Chapter 2 - The Dead Man’s Ledger
I saw Marco’s thumb move.
“Don’t.”
Every head turned toward me.
Marco froze with his phone halfway out of his pocket.
Adrian didn’t even look at him.
“Put it on the table.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Marco.”
Something in Adrian’s voice ended the argument.
Marco placed his phone on the marble table.
I watched his face.
Fear had replaced arrogance.
That interested me.
If the eighteen million dollars had merely been embezzlement, Marco would have been angry.
Fear meant there was more.
Adrian dismissed the dinner guests.
Nobody protested.
Within minutes, the enormous room emptied until only Adrian, Marco, three security men, and I remained.
“I’m leaving too,” I said.
“No.”
Adrian’s answer was immediate.
I looked at him.
“That wasn’t a request.”
“Neither was mine.”
I almost laughed.
“Be careful. Your brother already discovered I don’t respond well to Moretti men giving me orders.”
For the first time, something almost like amusement crossed Adrian’s face.
It vanished immediately.
“You’re not a prisoner, Elena. But if Marco stole eighteen million dollars, anyone helping him may already know you discovered it.”
“I can protect myself.”
“I’m beginning to believe that.”
Marco paced beside the windows.
“This is insane.”
I ignored him.
“What did my father find twelve years ago?”
Adrian walked to a cabinet and poured water, not whiskey.
“Your father was the best accountant my father ever hired.”
“My father hated your family.”
“He had reasons.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Adrian looked toward the Chicago skyline.
“Vittorio discovered payments leaving one of our companies. Small amounts at first. Then millions.”
“Who authorized them?”
“My father believed it was an internal fraud.”
“And you?”
“I was twenty-six. I believed whatever my father told me.”
Marco snorted.
Adrian glanced at him.
Marco fell silent.
“Vittorio disagreed,” Adrian continued. “He thought the payments were connected to someone inside the family.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“He never told me.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t trust me.”
That answer surprised me.
Adrian looked almost ashamed.
“He told me I was still my father’s son.”
“What did that mean?”
“That I hadn’t decided what kind of man I wanted to become.”
For the first time, I saw something beneath Adrian Moretti’s reputation.
Not softness.
Regret.
“My father died three days later,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And you never contacted us.”
“I tried.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I went to your house.”
I stared.
“When?”
“The night after the funeral.”
I remembered that night.
Rain.
My mother refusing to answer the door.
A black car across the street.
I had been nineteen.
“That was you?”
“Yes.”
“My mother told me never to speak to anyone from the Moretti family.”
“She was right.”
Marco suddenly laughed.
“What is this? Family therapy?”
Adrian turned.
“Why are you nervous?”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve checked the door six times.”
Marco stopped.
I had noticed too.
Adrian held out his hand.
“Your company access card.”
Marco stared.
“You’re suspending me?”
“Until we understand what happened.”
“Over her accusation?”
“Over eighteen million dollars.”
Marco looked at me.
Hatred filled his face.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“No.” He stepped closer. “You really don’t.”
Adrian moved between us.
“Enough.”
Marco pulled his access card from his wallet and threw it onto the table.
“You’ll regret this.”
Then he walked toward the exit.
One of Adrian’s men blocked him.
Marco turned slowly.
“What now?”
“Your phone stays here,” Adrian said.
Marco’s face went white.
That was the second confirmation I needed.
He wasn’t worried about losing his job.
He was worried about what was on that phone.
After Marco left, Adrian gave the device to a security specialist.
I packed my laptop.
“You should go somewhere other than your apartment tonight,” Adrian said.
“No.”
“Elena.”
“I spent seven years working federal fraud cases. Threatening witnesses is practically a hobby for criminals.”
“You’re not working for the government anymore.”
“No. Which means I don’t have to ask permission before ruining someone’s evening.”
Adrian almost smiled again.
Then his attention returned to my bracelet.
“May I see it?”
I hesitated.
Finally, I held out my wrist.
He didn’t touch me.
That mattered.
He bent closer.
On the inside was an engraving:
V.R. — Numbers Never Lie
“My father gave this to me when I graduated high school.”
Adrian closed his eyes briefly.
“He used to say that.”
“All the time.”
“Numbers never lie. People do.”
I looked at him sharply.
“That was the second half.”
“I know.”
Something about the way he said it made my skin prickle.
“You knew him better than you’re telling me.”
Adrian stepped away.
“Probably.”
“Then start telling me the truth.”
Before he could answer, the security specialist returned.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“What?”
“There’s something on Marco’s phone.”
He placed the device on the table.
A message had arrived seven minutes earlier from an unknown number.
SHE FOUND THE ACCOUNTS.
Below it:
DOES SHE HAVE VITTORIO’S LEDGER?
I stopped breathing.
Adrian looked at me.
“What ledger?”
“I don’t know.”
The phone vibrated again.
A second message appeared.
IF SHE DOES, FINISH WHAT WE STARTED TWELVE YEARS AGO.
For the first time that night, Adrian Moretti looked afraid.
Not for himself.
For me.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Twelve years.
My father.
The missing money.
The bracelet.
Someone knew I was here.
Someone knew what I had discovered.
And whoever had sent that message believed my father had left me something.
Adrian looked toward his security men.
“Lock the building.”
Then he turned to me.
“Elena, think carefully. Did your father leave you any books? Records? Boxes?”
I thought about the storage unit my mother had kept after his death.
Old tax records.
Family photographs.
A wooden desk nobody wanted.
Then I remembered something.
The desk had one drawer that had never opened.
My father used to keep it locked.
After he died, we couldn’t find the key.
I looked at my bracelet.
A tiny silver charm hung beside the engraving.
I had worn it for twelve years without thinking about its strange shape.
My pulse accelerated.
Adrian noticed.
“What?”
I lifted the charm.
It wasn’t decorative.
It was a key.
May you like
And suddenly I knew exactly where the dead man’s ledger might be.
---
