Chapter 2 - The Envelope Beneath the Water
Vincent reached the east corridor before Elena had finished changing into dry clothes.
She should have left.
Every instinct told her that.
But Lily was sitting in the kitchen with Mrs. Alvarez, wrapped in a blanket and drinking hot chocolate.
And Elena needed to know why Genevieve had humiliated her over a keycard.
More importantly, she needed to know whether finding it had put Lily in danger.
Thomas met her outside the staff room.
“You don't have to be involved.”
“I already am.”
“Elena—”
“She pushed me into a pool because that card was in my pocket.”
Thomas had no answer.
Elena folded her arms.
“What are those payments?”
“We don't know.”
“You're Mr. Falcone's attorney.”
“Which is precisely why I don't speculate.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
Thomas glanced toward the kitchen.
“Vincent's father, Dominic Falcone, kept separate financial records. Some legitimate. Some... less transparent.”
“Criminal?”
Thomas's expression was careful.
“Dominic lived in a different era.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No. It isn't.”
Elena began walking.
Thomas followed.
“Where are you going?”
“To Mr. Falcone.”
“Elena.”
“If Genevieve was willing to push me into a pool in front of sixty witnesses, what would she do when nobody was watching?”
That stopped him.
They found Vincent in the east corridor.
The luxurious part of the mansion ended abruptly there.
Beyond a carved wooden door was a narrow service passage Elena had never entered.
A section of wall stood open.
Not a normal door.
A concealed one.
Vincent held the keycard.
“Stay back.”
Elena ignored him.
Inside was a small staircase descending beneath the mansion.
Genevieve was nowhere visible.
Security searched first.
Then Vincent descended.
Thomas followed.
Elena went next.
At the bottom was a windowless room.
Metal filing cabinets lined one wall.
A desk stood beneath a single hanging light.
There were no jewels.
No guns.
No stacks of cash.
Just records.
Hundreds of them.
Vincent opened the nearest drawer.
Empty.
The next one was empty too.
Someone had been there first.
Then Elena noticed water.
A thin trail of droplets crossed the concrete floor.
“Vincent.”
He looked.
The droplets led toward a steel cabinet.
Genevieve had been wearing dry shoes when she left the ballroom.
Elena hadn't.
She looked down at her own shoes.
Dry now.
Someone else had carried water into the room.
Vincent followed the trail.
It ended beneath the cabinet.
He crouched.
An envelope had been pushed underneath.
Thomas retrieved it.
The paper was wet at one corner.
On the front were two handwritten words.
FOR VINCENT.
Vincent stared.
He recognized the handwriting.
“My father.”
Thomas looked shocked.
Vincent opened it.
Inside was a letter and a photograph.
The photograph showed Dominic Falcone standing beside a younger Mrs. Alvarez and another woman Elena didn't recognize.
The unknown woman held a baby.
Vincent read silently.
His expression became unreadable.
“What does it say?” Thomas asked.
Vincent handed him the letter.
Thomas read the first paragraph and sat down.
Elena's pulse quickened.
“What?”
Thomas looked at her.
“Dominic believed someone inside the family was moving money through charitable foundations.”
Elena frowned.
“What kind of money?”
“A lot.”
“How much?”
Thomas looked back at the page.
“Over twenty million dollars.”
Elena nearly laughed from disbelief.
Her rent was fourteen hundred dollars.
Twenty million existed only as a number on television.
“Who?”
“The letter doesn't say.”
Vincent pointed to the final paragraph.
“He says proof was placed in 417.”
Elena looked around.
“This is 417?”
“No.”
Vincent shook his head.
“This room is E-4.”
“Then what's 417?”
Nobody knew.
A security officer appeared.
“Sir, we found Mrs. Falcone.”
Vincent stood.
“Where?”
“In the garage.”
“Trying to leave?”
“Yes.”
Genevieve was brought back ten minutes later.
She entered furious rather than frightened.
“This is insane.”
Vincent held up the letter.
“Did you know about this room?”
“No.”
“You came directly to this corridor.”
“I was looking for privacy.”
“Behind a concealed wall?”
She hesitated.
“Your father showed me the passage years ago.”
“You said you knew nothing about 417.”
“I don't.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Why did you want the keycard?”
“I already told you.”
“No. You accused Elena of stealing it.”
Genevieve's gaze shifted toward Elena.
Hatred appeared there.
“You should have left when you had the chance.”
Vincent heard.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
Elena suddenly understood something.
