Chapter 3 - What My Father Left Behind
Maeve did not scream.
That frightened her more than anything.
She simply stood beneath the hotel chandelier holding the garment bag while Luca stared at the old coat inside.
Dark navy wool.
One broken button.
A brown stain near the collar.
Maeve recognized it instantly.
Her father had been wearing that coat the last time she saw him alive.
She had kissed his cheek in the lobby of Callahan headquarters.
He had complained that she was working too late.
She had told him he was one to talk.
Thirty-six hours later, police informed her that Patrick Callahan had died when his car struck a barrier on Lake Shore Drive.
His coat had never been returned with his personal belongings.
Police said it had been destroyed during emergency treatment.
Maeve touched the fabric.
“This is impossible.”
Luca’s voice was quiet.
“No.”
She looked at him.
“You knew this existed?”
“No.”
“Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because if I had known someone kept evidence from your father’s crash, I would have found it.”
The certainty in his voice disturbed her.
But for the first time that night, it also made her feel less alone.
Evelyn approached.
“Maeve, we should call the investigators.”
Luca shook his head.
“Not yet.”
Maeve turned.
“Why?”
“Because whoever sent this wants us to react.”
“The note is from my uncle.”
“Maybe.”
She studied the handwriting.
“It looks exactly like his.”
“That can be copied.”
“So can bank documents.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed.
“You think I forged them?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Good.”
Maeve stared.
“That is the first safe conclusion you’ve reached tonight.”
She almost became angry.
Then she realized he was right.
Every person she trusted had hidden something.
Brandon.
Tessa.
Evelyn.
Her uncle.
Perhaps Luca too.
Trusting anyone now would be reckless.
“First Chicago Trust,” Maeve said. “We go there.”
Luca nodded.
“And the address on the note?”
“After.”
They left through the hotel’s service elevator to avoid reporters gathering for the wedding.
Tessa stayed behind with Evelyn and one of Luca’s men.
Brandon had disappeared during the confusion.
Nobody knew whether he had taken the stairs or left through another suite.
Luca seemed unsurprised.
“He won’t go far.”
“You sound certain.”
“He still needs something from you.”
“My signature?”
“Maybe.”
Maeve looked out the window of Luca’s sedan.
Chicago moved past in streaks of white and amber.
She still wore her bridal robe beneath a borrowed coat.
She had no makeup except what remained from dinner.
Tomorrow morning, four hundred people expected to see a polished bride.
Instead, she was driving across downtown with a man feared throughout the city, searching for a deposit box her dead father had hidden.
“How did you know my father?” she asked.
Luca sat beside her.
“Our fathers knew each other.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“Patrick hated mine.”
Maeve looked over.
Luca almost smiled.
“The feeling was mutual.”
“Then why would he trust you?”
“Because I was not my father.”
The answer came quickly.
Perhaps he had spent years saying it.
Luca continued.
“After my father died, I closed businesses that should have been closed years earlier. I made others legitimate. Patrick noticed.”
“You expect me to believe Chicago’s most feared Mafia boss simply became a businessman?”
“I don’t expect you to believe anything.”
Maeve appreciated that.
More than she wanted to.
“What did my father ask?”
“He believed someone was using Callahan subcontractors to move money. He had traced irregular payments but didn’t know how high it went.”
“To Thomas?”
“He never said.”
“Did he suspect my uncle?”
“I think he suspected everyone.”
“That sounds like him.”
Patrick Callahan had believed trust was earned slowly and lost quickly.
Maeve had once thought that cynical.
Tonight it felt prophetic.
They reached First Chicago Trust at 12:39 a.m.
The building’s night manager was already waiting.
Luca had apparently made one phone call during the drive.
Nobody asked why a private bank was opening after midnight.
Nobody asked why Maeve wore a hotel coat over a satin bridal robe.
The manager led them downstairs.
Deposit box 417 had already been opened.
The compartment was empty.
Maeve stared.
“Who accessed it?”
The manager looked uncomfortable.
