Chapter 3 - The Girl in the Photograph
The man at the top of the stairs raised the photograph and said, "Claire Bennett was never supposed to come back here."
Marco aimed his gun at his chest.
Gabriel's wheelchair stood directly beneath the staircase.
A date was written across the bottom of the photograph.
April 17.
My mouth went dry.
The man wasn't Dominic Moretti.
He was younger, perhaps forty-five, with gray beginning at his temples and blood running from a cut above his eyebrow. His white shirt was torn at the shoulder. One wrist carried the angry red marks of rope burns.
He looked less like an attacker than someone who had escaped one.
"Who are you?" Marco demanded.
The man glanced at the pistol.
"Put that down."
"Answer me."
"Daniel Cross."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed.
"I know that name."
Daniel looked at him.
"You should."
"Financial security."
"Your father's financial security."
Gabriel's expression changed.
"You disappeared after the explosion."
"I was made to disappear."
Daniel descended one step.
Marco raised the weapon higher.
"Stop."
Daniel stopped.
His eyes returned to me.
That frightened me more than the gun.
"You look like her."
"Like who?"
He didn't answer.
"Where did you get that photograph?"
"Your father."
I pointed at Gabriel.
"His father?"
Daniel nodded.
I looked at Gabriel.
He seemed as confused as I was.
"Why would Vittorio Moretti have a photograph of me when I was a child?"
Daniel gave a tired laugh.
"Because this didn't begin today."
Gabriel rolled forward.
"Come downstairs."
"Not until Marco lowers the gun."
"No."
"Then we're wasting time."
Marco's jaw tightened.
Gabriel looked at him.
"Lower it."
"Gabriel—"
"Do it."
Marco slowly lowered the pistol.
Daniel descended.
Luca searched him immediately.
Wallet.
Phone.
No weapon.
A key.
And a small flash drive.
Luca held it up.
Daniel's expression sharpened.
"Careful with that."
"What's on it?" Gabriel asked.
"The reason your father died."
The room became silent.
Gabriel stared at the drive.
"Then you've had eighteen months to bring it to me."
"I tried."
"When?"
"The night after the explosion."
"You disappeared."
"I was kidnapped."
Marco scoffed.
"For eighteen months?"
"Not continuously."
"Convenient."
Daniel turned toward him.
"You want to discuss convenient, Marco?"
Marco stepped forward.
Gabriel lifted one hand.
"Enough."
He looked at Daniel.
"Start with Claire."
I appreciated that.
I was getting tired of discovering that strangers apparently knew more about my childhood than I did.
Daniel placed the photograph on the table.
I approached cautiously.
The picture showed a little girl standing beside a rose garden.
Me.
I recognized the yellow dress.
I remembered seeing it in an old family album.
But the surroundings weren't familiar.
Behind me stood a stone fountain.
Beyond it was the edge of a large house.
This house.
I looked through the guesthouse window.
The same fountain stood outside.
My stomach twisted.
"No."
Daniel said nothing.
"I've never been here."
"You have."
"I would remember."
"You were seven."
"I remember being seven."
"Not everything."
I looked at him.
"What does that mean?"
Daniel turned the photograph over.
Writing covered the back.
I recognized none of it.
Gabriel did.
"My father's handwriting."
He read silently.
His face hardened.
"What does it say?" I demanded.
Gabriel hesitated.
"Read it."
He finally did.
"'Claire Bennett. Eleanor's daughter. If anything happens to me, find her before Dominic does.'"
My chest tightened.
"Eleanor was my mother's name."
Daniel nodded.
"Yes."
"How did Vittorio know my mother?"
Daniel looked at Gabriel.
Gabriel stared back.
"Tell her."
Daniel took a breath.
"Your mother worked for Vittorio."
I shook my head.
"No. She was an accountant."
"Exactly."
The answer hit me.
My mother had died when I was nine.
Car accident.
That was what my father had told Emily and me.
A wet highway.
A truck crossing lanes.
Instant death.
I'd spent twenty years believing it.
"What kind of accountant?"
"Forensic."
Gabriel looked at Daniel.
"For my father?"
"Privately."
"What was she investigating?"
"Account 417."
I stared at him.
No.
The number had followed us from Gabriel's medication to the security card, from Vittorio's warning to my childhood.
Now my mother.
"You're lying."
Daniel's expression softened.
"I wish I were."
