Chapter 3 - The Tow Yard Nobody Could Buy
Riley did not sleep well.
She blamed Matteo Duca.
Then she blamed her father.
Then she blamed herself for caring what either man was hiding.
At 5:42 the next morning, she gave up trying.
By six-fifteen she was at Morgan Towing.
The office lights were already on.
That was unusual.
Patrick normally arrived after seven, mostly because Riley and Connor had spent three years threatening to hide his car keys if he continued treating retirement like a personal insult.
Riley entered through the side door.
Her father was sitting at his desk.
The photograph from yesterday lay in front of him.
“You going to tell me now?” she asked.
Patrick did not look up.
“Tell you what?”
“That pretending not to understand me is incredibly annoying.”
“That’s genetic.”
“Dad.”
He sighed.
Riley walked closer.
She picked up the photograph.
Her mother was maybe thirty-eight in it.
Smiling.
Patrick had one arm around her.
The unidentified man stood slightly apart.
Dark hair.
Expensive coat.
Serious eyes.
Riley examined him.
“He looks familiar.”
“He shouldn’t.”
“But he does.”
Patrick took the photograph from her.
“That picture should have been thrown away years ago.”
“Who is he?”
Patrick’s jaw tightened.
“Salvatore Duca.”
Riley froze.
“Matteo’s father?”
“Yes.”
“You told Matteo you didn’t know him.”
“No. Matteo told you he didn’t know the other man.”
“There’s only one other man.”
Patrick looked away.
Riley stared at her father.
“Dad.”
He rose slowly.
“Coffee?”
“No.”
“I’m making coffee.”
“You’re avoiding me.”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
Patrick filled the coffee maker.
Riley waited.
She could outwait anyone.
Patrick knew it.
After thirty seconds, he sighed.
“Your mother knew him.”
“How?”
“Business.”
“What business?”
“Complicated business.”
Riley laughed without humor.
“We tow cars, Dad. We’re not manufacturing satellites.”
Patrick turned.
“Back then this property was worth almost nothing. Warehouses, repair shops, scrap yards. Nobody wanted riverfront industrial land.”
“And?”
“Then people started buying.”
“Developers.”
“Investors. Holding companies. People who knew the city was changing.”
Riley leaned against the desk.
“Duca?”
“Sometimes.”
“You sold something?”
“No.”
“Then why was Salvatore here?”
Patrick looked toward the garage.
“Because he wanted this land.”
Riley felt something cold settle in her stomach.
“He tried to buy Morgan Towing?”
“Several times.”
“When?”
“Late nineties. Early 2000s.”
“And you refused.”
“Your mother refused.”
That surprised Riley.
“Mom?”
Patrick smiled faintly.
“Ellen loved this place more than I did.”
Riley looked again at the photo.
Her mother had died when Riley was seventeen.
Cancer.
Fast.
Cruel.
Riley remembered the smell of hospital disinfectant more clearly than she remembered her mother’s voice.
“What happened?”
Patrick’s smile disappeared.
“Nothing.”
Riley stared.
“You are a terrible liar.”
“Riley.”
“No. You told me to stay away from the Ducas. Matteo sees this photograph and suddenly you’re terrified. Somebody refinanced the property eight years ago using numbers you say were wrong. Matteo tells me his company has the same problem. Now you want me to believe none of that is connected?”
Patrick looked at her.
“Sometimes things look connected because you’re looking for a connection.”
“And sometimes they’re connected.”
The garage door rattled open.
Connor entered carrying breakfast sandwiches.
“I brought bacon as a peace offering.”
He stopped.
Looked from Riley to Patrick.
“Am I interrupting the annual Morgan family communication failure?”
“Yes,” Riley said.
“No,” Patrick said.
Connor handed Riley a sandwich.
“Great. Normal morning.”
Patrick left the office.
Riley watched him go.
Connor lowered his voice.
“What happened?”
“Dad knew Matteo’s father.”
Connor stopped chewing.
“What?”
She handed him the photograph.
Connor examined it.
“You sure?”
“Dad confirmed it.”
“Why?”
“Apparently Salvatore Duca wanted the yard.”
Connor looked around.
“This yard?”
“Yes, Connor. We only have one.”
“I mean why?”
Riley nodded toward the river.
“Location.”
Connor frowned.
“Makes sense now.”
“What does?”
He set down his sandwich.
“You haven’t seen the mail.”
“What mail?”
Connor walked to the filing cabinet and removed an envelope.
“Came yesterday afternoon.”
Riley read the return address.
WHITMORE URBAN PARTNERS.
She opened it.
Inside was a formal offer to purchase Morgan Towing.
Riley read the number twice.
“Six million?”
Connor nodded.
Their property was valuable.
But not six-million-dollars valuable.
At least Riley had never thought so.
“Dad see this?”
“Last night.”
“What did he say?”
“Throw it away.”
Riley read the letter again.
The offer expired in seventy-two hours.
Cash closing.
No financing contingency.
Buyer willing to assume environmental remediation costs.