“Thomas Callahan.”
“With what authorization?”
“A secondary key and a signed access card.”
Maeve looked at Luca.
“You said my father gave you his key.”
“He did.”
The manager cleared his throat.
“There are two keys per box.”
Maeve’s stomach dropped.
“So my uncle had the other.”
“It appears so.”
“Did he take everything?”
The manager hesitated.
“He removed one metal case.”
“What kind?”
“Small. Gray. Approximately twelve inches long.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No.”
Maeve pulled out the note.
The address belonged to an abandoned Callahan property near the river.
An old printing warehouse her grandfather had purchased decades ago.
Luca read it.
“That’s a trap.”
“Probably.”
“You still want to go?”
“Yes.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“So was my father.”
Luca looked at her.
“That he was.”
They reached the warehouse at 1:08 a.m.
The front gate was open.
Maeve’s pulse accelerated.
Luca’s driver remained outside.
Two security men entered first.
Nobody stopped Maeve.
That surprised her.
“You’re not going to tell me to wait in the car?” she whispered.
“I already know how that conversation ends.”
For the first time since finding the ultrasound, Maeve almost smiled.
The warehouse smelled of dust and old paper.
A single lamp burned near the center.
Thomas Callahan sat behind a wooden table.
The gray metal case rested before him.
Maeve stopped.
“Uncle Tommy.”
Thomas stood.
He was sixty-three, broad, gray-haired and normally jovial.
Tonight he looked ten years older.
“Maeve.”
“You sent the coat?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To make sure you came.”
“You could have called.”
“No. I couldn’t.”
His eyes shifted to Luca.
“You brought him.”
“I’m standing right here,” Luca said.
Thomas ignored him.
“Maeve, you need to leave Chicago tonight.”
She laughed bitterly.
“That seems to be everyone’s answer.”
“Listen to me.”
“Did Brandon steal from Callahan?”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Did you help him?”
“No.”
Evelyn’s photograph flashed through Maeve’s mind.
“There is a picture of you together.”
“I was investigating him.”
“Without telling me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
Maeve stepped forward.
“Stop saying that.”
Thomas looked startled.
“Everyone lies to me and calls it protection.”
His face softened.
“You sound like Patrick.”
“Good.”
She pointed toward the metal case.
“What is that?”
Thomas rested his palm on it.
“Your father’s insurance.”
“Against whom?”
Thomas looked toward Luca.
“His family.”
Luca’s expression did not change.
Maeve’s heart sank.
“Explain.”
Thomas opened the case.
Inside were ledgers.
Photographs.
A voice recorder.
And a sealed letter addressed to MAEVE.
Her father’s handwriting.
Maeve reached for it.
Thomas stopped her.
“Before you read that, you need to understand something.”
“Move your hand.”
“Maeve.”
“Move it.”
Thomas did.
She opened the letter.
My darling girl,
If you are reading this, then something went wrong before I could fix it.
Maeve’s vision blurred.
She kept reading.
There are people around our company who believe our name means money, leverage and ownership. It does not. It means responsibility.
Maeve swallowed hard.
Then one sentence made her freeze.
If anything happens to me, Luca Moretti has my permission to protect you—but never my permission to choose for you.
She looked up.
Luca remained very still.
“You knew he wrote this?”
“No.”
Thomas laughed bitterly.
“He knew Patrick trusted you more than he trusted me.”
Luca said nothing.
Maeve continued reading.
The final paragraphs concerned accounts.
Shell companies.
Payments.
And one name.
Victor Hayes.
Brandon’s father.
Maeve whispered, “Victor?”
Brandon’s father had died six years earlier.
Thomas nodded.
“The scheme started long before Brandon.”
“How long?”
“Almost fifteen years.”
Maeve stared at the ledgers.
Victor Hayes had served as outside counsel to Callahan Group.
He had apparently siphoned money through subcontractors.
Patrick discovered it.
But after Victor’s death, the trail went cold.
