Chapter 5 - Matteo Duca Comes Back
By the time Riley and Matteo returned to Morgan Towing, yellow city tape stretched across the rear garage.
Patrick stood beside an inspector.
Connor was arguing with a man holding a clipboard.
Daniel Whitmore waited across the street.
Smiling.
Riley got out before Matteo fully stopped the SUV.
“What exactly is unsafe?”
The inspector turned.
“Ms. Morgan?”
“Yes.”
He handed her the notice.
“Complaint of structural instability. We observed foundation cracking and evidence of subsidence.”
“That building has stood for fifty years.”
“I understand.”
“And someone complained yesterday?”
The inspector hesitated.
“This morning.”
“Who?”
“Anonymous.”
Riley looked at Whitmore.
He lifted one hand politely.
She wanted to throw something.
Matteo came up beside her.
The inspector recognized him.
His posture changed.
Matteo noticed.
“I’m not here in any official capacity,” he said. “Treat me like anyone else.”
Riley looked sideways.
That surprised her.
The inspector nodded.
“We need an engineering review.”
“How long?” Riley asked.
“Could be several weeks.”
“We operate from that building.”
“You can use the front portion. Rear section stays closed.”
Whitmore crossed the street.
“What terrible timing.”
Riley turned.
“Go away.”
“I came to help.”
“You came to enjoy yourself.”
Whitmore smiled.
“The purchase offer remains available.”
“For now?” Riley asked.
“For forty-eight more hours.”
Matteo stepped forward.
“Interesting.”
Whitmore’s smile thinned.
“Mr. Duca.”
“Daniel.”
“You’re far from your hotels.”
“I was towed here.”
Riley almost smiled.
Whitmore looked between them.
“I wasn’t aware you two were acquainted.”
“We’re not,” Riley said.
Matteo spoke at the same time.
“We are.”
She looked at him.
He looked back innocently.
Whitmore noticed.
Of course he did.
“Your father tried to purchase this property once,” Whitmore said.
Matteo’s expression hardened.
“My father made an offer. He didn’t manufacture code violations when it was declined.”
Whitmore’s eyes cooled.
“That sounds dangerously close to an accusation.”
“Then you should be relieved I didn’t make one.”
For the first time, Riley understood why people found Matteo intimidating.
He never raised his voice.
He did not need to.
Whitmore stepped closer.
“You should be careful whose fight you adopt.”
Matteo smiled without warmth.
“I could say the same.”
Whitmore left.
Riley watched him get into his car.
Then she turned on Matteo.
“We are not acquainted?”
“I panicked.”
“You panicked?”
“It happens occasionally.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“You’ve known me approximately twenty-four hours.”
“And somehow I’m confident.”
Patrick approached.
“This is exactly what I didn’t want.”
Riley held up her mother’s letter.
“We found it.”
Patrick stopped.
His hands trembled slightly as he read.
Then he sat on the bumper of a tow truck.
“Box 314.”
“You know anything?”
“No.”
Matteo was already making calls.
Twenty minutes later, he had an answer.
When Union Central Station was redeveloped, abandoned safe-deposit contents had been transferred through three different storage contractors.
Most unclaimed material eventually went to a municipal archive facility.
“But,” Matteo said, “private document boxes were transferred to a company called Lakefront Secure Storage.”
Riley searched the name.
The company still existed.
“So we go there.”
Matteo hesitated.
“What?”
“The original facility burned in 2012.”
Riley stared.
“Of course it did.”
“Some contents survived and were moved.”
“Where?”
“A warehouse in Cicero.”
Riley grabbed her keys.
Matteo stopped her.
“I’ll drive.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody is watching your vehicles.”
Riley went still.
“How do you know?”
“I saw the same sedan yesterday and today.”
“You didn’t mention that?”
“I wasn’t certain.”
“And now?”
“Now I am.”
Riley looked toward the street.
No sedan.
But the sensation of being watched remained.
Patrick spoke.
“Don’t go.”
Riley turned.
“Dad.”
“We call an attorney.”
“We will.”
“We call police.”
“With what? A building inspection and a purchase offer?”
Patrick had no answer.
Riley touched his shoulder.
“Mom left the key for a reason.”
Patrick looked at Matteo.
“If anything happens to her—”
“It won’t.”
Riley immediately objected.
“Do not promise things for me.”
Matteo looked at her.
“I was reassuring your father.”
“Poorly.”
Patrick surprised both of them.
“Take her.”
Riley stared.
“Excuse me?”
“He has security.”
“I have common sense.”
“Debatable.”
“Dad.”
Matteo hid a smile.
They left ten minutes later.
This time Riley drove her own pickup.
Matteo sat beside her.
“Your father likes me.”
