Chapter 4 - What His Mother Knew
Natalie read the message until the letters blurred.
“My mother died.”
Clemente took the phone.
“When?”
“Fourteen years ago.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
“Did you identify her?”
Natalie looked at him sharply.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A necessary one.”
“No. The police said the damage was too severe. My aunt handled everything.”
“Your aunt?”
“Margaret.”
“Still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Call her.”
Natalie hesitated.
It was after midnight.
She called anyway.
Margaret answered on the fourth ring.
“Natalie?”
“Aunt Maggie.”
“What happened?”
Natalie looked at Clemente.
“I need you to tell me something about Mom.”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Silence.
Natalie’s stomach dropped.
“Did you see her body?”
Margaret inhaled.
“Natalie—”
“Did you?”
“No.”
The room became very quiet.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because there was nothing to tell.”
“I just received a photograph.”
Another silence.
Clemente straightened.
Natalie whispered, “You knew.”
Margaret began crying.
“I knew she was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
“Was she alive after the accident?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please stop lying to me.”
“I’m not.”
“You knew something.”
Margaret’s voice broke.
“Your mother called me three days after the funeral.”
Natalie sat down.
Clemente moved toward her but stopped himself.
He remembered the rule.
No touching without permission.
“What did she say?”
“Only that you were safer believing she was dead.”
Natalie covered her mouth.
Fourteen years.
Birthdays.
Christmases.
The day Natalie got her first real job.
The night she sat alone in an emergency room after having her appendix removed.
Every milestone she had wished her mother could see.
Elizabeth might have been alive.
“Why?”
“She said men were looking for something Eleanor had left.”
“The ledger.”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she ever call again?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
Natalie’s eyes moved toward Clemente.
The year she joined him.
“What did she say?”
“She asked where you were working.”
“And?”
“I told her.”
Margaret sobbed.
“She said, ‘Good. Clemente found her.’ Then she hung up.”
Natalie ended the call.
She stared at Clemente.
“You found me.”
“I hired you.”
“Because your father’s letter told you to.”
“I hadn’t seen that letter until tonight.”
“But my résumé arrived anonymously.”
“Yes.”
“My mother sent it.”
“Probably.”
Natalie stood.
“We’re going to the warehouse.”
“No.”
She glared.
Clemente corrected himself.
“I strongly recommend against it.”
“Better wording. Same answer.”
“Natalie, whoever sent that photograph wants you there.”
“Exactly.”
“That is not a reason to go.”
“It is when my mother might be alive.”
Clemente studied her.
Then picked up his keys.
“You stay behind me.”
“I hate when you say that.”
“You’ll survive.”
“That appears to be everybody’s plan for me.”
The drive took twenty-five minutes.
Neither spoke much.
At the warehouse, security had already arrived.
The building was mostly empty now.
Old brick.
Rusting steel doors.
Clemente and Natalie entered together.
The main office contained nothing.
Then Natalie noticed marks on the floor.
A cabinet had been moved.
Behind it was a door.
Locked.
Clemente tried an old key from Teresa’s ring.
It opened.
Inside was a small records room.
Boxes lined the walls.
Natalie found one marked STRAUSS.
Her hands shook.
Clemente crouched beside her.
“Want me to open it?”
“No.”
She lifted the lid.
Photographs.
Bank records.
Letters.
A passport.
Elizabeth Strauss.
Issued twelve years ago.
Natalie sat back.
“She was alive.”
Clemente picked up a letter.
It was addressed to Natalie.
Never mailed.
Natalie opened it.
My darling Natalie,
If you ever read this, then the Lombardos finally told you what their family did to ours.
She continued.
Elizabeth had discovered that Vittorio was secretly selling pieces of Eleanor’s original stake through shell companies.
When she confronted him, he threatened Natalie.
So Elizabeth staged her death.
She disappeared.
She had spent years collecting evidence.
Then the letters stopped.
The final one was dated seven years ago.
I found someone who may be able to protect you without knowing why. Clemente is not his grandfather. I pray I’m right.
Natalie looked at Clemente.
“My mother chose you.”
He looked almost uncomfortable.
“She had questionable judgment.”
Natalie laughed through tears.
Then she cried.
Not dramatically.
Her shoulders simply folded.
Clemente remained beside her.
He did not touch her.
After several seconds, Natalie reached for his hand.
That was permission.
He held hers.
“I hated her,” Natalie whispered.
“For dying?”
“For leaving me.”
“You were allowed.”
“What if she had no choice?”
“You were still allowed.”
Natalie looked at him.
It was the kindest thing he had said all night.
A noise came from outside.
Clemente stood instantly.
“Stay here.”
He stepped into the corridor.
Natalie wiped her eyes.
Then noticed another envelope beneath the box.
CLEMENTE.
She opened it.
One line.
If Clemente is reading this, tell him to ask his mother what happened on October 14.
Natalie carried it outside.
Clemente returned with Enzo.
“Nothing.”
She handed him the note.
“My mother?”
Clemente read it.
His expression tightened.
“My mother died twenty years ago.”
“Are you sure?”
He looked at her.
After tonight, neither of them trusted graves.
They drove back to the mansion.
Teresa was waiting.
Clemente placed the note before her.
“What happened October fourteenth?”
Teresa went pale.
“Where did you get this?”
“Elizabeth Strauss.”
Teresa stared at Natalie.
Then slowly sat down.
“That was the night Clemente’s mother discovered Vittorio’s accounts.”
Clemente froze.
“My mother died from an aneurysm.”
Teresa looked at him.
“No.”
His face emptied.
“Nonna.”
“I lied to you.”
Clemente stepped back.
Teresa began crying.
“Your mother was leaving the family. She had evidence against Vittorio.”
“What happened?”
“She disappeared.”
Natalie felt the room tilt.
Clemente whispered, “You told me she died.”
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
Clemente stared at the woman who had raised him.
Twenty years of grief rearranged itself behind his eyes.
Then the mansion intercom crackled.
A guard’s voice came through.
“Mr. Lombardo?”
Clemente pressed the button.
“What?”
“There’s a woman at the front gate.”
“Who?”
May you like
A long pause followed.
“She says her name is Elizabeth Strauss.”
