Chapter 3 - The Debt Nobody Told Her About
Penelope called Lorenzo before she had time to decide whether she should.
He answered on the first ring.
“What happened?”
Not hello.
Not why are you calling.
He knew.
“I got a message.”
His voice changed.
“What kind?”
She read it aloud.
Silence.
“Do not delete anything.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Lock your door.”
“It’s locked.”
“Stay away from the windows.”
Her heart began beating faster.
“Lorenzo, who would know about Owen?”
“I don’t know.”
“That answer was too fast.”
“I’m coming back.”
“No.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
The call ended.
Three minutes later, someone knocked.
Penelope nearly screamed.
“Ms. Gallagher?”
A male voice.
“Moretti security.”
She did not open the door.
“Identification under the door.”
A card slid beneath it.
She called Lorenzo.
“Did you send someone?”
“Yes. Two men were already nearby.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“Open the door.”
She did.
Two large men in dark jackets entered.
One checked the windows.
The other walked through the apartment.
Penelope stood in the middle of the living room feeling as though her life had been invaded by a world she had spent two years pretending did not surround her employer.
Lorenzo arrived eight minutes later.
No driver.
No coat.
His expression was different.
The man from the restaurant had been controlled.
The man entering her apartment looked lethal.
“Show me.”
Penelope handed him the phone.
He read the messages twice.
“Recognize the number?”
“No.”
He forwarded the images to himself.
“Who knows about Owen?”
“My friends. Some people at work know I have a brother, but not that he’s sick.”
“Bellavista?”
“My manager knows.”
“Hospital staff.”
“Obviously.”
“Anyone else?”
“Insurance companies. Debt collectors. Half the American healthcare system.”
He looked at her.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I know.”
One of the security men approached.
“Nothing outside. We checked the alley and lobby cameras.”
“Get copies.”
“Yes, sir.”
Penelope crossed her arms.
“What happens now?”
“You stay somewhere else.”
“No.”
Lorenzo ignored her.
“My place has security.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Hotel.”
“No.”
“Penelope.”
“This is my home.”
“And somebody photographed me walking you into it.”
“They already know where I live.”
“That is exactly the problem.”
Her anger collapsed.
He saw the fear beneath it.
“Pack a bag.”
She sat down.
“Could this be about you?”
“Yes.”
The answer came immediately.
“Who?”
“I have enemies.”
“How many?”
“Enough.”
“That’s not funny either.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
She looked down at her phone.
“Why mention Owen?”
“To scare you.”
“Or because it’s about him.”
Lorenzo frowned.
Penelope stood.
“My brother has debts.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said you were paying the medical bills.”
“I am. But last year, before his cancer came back, Owen got involved with people.”
“What people?”
“He said sports betting.”
Lorenzo’s expression changed.
“How much?”
“He told me eight thousand dollars.”
“And you believed him?”
“No.”
She walked toward the kitchen.
“When Mom died, Owen went through a bad period. Drinking. Gambling. He was seventeen when she got sick and twenty when she died. He spent years watching her disappear. Then he got diagnosed himself.”
She opened a drawer and removed a small folder.
“I found this after his first hospitalization.”
She handed Lorenzo several collection notices.
Not medical.
Lorenzo read the names.
His jaw tightened.
“You recognize them.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“This company isn’t a company.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they lend money to people who have already been rejected everywhere legitimate.”
“Loan sharks?”
“Among other things.”
Penelope felt sick.
“How much?”
Lorenzo examined the papers.
“These are old.”
“He told me he paid them.”
“Maybe he did.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“No.”
She paced.
“He’s twenty-two. He was sick. He made mistakes.”
“I’m not judging him.”
“You looked like you were.”
“I was thinking about who owns this debt.”
“Who?”
Lorenzo hesitated.
Penelope stopped.
“Who?”
“Adrian Vale.”
The name meant nothing to her.
Her expression must have shown it.
Lorenzo continued.
“Vale runs gambling operations across the city.”
“And you know him because?”
“Because I know everyone who operates in my city.”
“Your city?”
“Not now.”
“Definitely now.”
He handed back the papers.
“Vale and I have history.”
“What kind?”
“The kind that means he would enjoy using someone I care about to create a problem.”
Penelope went still.
“Someone you care about?”
Lorenzo did not correct himself.
One of the security men returned.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“What?”
“There’s a car parked across the street. Engine running.”
“Plate?”
“Obscured.”
Lorenzo looked at Penelope.
“Bag. Now.”
This time she did not argue.
Twenty minutes later, she was in Lorenzo’s penthouse.
It occupied the top two floors of a private residential tower near the river.
Penelope had expected excess.
Gold.
Marble.
Displays of power.
Instead, the apartment was restrained.
Dark wood.
Books.
Black-and-white photographs.
Floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking Chicago.
A grand piano stood near one wall.
She stared at it.
“You play?”
Lorenzo removed his jacket.
“No.”
“Then why is there a piano?”
“My mother played.”
The answer made her stop asking questions.
A woman in her sixties came from the hallway.
She wore gray slacks and a cardigan.
“Lorenzo.”
“Aunt Sofia.”
Her eyes moved to Penelope.
Then widened.
“So this is her.”
Penelope looked at Lorenzo.
“This is who?”
Lorenzo pinched the bridge of his nose.
Sofia smiled.
