Chapter 6 - What Richard Buried
Rosehill Cemetery looked different when Clara arrived searching for evidence instead of attending a funeral.
The sky was gray.
Rain had stopped, leaving wet grass and rows of black branches above old stone monuments.
Dominic parked near the Bennett family section.
Luca followed in another vehicle.
For security, only the three of them came.
Clara walked ahead.
Edward Bennett’s grave sat beneath an old oak tree.
Beside it lay Anne Bennett.
Richard was buried three rows farther down.
Clara stopped between them.
So many dead people.
So many secrets.
Dominic remained several feet back.
He had become careful around her grief.
Clara appreciated that despite herself.
On her eighteenth birthday, Richard had brought her here after dinner.
She remembered being annoyed.
“What twenty-year-old wants to spend birthdays at cemeteries?” she had complained.
“You’re eighteen.”
“Exactly. Even worse.”
Richard laughed.
Then they visited Edward’s grave.
He told Clara about Bennett Maritime.
About family.
About ownership.
She barely listened.
Now she hated herself for that.
“The dead protect what the living steal,” she whispered.
Dominic looked around.
“Did Richard touch anything?”
Clara closed her eyes.
Memory returned in fragments.
Richard kneeling.
Brushing leaves from the grave.
Tapping the base of the stone twice.
Then saying something about her grandfather hiding candy inside desk drawers.
Clara opened her eyes.
“The base.”
Luca examined the monument.
One stone panel looked slightly different.
They found a recessed latch beneath moss.
Dominic looked at Clara.
“Your father was dramatic.”
She almost smiled.
“That part I inherited.”
Inside the hidden compartment was a waterproof metal box.
Clara’s heart pounded.
She opened it.
A black ledger sat inside.
Beside it was another letter.
For Clara.
Her hands trembled.
Dominic stepped back.
This time Clara noticed.
He was giving her privacy without being asked.
She opened the letter.
Sweetheart,
If you found this, then I ran out of time.
Her eyes filled immediately.
You will hear ugly things about me. Many will be true. I gambled. I lied. I let pride destroy good judgment. And when I became frightened, I made the worst decision of my life: I treated your future like something I had the right to bargain with.
Clara swallowed a sob.
Dominic did not demand you. I offered the marriage first.
Her hand stopped.
She looked at Dominic.
He stared at the ground.
Clara kept reading.
He refused.
Her breath caught.
He told me you were not collateral. I hated him for saying it because he was right.
Clara looked at Dominic again.
He still did not meet her eyes.
Three days later, after we discovered Salvatore knew you existed and planned to use you against me, Dominic returned. He agreed to marry you only after I begged him to keep you protected.
Clara sat on the stone bench.
Everything inside her shifted.
Not forgiven.
Not erased.
But changed.
That does not make what we did fair to you.
Richard seemed to know exactly what she would think.
I should have told you the truth. Dominic should have too. We both believed secrecy was protection. We were wrong.
Clara closed her eyes.
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
There is something else you deserve to know. Dominic knew about the docks before I did. He intended to buy them cheaply. When he discovered Salvatore’s scheme, he stopped the acquisition.
Clara’s eyes opened.
She turned toward Dominic.
“You stopped buying the docks?”
Dominic looked at the letter.
“Yes.”
“You never told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because admitting I stopped does not erase why I wanted them.”
Clara looked back at the page.
He saved Bennett Maritime from foreclosure twice without telling me. I resented him for it. Pride makes fools of men.
A tear fell onto the paper.
Evelyn is alive. She is angry. Some of that anger is justified. Much of what she did is not. If Clara ever learns who Evelyn truly is, do not make her choose between us.
Clara covered her mouth.
Richard had known.
He had protected Camila’s identity too.
The final paragraph was shorter.
Clara, you were never payment. You were never property. If Dominic ever makes you feel otherwise, leave him. If he learns to love you, make him say it. The Russo men have a ridiculous habit of acting as though silence is noble. It isn’t.
Clara laughed through tears.
Dominic looked embarrassed.
Richard’s final sentence broke her.
I loved being your father. Blood could never have made me love you more.
Clara pressed the letter against her chest.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Luca’s phone vibrated.