“Then Brandon found the records,” Thomas said. “And continued what his father started.”
“Why?”
“Because the missing money was never small.”
“How much?”
Thomas looked at Luca.
Then at Maeve.
“More than eighty million dollars.”
Her mouth went dry.
“And my father knew?”
“He knew part of it.”
“Did Brandon kill him?”
Thomas did not answer.
“Did he?”
“I don’t know.”
Maeve slammed the letter onto the table.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“Because Patrick’s crash report was altered.”
Silence.
Maeve’s skin prickled.
“Altered how?”
Thomas opened another folder.
“The brakes were listed as functioning.”
“And?”
“The mechanic who inspected the car privately told me the brake line had been cut.”
Maeve stopped breathing.
Luca stepped forward.
“When did you learn this?”
“Six months after the funeral.”
“And you did nothing?”
Thomas’s face twisted.
“I tried.”
“With whom?”
“A detective.”
“What happened?”
“He disappeared.”
Maeve stared at him.
“People don’t just disappear.”
Luca spoke softly.
“Sometimes they do.”
Maeve looked at him.
There was something in his expression she could not read.
Thomas saw it too.
“That is why Patrick feared the Morettis.”
Luca’s gaze turned cold.
“And why did Patrick give me the key?”
“Because he feared everyone.”
Maeve rubbed her temples.
“Enough.”
She picked up her father’s letter.
“I’m taking everything.”
Thomas shook his head.
“No.”
“It belongs to me.”
“If you walk out with these files, you become the target.”
“I already am.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand.”
Thomas leaned across the table.
“Brandon does not care whether you marry him because he loves you.”
“I figured that out.”
“He needs you married because your marriage triggers a clause in Patrick’s trust.”
“What clause?”
Thomas looked ashamed.
“A transfer of dormant voting rights.”
“To whom?”
“Your spouse.”
Maeve’s stomach turned.
“How much control?”
“Temporary control over twenty-two percent of Callahan voting stock.”
That, combined with shares Brandon had quietly accumulated through proxies, could give him effective control.
The wedding was not romance.
It was an acquisition.
Maeve looked at her father’s letter.
Then at Luca.
“Why did you come tonight?”
“To stop you from signing the trust documents.”
“And if I refused to listen?”
“I would have stopped the wedding publicly.”
Thomas laughed.
“There it is.”
Maeve stared at Luca.
“You planned to walk into my cathedral?”
“Yes.”
“In front of four hundred people?”
“Yes.”
“And do what?”
“Tell you the truth.”
Thomas scoffed.
“You planned to claim her.”
Luca’s eyes hardened.
“No.”
Thomas smiled.
“That is what people would call it.”
Maeve held Luca’s gaze.
“What would you have said?”
Luca did not flinch.
“That you were leaving with me.”
“That sounds like claiming me.”
“I would have said whatever made Brandon lose control long enough for you to see him clearly.”
It was outrageous.
Manipulative.
And yet strangely honest.
Maeve should have hated him.
Instead, she remembered Brandon telling her to marry him first and ask questions afterward.
Luca had done the opposite.
He had brought evidence.
And told her not to trust him blindly.
Thomas closed the metal case.
“You cannot stay.”
Maeve took it from him.
“I’m not running.”
Suddenly Luca’s phone buzzed.
He read the message.
His face changed.
“What?”
“Brandon went back to the hotel.”
Maeve’s pulse jumped.
“Tessa.”
Luca was already calling.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Maeve grabbed her phone.
A message appeared.
From Tessa.
MAEVE PLEASE DON’T COME BACK.
Then a photograph loaded.
Tessa sat in the bridal suite.
Evelyn was beside her.
Brandon stood behind them.
And on the table in front of him was Maeve’s engagement ring.
A second message arrived.
COME TO THE CATHEDRAL AT 8.
ALONE.
Maeve stared at the screen.
May you like
Then one final message appeared.
IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO ORDERED YOUR FATHER’S DEATH, WE FINISH THE WEDDING.
