprised her.
“Good.”
Marco opened the envelope carefully.
Inside was one photograph.
A younger Raymond stood beside another man.
The second man’s face was familiar.
Vincent took the photo.
His expression froze.
Amelia saw it immediately.
“Who is he?”
Vincent said nothing.
“Vincent.”
He looked up.
“My uncle.”
“The one who owned the warehouse?”
“Yes.”
Amelia stared at the image.
Raymond looked maybe twenty-five.
Vincent’s uncle, Carlo Castellano, stood beside him outside a loading dock.
On the back, a date.
Eight years earlier.
And a handwritten note.
HE KNOWS WHERE THE LEDGER WENT.
Angela whispered, “Your uncle knew Raymond?”
Vincent continued staring at the photograph.
“He never mentioned him.”
Marco looked uneasy.
“Carlo died six years ago.”
“How?” Amelia asked.
Vincent’s gaze stayed on the image.
“Heart attack.”
Marco said nothing.
Vincent looked at him.
“What?”
Marco hesitated.
“There were rumors.”
“What rumors?”
“You know.”
“I want you to say it.”
Marco exhaled.
“People thought Carlo was going to cooperate with federal investigators before he died.”
The room went silent.
Amelia looked at Vincent.
“Was he?”
“I never knew.”
“Could this ledger have been evidence?”
“Yes.”
“And Raymond had it?”
“Possibly.”
“Or thought Carlo had it.”
“Yes.”
Amelia paced once across the tiny room.
“Why involve me?”
Vincent looked at the cavity.
“Maybe because Carlo hid it somewhere Raymond couldn’t access.”
“In my wall?”
“Maybe.”
“That still doesn’t explain why.”
Marco crouched near the closet baseboard.
“Unless this room mattered before Amelia lived here.”
He found something taped beneath the shelf.
A yellowed lease copy.
Tenant name:
EVELYN HAYES.
Amelia stopped breathing.
Angela looked at her.
“Hays?”
Amelia took the paper.
“My mother.”
Vincent stared.
“Your mother lived here?”
“No.”
“When did she die?”
Amelia looked at the lease date.
Nine years ago.
“My mother died twelve years ago.”
Nobody spoke.
Amelia read the lease again.
Evelyn Hayes.
Same middle initial.
Same birth year.
The signature looked exactly like her mother’s.
“This is impossible.”
Vincent asked quietly, “How did she die?”
“Car accident.”
“Did you see her afterward?”
Amelia’s face changed.
“No.”
“Funeral?”
“Closed casket.”
Angela sat on the edge of the bed.
“Oh my God.”
Amelia shook her head.
“No. No. She died.”
Vincent looked at the lease.
“Maybe.”
Amelia turned on him.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not saying she didn’t.”
“You’re implying it.”
“I’m saying somebody used her identity.”
Marco checked the lease more closely.
“There’s a contact number.”
He typed it into his phone.
No response.
Then he searched the number.
His expression darkened.
“What?”
“It belongs to a prepaid line activated nine years ago.”
“By who?”
“No registered owner.”
Amelia sank onto the chair.
The world she had known was shifting piece by piece.
Raymond.
The box.
Carlo.
Her mother.
All connected by a room Amelia had found by accident three years ago.
Or thought she had.
Vincent looked toward the window.
“How did you find this apartment?”
“A classified ad.”
“Which site?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Who showed it to you?”
“Mrs. Kaplan.”
“Did she ask for references?”
“No.”
“Deposit?”
“Cash.”
“Did she know your name before you told her?”
Amelia tried to remember.
Mrs. Kaplan opening the door.
Smiling.
Saying, You must be Amelia.
At the time, Amelia assumed Angela had called ahead.
Angela suddenly stood.
“I recommended the place.”
Everyone turned.
Amelia stared.
“You what?”
Angela’s face drained.
“When you first came to the diner, you said you needed somewhere cheap.”
“Yes.”
“I asked Mr. Del Monaco.”
The old regular.
“He gave me Mrs. Kaplan’s number.”
Vincent’s eyes sharpened.
“Del Monaco?”
Angela nodded.
“He said she rented rooms.”
Vincent picked up his phone.
“Sal. Find Del Monaco.”
Amelia stood.
“He was at the diner tonight.”
“Yes.”
“He watched Derek hit me.”
“Yes.”
“And he’s known me for three years.”
Vincent’s face had gone cold.
Marco’s phone rang.
He answered.
“Yeah?”
He listened.
“Where?”
Vincent watched him.
Marco lowered the phone slowly.
“What happened?” Amelia asked.
“Police went to Derek’s apartment.”
“And?”
“It was empty.”
“Of course.”
“No.”
Marco looked at Vincent.
“I mean cleared out.”
Amelia frowned.
“When?”
“Before his arrest.”
A knock sounded at the apartment door.
Everyone froze.
Sal’s voice came through.
“Vincent.”
Vincent opened it.
Sal stood outside.
His face looked wrong.
“What?”
Sal glanced toward Amelia.
“Del Monaco is gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Nobody knows.”
Amelia felt the first real fear she had felt since waking.
Then Sal handed Vincent an envelope.
“He left this under his coffee cup.”
Vincent opened it.
Inside was a single key.
A brass tag hung from it.
May you like
And beneath the key was a note addressed to Amelia.
Your mother did not die in that crash.