“This makes no sense.”
“Maybe the land’s worth more than we thought.”
“Then why give us only seventy-two hours?”
Connor shrugged.
“Pressure?”
Riley looked through the window.
Patrick was standing near one of the trucks, pretending to inspect a tire.
“Who owns Whitmore?”
“Don’t know.”
Riley reached for her laptop.
A search produced an expensive website containing very little information.
Whitmore Urban Partners described itself as a private acquisition firm focused on “strategic redevelopment corridors.”
Corporate address downtown.
No executives listed.
No photographs.
No meaningful history.
Riley searched property records.
Nothing obvious.
Then she searched the name with Duca.
One result appeared.
A three-year-old business article.
Whitmore Urban Partners had purchased a parcel adjacent to a Duca-owned hotel development.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Connor said.
“No.”
But Riley felt the same unease she had seen on Matteo’s face.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Morgan Towing.”
“Riley.”
She recognized the voice immediately.
“Mr. Duca.”
“I thought we established Matteo.”
“We established that you have opinions.”
A pause.
Then, “Did your father explain the photograph?”
Riley looked toward Patrick.
“No.”
“Did he identify the man?”
“Yes.”
Matteo went quiet.
Riley straightened.
“You knew that was your father.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you lie?”
“Because your father was standing ten feet away looking like he’d seen a ghost.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No. It’s the reason.”
Riley closed the office door.
“What do you know?”
“Not enough.”
“Convenient.”
“I need to speak with Patrick.”
“He doesn’t want to speak with you.”
“I assumed.”
“Then why call?”
“Because I found something last night.”
Riley waited.
Matteo continued.
“The property refinancing package I stopped yesterday included six parcels.”
“And?”
“One of them is yours.”
Riley stopped breathing for half a second.
“What?”
“Morgan Towing appears in the redevelopment plan.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I’m looking at the documents.”
“We never agreed to anything.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because there’s a memorandum of sale attached.”
Riley’s voice dropped.
“A what?”
“A document claiming Patrick Morgan agreed to sell the property after a financing condition was satisfied.”
“He didn’t.”
“That’s what I suspected.”
“When was it signed?”
A pause.
“Eight years ago.”
The same year as the refinancing disaster.
Riley gripped the edge of the desk.
“Who signed it?”
“Your father.”
“He didn’t.”
“Riley—”
“My father would never sign away this yard.”
“I’m not saying he did.”
She understood.
“You think the signature is fake.”
“Yes.”
Riley looked through the window.
Patrick had stopped inspecting the tire.
He was staring toward the gate.
A black sedan had pulled up outside.
Two men climbed out.
One carried a briefcase.
The other carried paperwork.
“Matteo?”
“Yes?”
“I think somebody just arrived.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
The two men approached the gate.
The older one called through.
“Patrick Morgan?”
Patrick did not move.
Riley stepped outside.
“I’m Riley Morgan. Owner.”
The man opened his briefcase.
“Ms. Morgan, my name is Daniel Whitmore.”
Riley felt Connor come up behind her.
Whitmore smiled pleasantly.
“I believe you received our acquisition proposal.”
“We’re not interested.”
“I think you should reconsider.”
“No.”
His smile remained.
“You haven’t heard our revised number.”
“There is no number.”
Whitmore studied her.
Then his eyes moved toward Patrick.
Something passed between them.
Recognition.
Patrick’s face turned white.
Riley saw it.
So did Connor.
“Dad?” Riley asked.
Daniel Whitmore closed his briefcase.
“We’ll speak again.”
He turned toward the sedan.
Riley called after him.
“Why does my father know you?”
Whitmore stopped.
He looked over his shoulder.
“Because this negotiation did not begin yesterday, Ms. Morgan.”
He got into the car.
The sedan drove away.
Riley turned toward her father.
Patrick looked older than he had ten minutes earlier.
“What did he mean?”
Patrick leaned against his cane.
“You need to sell.”
Riley stared at him.
“What?”
“The six million. Take it.”
“You told Connor to throw away the offer.”
“I changed my mind.”
“In twelve hours?”
“Take the money and walk away.”
“This business was Mom’s.”
“I know.”
“You spent thirty years protecting it.”
“I know.”
“And now some stranger appears and suddenly you want me to sell?”
Patrick’s eyes filled with something Riley had almost never seen.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
“Some things are worth more than land,” he said.
Riley lowered her voice.
“What are you afraid of?”
Patrick looked toward the street where Whitmore’s sedan had disappeared.
Then he said something Riley would remember for the rest of her life.
“I’m afraid the mistake your mother and I made twenty years ago has finally found you.”
And across Chicago, Matteo Duca was staring at an old corporate document bearing three names.
Salvatore Duca.
Patrick Morgan.
Ellen Morgan.
The fourth name had been blacked out.
But Matteo already suspected who it belonged to.
And if he was right, Riley Morgan was in far more danger of losing her family’s business than she understood.
May you like
Because somebody had spent two decades preparing to take it from her.
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