"My mother died twenty years ago."
"Nineteen."
I froze.
He was right.
Exactly nineteen years and four months.
"She found the first transfers," Daniel continued. "Small amounts at first. Then shell companies. Trusts. Property acquisitions. By the time Vittorio understood what she had uncovered, millions had disappeared."
"From Gabriel?"
"From a trust established for him."
Gabriel's voice was cold.
"Who controlled it?"
"Vittorio and Dominic."
"Then my father could have taken it."
"He could have."
"But?"
"Your father hired Eleanor because he suspected Dominic."
Gabriel looked toward the frozen video image of Vittorio.
"My father suspected his brother for twenty years?"
"Longer."
Marco crossed his arms.
"And somehow nobody knew."
"People knew," Daniel said. "Most of them are dead."
I felt sick.
"My mother?"
Daniel looked at me.
"She was one of them."
The room tilted.
I grabbed the table.
Gabriel moved immediately.
"Claire."
"I'm fine."
"You aren't."
"I said I'm fine."
It came out too sharply.
He stopped.
I appreciated that too.
I looked at Daniel.
"Are you telling me my mother's accident wasn't an accident?"
"I don't know exactly what happened."
"That's not good enough."
"It's the truth."
"You just told me she was investigating stolen mafia money and then died."
"Yes."
"So say it."
Daniel met my eyes.
"I believe Eleanor Bennett was murdered."
The words hurt more than I expected.
Maybe because part of me had already known what he was going to say.
For nineteen years, my mother's death had been a closed door.
Now someone had kicked it open.
"Why wasn't this investigated?"
"It was."
"By who?"
"Vittorio."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
Daniel looked exhausted.
"Police ruled it an accident. Vittorio didn't believe them. He continued Eleanor's investigation privately."
"And kept a photograph of me?"
"He felt responsible."
"For what?"
"Your mother was working for him when she died."
I looked at Gabriel.
His face carried something I hadn't expected.
Guilt.
It wasn't his.
He hadn't caused any of this.
But he felt it anyway.
Maybe that was what living inside a family like his did.
You inherited more than money.
You inherited sins.
Daniel pointed toward the laptop.
"The password."
Gabriel looked at him.
"You know it?"
"No."
"Then why mention it?"
"Because Claire does."
I laughed once.
"Apparently everyone knows fascinating things about me except me."
Daniel picked up the photograph.
"Look at the fountain."
I did.
There was an inscription carved along its base.
The photograph was old and slightly blurred, but I could make out letters.
E.M.B.
My mother's initials.
Eleanor Marie Bennett.
"What is that?"
Daniel nodded toward the window.
"Go look."
Marco moved first.
We crossed the room and stepped outside.
The fountain stood thirty feet away.
Gabriel rolled beside me along the stone path.
I crouched at its base.
The initials were still there.
E.M.B.
Below them was something else.
Four numbers.
"My mother's birth year."
Gabriel looked at me.
"Try it."
We returned to the guesthouse.
I typed 1987 into the laptop.
Incorrect password.
Daniel frowned.
"Maybe combined with the initials."
EMB1987.
Incorrect.
1987EMB.
Incorrect.
One attempt remaining.
The screen displayed a warning.
ONE FAILED ATTEMPT WILL ERASE THE DRIVE.
"Don't touch it," Marco said.
"For once, I completely agree."
Gabriel studied the photograph.
"What did your mother call you?"
"Claire."
"Nickname?"
"My dad called me Bug."
Daniel looked up sharply.
"What?"
"Bug."
"Why?"
"I used to collect ladybugs."
Daniel reached for the photograph.
He pointed to my dress.
A tiny embroidered ladybug was visible near the collar.
Under it, almost impossible to see, were two handwritten letters.
CB.
Gabriel understood.
"Claire Bennett."
"Too obvious," Daniel said.
I stared at the picture.
Then remembered something.
A song.
My mother used to sing it when I couldn't sleep.
Four little ladybugs sitting by the door.
One flew away and then there were three.
"Four," I whispered.
Gabriel looked at me.
"What?"
"My mother always associated ladybugs with four."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Daniel's expression changed.
"She called you Four."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"Not to your family. To Vittorio. It was how she referred to you in her files."
"Why?"
"She had two daughters."
"Yes."
"Emily was Three."
"That makes no sense."
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
"Because you weren't the first children she was protecting."