“Penelope Gallagher.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Lorenzo talks about you.”
“I do not.”
Sofia laughed.
“You absolutely do.”
Penelope looked at him.
“You talk about me?”
“No.”
“Frequently,” Sofia said.
“Aunt Sofia.”
“What? She should know.”
Penelope folded her arms.
“This evening is getting stranger.”
Sofia approached her.
“I’m Sofia Moretti.”
“Penelope.”
“I know.”
Sofia took her hand gently.
“I heard about your brother. I’m sorry.”
Penelope’s expression tightened.
Lorenzo noticed.
“Aunt Sofia, can you give us a minute?”
“Of course.”
She walked away.
Penelope waited until she disappeared.
“You told her?”
“Marco did.”
“Why?”
“She lives here part of the week. Security needed to know we had a guest.”
“You people communicate frighteningly fast.”
“It keeps us alive.”
There was no humor in his voice.
Penelope looked toward the windows.
“You really think someone might hurt me.”
“Yes.”
The blunt answer frightened her more than reassurance would have.
Lorenzo poured water into two glasses.
“Sit.”
“I’m not a dog.”
“I was suggesting.”
“You don’t sound like someone who suggests.”
He handed her a glass.
She drank.
“Tell me about Adrian Vale.”
Lorenzo stood near the kitchen island.
“He started as a bookmaker. Built an organization through debt, intimidation, and information.”
“Sounds familiar.”
His eyes narrowed.
She regretted it.
Almost.
“What happened between you?”
“Five years ago he tried to move into businesses controlled by people associated with my family.”
“What businesses?”
“Not relevant.”
“That means illegal.”
“That means not relevant.”
She studied him.
The suit.
The tattoos.
The quiet menace beneath everything he did.
She had worked for Lorenzo two years and never asked directly what everyone else whispered.
Now those whispers might have reached her brother.
“Are you mafia?”
Lorenzo looked almost amused.
“You ask that in my kitchen?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
She waited.
He walked toward the windows.
“My family has history.”
“That’s vague.”
“Intentionally.”
“Have you killed people?”
He turned.
Their eyes met.
“I have done things I am not proud of.”
Penelope felt cold.
“That’s still not an answer.”
“No.”
She understood he would not give one.
Her phone rang.
Hospital.
She answered.
“Hello?”
It was Owen.
His voice sounded stronger.
“Hey, Penny.”
She closed her eyes in relief.
“Hey.”
“Where are you?”
“With a friend.”
Lorenzo glanced at her.
Owen heard something in her voice.
“That boss?”
“Yes.”
“Batman.”
“Owen.”
“I’m sick. I get one joke.”
She smiled.
“You sound better.”
“Drugs.”
“Good drugs?”
“Hospital-grade.”
There was a pause.
Then Owen’s tone changed.
“Penny.”
“What?”
“Did anyone contact you?”
Her smile disappeared.
Lorenzo noticed immediately.
“About what?”
“Nothing.”
“Owen.”
“I need you to promise something.”
Her grip tightened around the phone.
“What did you do?”
“I borrowed money.”
“I know.”
Silence.
“How?”
“I found the papers.”
“Penny—”
“How much?”
He did not answer.
“How much?”
“Forty.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Forty thousand?”
“At first.”
“At first?”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
Owen’s breathing crackled through the phone.
“I missed payments.”
“How much do you owe now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“They kept adding fees.”
Penelope pressed her hand against the counter.
“Who gave it to you?”
Owen hesitated.
“Vale Financial.”
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
Penelope whispered, “Owen, why?”
“I thought I could fix things.”
“What things?”
“Your debt.”
She froze.
“What?”
“You were paying Mom’s old bills. My treatment. Rent. Everything.”
“That was not your responsibility.”
“You gave up your entire twenties for me.”
Her eyes filled.
“So you gambled?”
“I thought if I won enough—”
“Oh God.”
“I’m sorry.”
She turned away from Lorenzo.
“Owen, listen to me. Has anyone threatened you?”
Silence.
“Owen?”
His voice lowered.
“They came to the hospital once.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“They said if I paid, it was over.”
“Did you?”
“I paid some.”
“How?”
Another silence.
Penelope knew.
“What did you give them?”
“Information.”
Lorenzo’s head snapped toward her.
“What information?”
Owen whispered, “About Moretti Holdings.”
Penelope felt the room tilt.
“What information could you possibly have?”
“You left your laptop at the apartment.”
Her eyes closed.
“No.”
“I only copied a file.”
“What file?”
“I don’t know. It was marked Halcyon.”
Lorenzo went motionless.
Penelope looked at him.
She had never seen fear on his face before.
“Owen,” she whispered, “who did you give it to?”
A noise sounded on the other end.
A door.
Then Owen said, “Someone just came into my room.”
Penelope’s heart stopped.
“Owen?”
No answer.
“Owen!”
A man’s voice came faintly through the phone.
“Hang up.”
Penelope screamed his name.
The line went dead.
Lorenzo was already moving.
“Marco!”
The penthouse doors opened.
Security rushed in.
Penelope grabbed Lorenzo’s arm.
“What is Halcyon?”
He looked at her.
May you like
For the first time since she had known him, Lorenzo Moretti looked genuinely afraid.
“It’s the one file Adrian Vale was never supposed to find.”
