Chapter 4 - Someone Inside the Family
Vincent stared at the two documents.
Isabella Moretti.
Marianne Vale.
Same date.
Same garage.
Two vehicles.
Two crashes.
One woman dead.
One woman alive.
Vincent looked at Arthur.
“Marianne.”
Arthur’s face had drained of color.
“My sister.”
Everyone turned.
Arthur walked toward the table.
His hands trembled as he picked up the second sheet.
“She told me she hit black ice.”
Dominic shook his head.
“There was no black ice.”
Arthur looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because I spent three years finding out.”
Vincent’s anger flared.
“Without telling me?”
Dominic faced him.
“You would have killed Carlo the first day.”
“Maybe I should have.”
“And then the person behind him would disappear.”
Vincent glanced at Carlo.
Carlo sat slowly in a chair.
For the first time, he seemed less like a mastermind and more like a trapped man.
Vincent noticed.
“You’re afraid.”
Carlo laughed.
“No.”
“You are.”
“Of you?”
“No.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Of whoever Dominic is talking about.”
Carlo’s jaw tightened.
Dominic opened the file.
“Marianne Vale worked for Northeastern Mutual.”
Luca frowned.
“The insurer?”
“Yes.”
Dominic nodded toward the financial documents Isabella had hidden.
“Several shell companies were insured through Northeastern. Isabella asked Marianne to trace unusual claims.”
Arthur whispered, “She never told me.”
“Because Isabella asked her not to.”
Vincent almost laughed at the pattern.
His wife had built an invisible network all around him while he had believed he controlled everything.
Teresa.
Marianne.
Arthur.
Dominic.
Perhaps others.
“She was preparing for war,” Matteo said.
“No,” Teresa answered.
Vincent looked at her.
“She was preparing to prevent one.”
Dominic continued.
“Isabella discovered Carlo was authorizing transfers.”
Carlo said nothing.
“But Carlo wasn’t keeping most of the money.”
Vincent turned toward him.
“Who was?”
Carlo stared at the table.
“Say it.”
Carlo’s voice was quiet.
“I don’t know.”
Vincent grabbed his collar.
Carlo did not resist.
“I swear to you, Vinnie.”
Vincent looked into his eyes.
He had known Carlo since they were boys.
He knew arrogance.
Fear.
Greed.
He also knew when Carlo believed his own words.
Vincent released him.
“Then who gave you instructions?”
Carlo rubbed his throat.
“Numbers appeared in our internal accounts. Transfers. Routing codes.”
“From where?”
“I thought your office.”
“My office?”
“Your authorization credentials were attached.”
Vincent’s stomach tightened.
Someone had used his identity.
Carlo continued.
“At first, I thought you were hiding money.”
“From whom?”
“Isabella.”
Vincent looked at the notebook.
Carlo gave a bitter laugh.
“Marriage was never simple in this family.”
“You could have asked.”
“And tell you I was auditing you?”
“Yes.”
Carlo shook his head.
“I found Raymond Vale instead.”
Arthur’s expression hardened.
“My brother.”
“He built the transfer system.”
“For you?”
“For whoever hired him.”
Vincent stared.
“You don’t know?”
Carlo shook his head.
“Raymond never gave names.”
Dominic said, “Raymond disappeared because he tried to leave.”
Arthur stepped toward Carlo.
“You knew my brother was alive.”
“I knew until five years ago.”
“You met him two months before Isabella died.”
Carlo looked surprised.
Vincent tossed the photograph toward him.
Carlo studied it.
“He contacted me.”
“Why?”
“He said someone was cleaning up.”
Vincent’s voice lowered.
“Meaning?”
“Everyone connected to the transfers.”
Arthur looked at Marianne’s file.
“My sister.”
Carlo nodded.
“Possibly.”
“And Isabella?”
Carlo said nothing.
Vincent stepped closer.
“Answer.”
“Yes.”
The word landed heavily.
Vincent turned away.
He walked to the window.
Outside, his security men stood uncertainly around the vehicles.
Dominic’s people had disarmed them without violence.
Good.
For now.
Vincent pressed both hands against the window frame.
Three years.
He had mourned Isabella as a victim of mechanical failure.
Now every memory changed.
Her last breakfast.
Her last call.
The kiss she placed on his cheek before leaving.
Had she known?
Had she been afraid?
Had she seen someone following her?
He closed his eyes.
Then Teresa spoke.
“She knew enough to write the letters.”
Vincent turned.
“You said she wasn’t afraid.”
“She was afraid.”
“That is not what you told me.”
“I said she wasn’t afraid of dying.”
Teresa’s eyes were wet.
“She was terrified of leaving you alone.”
Vincent looked away.
That hurt more than anything else.
Dominic placed another folder on the table.
“There’s one person we haven’t discussed.”
Vincent opened it.
Payroll.
Security schedules.
Garage access logs.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Samuel Moretti.
Vincent frowned.
“My uncle?”
Dominic nodded.
Samuel had been his father’s younger brother.
Seventy-three.
Retired.
A man who spent most of his time at a Cape Cod house complaining about his knees and fishing.
Vincent almost dismissed it.
Then he saw the signature.
Samuel had authorized Isabella’s replacement car.