I felt my pulse accelerate.
"Who were One and Two?"
"I don't know."
Another answer I hated.
I looked at the password field.
Claire.
Bennett.
Four.
I typed:
CB4174
Gabriel caught my wrist before I pressed Enter.
"Certain?"
"No."
"Then don't."
I stared at the screen.
"What else do we have?"
Gabriel turned the photograph over again.
Vittorio's note.
Find her before Dominic does.
The first letters.
FHBDA.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a tiny mark beneath Vittorio's signature.
A ladybug.
Four dots on each wing.
Eight.
"Eight."
Gabriel followed my gaze.
"CB4178?"
"Maybe."
Daniel shook his head.
"Eleanor wouldn't use an eight-digit clue that obvious."
"It isn't eight digits."
"What?"
I pointed.
"Four dots on each wing. Four-four."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed.
"44."
I typed:
CB41744
My finger hovered.
Gabriel released my wrist.
"Your decision."
I pressed Enter.
The screen went black.
My heart stopped.
Then folders appeared.
Hundreds of them.
BANK TRANSFERS.
MEDICAL.
TRUST.
SECURITY.
ELEANOR.
VITTORIO.
DOMINIC.
And one folder labeled CLAIRE.
I stared at my own name.
"Open it," Gabriel said.
I did.
There were photographs.
School pictures.
Graduation.
My first nursing job.
My apartment.
Emily.
Someone had been tracking me for years.
"This is insane."
Daniel leaned closer.
"Vittorio was protecting you."
"By spying on me?"
"Maybe."
Gabriel pointed at another file.
"Open that."
A document appeared.
BENNETT PROTECTION FUND.
Current balance:
$6,240,000.
I stared.
"What?"
Daniel looked genuinely surprised.
Gabriel read the transactions.
Payments had been made every year.
Insurance.
Education.
Housing.
Security.
All routed invisibly.
"My college scholarship," I whispered.
I'd received an anonymous scholarship.
I had always assumed it came from a charitable foundation.
It hadn't.
Vittorio Moretti had paid for my education.
"Why?" I asked.
Nobody answered.
Then I saw another file.
ELEANOR_FINAL.
I clicked it.
An audio recording began.
Static.
Then a woman's voice.
My mother's voice.
I hadn't heard it in nineteen years.
I stopped breathing.
"If you're listening to this, Vittorio, then I found the source."
Tears burned my eyes.
Gabriel said nothing.
"The transfers aren't simply theft. Dominic is building something. He's paying judges, police officers, doctors, drivers, security personnel. He's creating a network inside your family."
Marco looked at Gabriel.
The recording continued.
"And there's something else. Gabriel's trust isn't the real target."
A pause.
"The inheritance belongs to—"
The recording corrupted.
I nearly screamed.
"No."
The audio skipped forward.
My mother's voice returned.
"Protect my daughters. Especially Claire. She saw him."
I went cold.
Saw who?
The recording ended.
I stared at the screen.
"I don't remember seeing anyone."
Daniel looked worried.
"You were seven."
"What did I see?"
"I don't know."
Gabriel opened the DOMINIC folder.
Bank records filled the screen.
Payments.
Properties.
Names.
Then one transaction caught his attention.
"Marco."
Marco stepped closer.
Gabriel pointed.
A monthly payment.
Recipient:
M. BELLINI.
Marco's face drained.
Luca drew his gun.
"Boss."
Marco immediately raised his hands.
"That's not me."
Gabriel stared at him.
"Your surname is Bellini."
"There are other Bellinis."
"Your first name begins with M."
"I know how my name works."
Luca stepped behind him.
"Gun."
Marco slowly placed his pistol on the table.
I looked at the transaction dates.
They began eighteen months before the explosion.
Continued afterward.
Then stopped three months ago.
"Why would Dominic pay you?" Gabriel asked.
"He didn't."
"Then explain it."
"I can't."
Gabriel's face hardened.
Marco looked desperate now.
Not frightened for himself.
Frustrated.
"Someone is setting this up."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
Gabriel almost laughed.
"That answer is becoming contagious."
Marco looked at Daniel.
"You."
Daniel blinked.
"What?"
"You brought the drive."
"I brought evidence."
"You brought evidence conveniently accusing me."
Daniel stepped forward.
"I spent eighteen months running from people trying to kill me."