He stepped away.
Dominic approached slowly.
“I’m sorry.”
Clara wiped her face.
“For what part?”
“All of it.”
“That is a large apology.”
“I have time.”
Clara looked at him.
For once, Dominic Russo appeared uncertain.
“I believed hiding the truth kept you alive,” he said. “Eventually I realized I was also hiding because I knew what you would think of me.”
“You were afraid I’d leave.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t sound like a man whose wife is only useful on paper.”
His expression tightened.
“No.”
Clara waited.
Dominic looked away.
Richard had been right.
The Russo men were ridiculous.
“Say it.”
He looked back.
“What?”
“You know what.”
Dominic’s face changed.
Clara almost smiled despite herself.
The powerful man who negotiated with billionaires apparently found three words terrifying.
“You don’t have to say anything you don’t mean.”
“That is not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
“I should have said it before you ever had reason to doubt.”
Clara’s heart pounded.
Dominic stepped closer.
“I love you.”
No speech.
No dramatic declaration.
Just the words.
Clara closed her eyes.
She had wanted them for months.
Now they hurt.
“I don’t know if that fixes anything.”
“It doesn’t.”
“I don’t know if I trust you.”
“I know.”
“I’m still angry.”
“You should be.”
Clara looked at him.
“You agreeing with everything is irritating.”
“I can disagree if it helps.”
She laughed.
A real laugh.
Small.
Fragile.
Dominic smiled.
Then Luca returned.
The moment vanished.
“We have a problem.”
Dominic turned.
“What?”
“The ledger.”
Clara held it tighter.
“What about it?”
“Camila disappeared from the mansion.”
Dominic swore.
“How?”
“Someone helped her.”
“Vincent?”
“No.”
Luca looked uncomfortable.
“Salvatore.”
Dominic stared.
“What?”
“He’s in Chicago.”
Clara’s skin went cold.
“How do you know?”
“Because he called.”
Luca held out his phone.
Dominic put the call on speaker.
An older man’s voice filled the cemetery.
“Hello, nephew.”
Dominic’s expression became stone.
“Salvatore.”
Clara’s heartbeat quickened.
“You’ve made this unnecessarily complicated,” Salvatore said.
Dominic glanced at Clara.
“What do you want?”
“The ledger.”
“No.”
A pause.
Then Salvatore laughed.
“You always were emotional when you should have been practical.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I expected Clara to become useful eventually.”
Clara felt sick.
Salvatore continued.
“Bring me the ledger.”
“Or?”
“Or the last remaining evidence concerning Richard Bennett disappears.”
Clara stepped closer.
“What evidence?”
Salvatore heard her.
“Ah. Clara.”
Dominic reached for the phone.
Clara stopped him.
“What evidence?”
Salvatore answered.
“The recording of Richard’s final conversation.”
Clara stared.
“What conversation?”
“The one he had before he died.”
Dominic’s face changed.
Salvatore laughed softly.
“Your husband still hasn’t told you everything.”
Clara turned toward Dominic.
“What is he talking about?”
Dominic said nothing.
Salvatore answered for him.
“At 2:17 a.m., Richard called Dominic.”
“We know that.”
“Yes.”
“But at 2:41, Richard called someone else.”
Clara’s mouth went dry.
“Who?”
Salvatore paused.
“His killer.”
The line disconnected.
Silence filled the cemetery.
Clara stared at Dominic.
He looked just as shocked.
Then Clara realized something.
The anonymous note had never accused Dominic of killing Richard.
It had only told Clara to ask what happened at 2:17.
Someone had been guiding her.
Step by step.
Toward the ledger.
Toward Camila.
Toward Salvatore.
“Who left the notes?” Clara whispered.
Dominic shook his head.
Luca looked toward Richard’s grave.
Then froze.
“What?”
He pointed.
A fresh white envelope rested against the headstone.
None of them had seen anyone place it there.
Clara walked over.
Her name was written across the front.
She opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
Vincent Corelli.
Standing outside Richard Bennett’s office at 2:39 a.m. the night Richard died.
And on the back:
He was not the killer.
Below that:
May you like
ASK YOUR MOTHER WHY SHE WAS THERE TOO.
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