Genevieve wasn't angry because Elena had embarrassed her.
She was scared.
The realization gave Elena courage.
“You thought I knew what the card opened.”
Genevieve said nothing.
“You asked me what I found upstairs before you saw it.”
“Elena,” Thomas warned softly.
But she continued.
“You weren't looking for the card. You were looking for something else.”
Genevieve's face tightened.
Vincent noticed.
“What else?”
“No idea.”
Then a phone rang.
Not Vincent's.
Not Thomas's.
Genevieve's.
She reached for her clutch.
Vincent stopped her.
“Speaker.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“Speaker.”
She answered.
Nobody spoke at first.
Then a distorted male voice said:
“Did you get it?”
Genevieve disconnected.
Vincent stared at her.
“Who was that?”
“I don't know.”
“He expected you to have something.”
“Spam.”
Thomas almost smiled.
“That was remarkably specific spam.”
Genevieve turned toward Elena.
“This is because of you.”
Elena flinched.
Vincent stepped between them.
“No. Whatever this is, it's because of choices you made.”
Genevieve's eyes filled with fury.
“You think you're noble now?”
“I didn't say that.”
“You stood there while everyone laughed.”
Vincent went still.
Elena did too.
Because Genevieve was right.
Vincent had eventually helped.
But Lily's question had forced him to.
Genevieve smiled bitterly.
“You're no better than any of us.”
Vincent looked toward Elena.
“I know.”
The admission surprised everyone.
He turned back to Genevieve.
“But I can decide what I do next.”
He told security to escort Genevieve to the west sitting room and remain outside.
She protested.
Vincent didn't argue.
After she left, Elena sat down.
Her hands had started shaking.
“I want Lily out of this house.”
Vincent nodded.
“I'll arrange a car.”
“No Falcone driver.”
He accepted that too.
“Thomas can call a service.”
Elena looked at him.
“And me?”
“You go with her.”
“What about the card?”
“You found it. That doesn't obligate you to solve whatever my family buried.”
She wanted to agree.
Then Thomas turned the photograph over.
“There’s writing.”
Vincent took it.
A date.
April 17.
4/17.
Elena stared.
“417.”
Vincent looked at the woman holding the baby.
“Who is she?”
Mrs. Alvarez, who had quietly entered behind them, answered.
“Her name was Sofia Ruiz.”
Elena stopped breathing.
Ruiz.
Her surname.
She looked at Mrs. Alvarez.
“What did you say?”
The older woman began crying.
“Elena, I wanted to tell you years ago.”
“Tell me what?”
“Sofia was your mother.”
The room tilted.
Elena grabbed the desk.
“My mother died when I was a baby.”
“Yes.”
“You knew her?”
Mrs. Alvarez nodded.
“She worked here.”
Elena couldn't speak.
Her mother had been a maid at the Falcone mansion.
Nobody had ever told her.
Not her grandmother.
Not the employment agency.
Not Mrs. Alvarez.
“Why was she holding me in a photograph with Dominic Falcone?”
Mrs. Alvarez covered her mouth.
“Because she found something.”
“What?”
“The same thing Genevieve is trying to find now.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“What did Sofia find?”
Mrs. Alvarez looked at the photograph.
“Records.”
“Of the stolen money?”
“No.”
Her answer was almost a whisper.
“Of who the money really belonged to.”
Elena felt suddenly sick.
Mrs. Alvarez pointed at the date.
“April seventeenth wasn't a room number.”
“Then what was it?”
“The date Dominic gave Sofia a safe-deposit box.”
Vincent frowned.
“At what bank?”
“I don't know.”
“But Sofia died.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to the key?”
Mrs. Alvarez looked at Elena.
“Your grandmother took everything Sofia owned.”
Elena's thoughts raced toward the small apartment where her grandmother had raised her.
Her grandmother had died four years earlier.
Elena had kept one box of her belongings.
Old photographs.
Letters.
A sewing kit.
And a small brass key Elena had never been able to identify.
She stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
“I have it.”
Vincent stared at her.
“What?”
“The key.”
Thomas stepped forward.
“Where?”
“At my apartment.”
Elena reached for her phone.
A notification appeared before she could unlock it.
Her home security camera had detected motion.
That was impossible.
Nobody was home.
She opened the live feed.
The front door of her apartment stood open.
A figure in dark clothing moved across the screen.
Then the camera went black.
May you like
Elena looked at Vincent.
“They're already there.”