"And now you walk into Gabriel's guesthouse carrying exactly what he needs?"
"I didn't walk in. I was tied upstairs."
"By whom?"
Daniel hesitated.
Marco smiled without humor.
"Exactly."
Suddenly my phone vibrated again.
Another unknown message.
This time there was no photograph.
Just a sentence.
ASK MARCO WHERE HE WAS WHEN YOUR MOTHER DIED.
I looked at Marco.
He saw my expression.
"What?"
I showed Gabriel.
He read it.
Then looked at Marco.
"Answer."
Marco stared at the message.
His face changed.
"Gabriel."
"Where were you nineteen years ago?"
"I was seventeen."
"That's not an answer."
Marco looked at me.
"I knew your mother."
My breath caught.
"How?"
"She helped my family."
"What does that mean?"
"My father worked for Vittorio."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed.
"Your father was Matteo Bellini."
"Yes."
Daniel suddenly stepped backward.
Everyone noticed.
Gabriel looked at him.
"What?"
Daniel's face had gone pale.
"Matteo Bellini wasn't security."
Marco stared at him.
Daniel continued.
"He was Vittorio's accountant before Eleanor."
The room fell silent.
I looked at the transaction again.
M. BELLINI.
Maybe it wasn't Marco.
Maybe the account had belonged to his father.
"But your father died before mine," Gabriel said.
Marco nodded.
"Six months before Eleanor."
My stomach tightened.
Two accountants.
Both connected to Vittorio.
Both dead.
"What happened to Matteo?" I asked.
Marco looked directly at me.
"Car accident."
The similarity was impossible to ignore.
Daniel reached for the laptop.
"We need the payment details."
He opened the transaction.
The beneficiary wasn't Marco.
It was a dormant trust.
MATTEO BELLINI ESTATE.
Marco stared.
"Someone has been using my father's identity."
Gabriel leaned closer.
"For eighteen years."
Another file appeared beneath the transaction.
AUTHORIZED BY:
D. MORETTI.
Dominic.
Gabriel's expression became ice.
"Find my uncle."
Luca checked his phone.
"Security teams are searching."
Gabriel turned toward Daniel.
"You said Dominic was here."
"I was told he was."
"By who?"
Daniel hesitated.
"The person who freed me."
Marco grabbed him.
"Who?"
"I never saw his face."
"Name."
"He didn't give one."
Marco shoved him against the wall.
"Then what did he say?"
Daniel looked at Gabriel.
"He said Claire would know him."
My heart began pounding again.
"That's impossible."
Then the laptop chimed.
A new file appeared.
Not from the drive.
Incoming connection.
LIVE CAMERA.
Gabriel clicked it.
The screen showed my apartment.
My living room.
Empty.
Then Emily entered the frame.
My sister.
"Emily."
She couldn't hear me.
She put down her purse.
Someone moved behind her.
A man.
His face remained outside the camera angle.
I grabbed the satellite phone.
"Call her."
Gabriel was already dialing.
Onscreen, Emily's phone rang.
She looked at it.
Before she could answer, the man behind her reached forward.
The video cut to black.
"No!"
I ran toward the door.
Gabriel caught my wrist.
"Claire."
"Let go of me!"
"If you run there blindly, you'll get both of you killed."
"She's my sister!"
"And we'll get her back."
"How?"
Gabriel looked at the laptop.
Another message appeared.
BRING CLAIRE TO 417 HAWTHORNE STREET.
COME ALONE.
Gabriel's eyes hardened.
Marco whispered, "It's a trap."
"Obviously."
I stared at the address.
Something about it felt familiar.
Hawthorne Street.
I had been there before.
Then I remembered.
My mother.
A tiny blue house.
A basement door she had once forbidden me to open.
I looked at Gabriel.
"I know that address."
Everyone turned toward me.
"That was my mother's house before she married my father."
The laptop chimed again.
A final message appeared.
THIS TIME, ASK CLAIRE WHAT SHE SAW IN THE BASEMENT.
My hands began trembling.
A memory surfaced.
Dark stairs.
My mother's hand over my mouth.
A man arguing downstairs.
And a silver cross around his neck.
The same kind Gabriel wore.
Then someone knocked on the guesthouse door.
Three times.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Gabriel reached for his gun.
May you like
The handle began turning.
And from the other side, my sister whispered, "Claire, don't let them open this door."
