Chapter 3 - The Second Record
The first person to move was Aleandro.
He crossed the library in three strides and pulled the brass handle.
Locked.
Matteo checked the second door.
Also locked.
“Security system,” he said.
Aleandro took out his phone.
No signal.
He looked toward the ceiling.
“Someone activated the internal lockdown.”
Samuel’s face tightened.
“Carlo?”
“No.”
Aleandro stared at the dark security camera above the doorway.
“My father can barely lift a spoon.”
Rosa clutched her father’s tool case.
“Then who locked us in?”
Nobody answered.
Aleandro pressed the wall intercom.
“Harcourt.”
Static.
“Harcourt.”
Nothing.
The servants began whispering.
Aleandro turned.
“Everyone stay calm.”
Ironically, he sounded calmer than any of them.
Rosa watched him move toward the gramophone again.
“What are you doing?”
“Following the only clue we have.”
He lifted the brass key.
“Orpheus.”
Samuel nodded.
“The second record.”
Aleandro turned toward Rosa.
“If your father hid the key, where would he hide the record?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
Rosa bristled.
“I was nineteen when my father died. I thought his greatest secret was that he secretly ate cannoli after my mother told him to watch his blood sugar.”
Samuel almost smiled.
Aleandro did not.
Rosa closed the wooden tool case.
Then stopped.
Something occurred to her.
“My father had a phrase.”
Aleandro waited.
“If a customer brought him something valuable, he always said, ‘Never hide treasure where thieves look for treasure.’”
Matteo frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“He never put expensive parts in the safe.”
“Where?”
“Inside ordinary things.”
Rosa looked around the library.
Books.
Furniture.
Lamps.
Thousands of possibilities.
Aleandro followed her gaze.
“My mother collected records.”
“How many?”
“Hundreds.”
Rosa sighed.
“So we need an ordinary place nobody would consider valuable.”
Her eyes landed on a plain wooden cabinet beneath the ornate bookcases.
Unlike everything else in the room, it was unimpressive.
She walked toward it.
Locked.
Aleandro handed her the brass key.
It fit.
Inside were cleaning supplies.
Nothing more.
Rosa crouched.
She knocked against the wooden sides.
Solid.
Then the back.
Hollow.
“Help me.”
Aleandro knelt beside her.
Together they removed the rear panel.
Behind it was a narrow cavity.
Inside stood one record sleeve.
Black.
No label.
Rosa carefully pulled it out.
On the sleeve, written in silver ink:
ORPHEUS — TRACK 7.
Samuel exhaled.
Aleandro carried it to the gramophone.
Rosa stopped him.
“Wait.”
He looked impatient.
“What?”
“Old shellac records can crack easily. Let me handle it.”
For a second, it looked as though he would argue.
Then he handed it to her.
Trust the person who makes the machine sing again.
His mother’s words were changing something.
Rosa placed the record on the turntable.
Aleandro wound the mechanism.
She lowered the needle.
Music began.
The same melody.
But slower.
Instrumental.
Everyone listened.
Three minutes passed.
Then four.
Nothing.
Matteo frowned.
“Maybe we have the wrong record.”
Rosa remembered the letter.
“Listen after the music ends.”
The final note faded.
The record continued spinning.
Static crackled.
Then a woman’s voice emerged.
Aleandro’s mother.
“If you are hearing this, Aleandro, I am sorry.”
Aleandro gripped the desk.
Rosa’s eyes filled.
Lucia continued.
“I wanted to tell you myself. But your father watches everything now.”
Samuel lowered his head.
“I discovered that Carlo ordered Antonio Bellini to repair more than my gramophone. He asked him to recover recordings from security tapes.”
Rosa’s breath caught.
Her father.
Lucia continued.
“One recording proved that Carlo’s business partner, Gabriel Moretti, did not betray him.”
Aleandro whispered, “Moretti?”
Matteo looked stunned.
The Romano and Moretti families had hated each other for decades.
Lucia’s recorded voice continued.
“Carlo believed Gabriel had stolen money and given information to federal investigators. He retaliated against Gabriel’s businesses. Gabriel lost everything. His wife left the country with their young son.”
Rosa looked toward Aleandro.
He knew that story.
Everyone did.
The Romano-Moretti feud had shaped half of Aleandro’s adult life.
“But the recording Antonio restored proved the betrayal came from inside our own household.”
Static.
Then Lucia said the name.
“Victor Hale.”
Mr. Harcourt gasped.
Rosa turned.
“Who is Victor Hale?”
Aleandro looked grim.
“My father’s former accountant.”
Samuel added, “He disappeared fourteen years ago.”
Lucia continued.
“Victor stole the money. Victor gave the information to investigators. And when Carlo learned the truth, he buried it because admitting his mistake would make him look weak.”