“No.”
Dominic watched him.
“He ran transportation for your father.”
“Twenty years ago.”
“He still had administrative credentials.”
“I removed them.”
“Someone restored them.”
Vincent looked at Carlo.
Carlo shook his head.
“Not me.”
Dominic opened another page.
“Samuel visited the garage the morning before Isabella’s crash.”
Vincent’s mouth went dry.
“Why?”
“The mechanic says Samuel brought him coffee.”
“That proves nothing.”
“The mechanic died six months later.”
Vincent looked up.
“Heart attack.”
“According to the report.”
Arthur said, “How many convenient deaths are we going to accept?”
Vincent said nothing.
Luca spoke.
“Where is Uncle Samuel now?”
Everyone looked at Dominic.
Dominic’s expression answered before his mouth did.
“Missing.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
Vincent grabbed his phone.
He called Samuel.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
He called Samuel’s house manager.
No answer.
Dominic said, “His Cape house was empty when my men arrived.”
Adrian whispered, “Did he run?”
“Or someone moved him,” Dominic replied.
Vincent looked at Carlo.
“You told me this morning to fire Teresa.”
Carlo nodded.
“Why?”
Carlo rubbed his face.
“Because I received a message.”
“What message?”
Carlo took out his phone.
He opened an encrypted application.
The message read:
THE HOUSEKEEPER HAS THE LAST PIECE. REMOVE HER BEFORE VINCENT FINDS IT.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Who sent it?”
“Unknown account.”
“And you obeyed?”
“I thought removing meant firing.”
Teresa laughed bitterly.
“How noble.”
Carlo ignored her.
“I knew she had been involved with Isabella. I suspected she knew about the accounts.”
“So you pushed me to fire her.”
“Yes.”
“Why not kill her?”
Carlo stared at Vincent.
“Because despite what everyone in this room thinks, I am not the monster in this story.”
Vincent almost replied.
Then Daniel spoke.
“My mom got messages too.”
Teresa turned.
“What?”
Daniel pulled out his phone.
“Last month.”
He opened three texts.
LEAVE BOSTON.
YOUR MOTHER HAS FORGOTTEN WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FATHER.
SHE WILL REMEMBER SOON.
Teresa covered her mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I thought it was spam.”
Vincent looked at the number.
Blocked.
Dominic said, “Someone is cleaning the board.”
Vincent nodded.
“And today they expected Teresa gone.”
Luca looked toward the broken bowl.
“But Adrian broke it.”
Adrian lifted both hands.
“Accident.”
Vincent stared at him.
“Why were you touching it?”
Adrian hesitated.
“Teresa put it on the table.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
Adrian’s face reddened.
“I was looking underneath.”
Vincent stared.
“You knew about the key?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Adrian looked toward his brothers.
Luca closed his eyes.
“Tell him.”
Adrian swallowed.
“Mom gave me the bowl once.”
“When?”
“The week before the crash.”
Vincent went still.
“She told me something was inside.”
Vincent felt anger flash.
“And you waited three years?”
“She told me I would know when to break it.”
Teresa stared.
“You never told me that.”
Adrian shook his head.
“Mom said not to.”
Vincent suddenly understood the scene he had walked into.
The bowl had not slipped.
Adrian had broken it.
Deliberately.
“Why today?”
Adrian looked at him.
“Because you came home.”
“That’s all?”
“No.”
He reached into his pocket.
A folded note.
Vincent took it.
Isabella’s handwriting.
Adrian,
If your father comes home in the middle of a Wednesday and Teresa looks afraid of him, break the bowl.
Vincent read it twice.
His knees weakened.
Isabella had predicted him.
Not the exact day.
Not the exact year.
But the pattern.
His absence.
His temper.
His suspicion.
Teresa’s loyalty.
She had known that eventually someone might use Vincent’s distrust against him.
And she had built a trigger around the one person young Adrian could protect.
Vincent looked at Teresa.
“I almost did exactly what she feared.”
Teresa said nothing.
That silence was worse than accusation.
Arthur’s phone rang.
Everyone jumped.
Arthur answered.
“Vale.”
He listened.
His expression changed.
“What hospital?”
Vincent stepped closer.
Arthur ended the call.
“That was Marianne.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes.”
“She’s alive?”
Arthur looked stunned.
“She just woke up in an emergency room in Quincy.”
Dominic frowned.
“What happened?”
“She was attacked in her garage.”
Teresa whispered, “Oh God.”
Arthur looked at Vincent.
“She kept repeating one sentence.”
“What?”
Arthur swallowed.
“Tell Vincent the person he’s looking for lives in his house.”
Every eye shifted.
Toward the staircase.
Toward the bedrooms.
Toward the staff quarters.
Toward everyone who had access.
Vincent’s phone buzzed.
A photo arrived from an unknown number.
It showed Samuel Moretti tied to a chair.
Alive.
Behind him was a wall Vincent recognized instantly.
The wine cellar.
Under this mansion.
Then a second message appeared.
COME ALONE.
OR YOUR UNCLE DIES WITH ISABELLA’S SECRET.
Vincent lifted his eyes.
May you like
The wine cellar door was thirty feet away.
And someone on the other side had just turned the lock.