Aleandro’s face hardened.
“He destroyed Gabriel anyway.”
“Yes,” Samuel whispered.
The recording continued.
“Antonio made two copies of the restored tape. I hid one. He kept the other.”
Rosa looked at her father’s tool case.
“He never told me.”
“He was protecting you,” Samuel said.
Lucia’s voice softened.
“Antonio, if Rosa someday hears this, tell her I was grateful for your courage.”
Rosa covered her mouth.
She had not expected tears.
Aleandro looked at her.
For the first time, there was no intimidation in his face.
Only understanding.
Both of them were hearing dead parents speak across fourteen years.
Lucia continued.
“There is one more truth.”
The record crackled badly.
Rosa moved closer.
The voice became faint.
“Victor did not act alone.”
More static.
“Someone in this house helped him.”
The recording skipped.
Aleandro leaned toward the horn.
“Who?”
Rosa carefully adjusted the needle pressure.
Lucia’s voice returned.
“I discovered the name the night before I became ill.”
Static.
“It was—”
The record stopped.
Everyone stared.
“No,” Aleandro said.
Rosa checked the mechanism.
“The spring ran down.”
“Wind it.”
She did.
The platter turned again.
But the needle jumped over the damaged section.
The name was gone.
Matteo rubbed his face.
“Wonderful.”
Samuel looked uneasy.
“There may be another copy.”
Rosa nodded.
“My father’s.”
Aleandro turned to her.
“Where are his belongings?”
“My mother has most of them.”
“Where?”
“Queens.”
“We go now.”
Rosa stared at him.
“We’re locked inside your library.”
Aleandro looked at Matteo.
Matteo had already pulled a small tool from his pocket.
“I can bypass the door control.”
Rosa raised an eyebrow.
“Convenient skill for a chief of staff.”
Matteo gave her a brief smile.
“This house requires unusual qualifications.”
Two minutes later, the lock released.
But when the doors opened, the hallway was empty.
Harcourt was gone.
The servants who had been outside were gone.
The security lights flashed red.
Aleandro checked his phone.
Signal restored.
Seven missed calls.
All from the medical wing.
He called.
A nurse answered immediately.
“Mr. Romano?”
“What happened?”
“Your father’s condition changed.”
“I’m coming.”
Aleandro looked at Rosa.
“Stay with Matteo.”
Rosa shook her head.
“He asked for me.”
Aleandro hesitated.
Then nodded.
They hurried through the estate.
Carlo Romano’s private rooms were on the north side.
Rosa had never been there.
When they entered, she found an old man lying in a large bed surrounded by medical equipment.
Carlo’s face was thin.
His breathing shallow.
But his eyes were sharp.
They moved immediately to Rosa.
“Antonio’s girl.”
Rosa stepped closer.
“Yes.”
Carlo raised one trembling hand.
“Your father hated me.”
“My father rarely spoke about you.”
“That means yes.”
Aleandro stood at the foot of the bed.
“Father, who helped Victor Hale?”
Carlo’s eyes moved toward his son.
“You found Lucia’s record.”
“Yes.”
Carlo closed his eyes.
A tear escaped.
“I should have destroyed it.”
Aleandro’s jaw tightened.
“Who helped him?”
Carlo looked at Rosa again.
“Antonio knew.”
“My father is dead.”
“He left another copy.”
“Where?”
Carlo pointed weakly toward Rosa’s wooden tool case.
She opened it again.
Nothing.
“The key was inside,” she said.
Carlo shook his head.
“Not key.”
His breathing became strained.
“Handle.”
Rosa examined the wooden handle.
She twisted it.
Nothing.
Then Aleandro noticed a tiny metal pin.
He pressed it.
The handle separated.
Inside was a tightly rolled strip of photographic film.
Rosa stared.
“My father carried this case every day.”
Carlo smiled sadly.
“That was Antonio.”
Aleandro took the film.
“What is it?”
“Proof.”
“Of what?”
Carlo suddenly began coughing.
The nurse moved forward.
Machines beeped.
Aleandro stepped closer.
“Father.”
Carlo grabbed his wrist.
With surprising strength.
His eyes filled with terror.
“Don’t trust—”
His voice broke.
“Don’t trust Matteo.”
Rosa froze.
Aleandro stared at him.
“What?”
Carlo pulled him closer.
“His father…”
The monitor alarm began screaming.
The nurse pushed Aleandro back.
“Sir, please.”
Medical staff rushed into the room.
Rosa and Aleandro were forced into the corridor.
Both were silent.
Finally Rosa whispered, “Matteo?”
Aleandro looked toward the far end of the hallway.
Matteo stood there.
Watching them.
He had heard enough.
May you like
Then he slowly reached inside his jacket.
And removed the missing second copy of Lucia’s recording.