“He threatened you.”
“Affection takes many forms.”
“You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
The drive to Cicero took forty minutes.
Lakefront Secure Storage occupied a squat concrete building behind an auto parts warehouse.
Inside, a woman named Marjorie listened patiently while Riley explained.
She examined the key.
“Old Union Central series.”
“So it could still correspond to something?”
“Possibly.”
Marjorie disappeared into a back room.
Twenty minutes later she returned with a ledger.
“Box 314 transferred in 2011.”
Riley leaned forward.
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“Can we access it?”
Marjorie frowned.
“It was collected.”
Riley’s stomach dropped.
“When?”
“2013.”
“By whom?”
Marjorie turned the ledger.
One signature appeared.
Patrick Morgan.
Riley stared.
“No.”
Matteo looked at her.
“My father says he never knew where the box was.”
Marjorie adjusted her glasses.
“Well, someone using that name and matching identification collected it.”
“Do you keep copies?”
“Back then, yes.”
She searched an old database.
A scanned driver’s license appeared.
Riley leaned closer.
The photograph was Patrick.
The license number matched.
But something was wrong.
Riley noticed first.
“That’s not his signature.”
Matteo examined it.
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve seen my father sign his name ten thousand times.”
The signature looked close.
But the M was wrong.
Riley took a photograph of the screen.
“Could the identification have been copied?”
Marjorie frowned.
“Possibly. Procedures weren’t as sophisticated then.”
“Any camera footage?”
“From thirteen years ago? No.”
“Records showing what was in the box?”
“No.”
They returned outside.
Riley leaned against her truck.
“So someone stole it.”
“Probably.”
“Then Mom’s clue is useless.”
“Not necessarily.”
She looked at him.
“If someone collected the box twelve years ago, why are they still coming after the yard?”
Matteo nodded.
“Exactly.”
“They didn’t find what they wanted.”
“Or the box didn’t contain everything.”
Riley looked at her mother’s letter again.
Ask for the original lease records.
“Lease records.”
Matteo looked over.
“What?”
“My mother didn’t say the evidence was in Box 314. She said the key opened Box 314, then ‘ask for the original lease records.’”
He understood immediately.
They returned inside.
Marjorie looked surprised.
“The Union Central lease records?”
“Yes.”
“Those wouldn’t have been stored with the boxes.”
“Where would they be?”
“Administrative archives.”
“Do you have them?”
Marjorie searched.
Then smiled.
“Microfilm.”
An hour later they sat beside an ancient reader.
Box 314 had been leased under a business name.
Morgan Recovery Services.
But the original lease form contained an attachment.
AUTHORIZED ACCESS.
Four names.
Ellen Morgan.
Patrick Morgan.
Salvatore Duca.
And—
Matteo leaned forward.
Riley read the fourth name aloud.
“Thomas Bell.”
Matteo went silent.
“You know him?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“My father’s attorney.”
“Former attorney?”
Matteo shook his head slowly.
“No.”
Riley waited.
“He’s mine.”
The words hung between them.
Thomas Bell had represented the Duca family for thirty years.
He had attended Salvatore Duca’s funeral.
He had helped Matteo settle his father’s estate.
He sat on two Duca boards.
And yesterday, he had been the gray-haired man arguing with Matteo outside Duca Development.
Riley watched Matteo process the betrayal.
“You trust him?”
“I did.”
“Maybe there’s an explanation.”
“Maybe.”
But Matteo’s face said he did not believe it.
Riley photographed the record.
Then Matteo’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Thomas Bell.
Neither spoke.
It rang again.
Matteo answered.
“Thomas.”
A voice spoke faintly through the phone.
Matteo’s eyes stayed on Riley.
“Yes. I’m with her.”
Another pause.
Then Matteo’s face changed.
“What did you say?”
Riley straightened.
Matteo put the call on speaker.
Thomas Bell’s voice filled the room.
“Matteo, listen carefully. You need to leave Morgan Towing alone.”
Riley felt cold.
Matteo said, “Why?”
“Because your father tried to fix this twenty years ago.”
“And?”
Thomas exhaled.
“And it killed him.”
The line went dead.
Neither Riley nor Matteo moved.
Then Riley’s phone buzzed.
A photograph had arrived from an unknown number.
It showed Patrick Morgan sitting in the towing office.
Taken through the window.
Seconds ago.
Below it was a single message.
SELL THE YARD.
OR NEXT TIME WE DON’T SEND PAPERWORK.
Matteo read it.
His expression became terrifyingly calm.
Riley grabbed her keys.
“We’re going home.”
Matteo followed.
And this time, neither of them joked about who was driving.
Because someone had finally stopped hiding behind contracts.
May you like
And whoever had taken Box 314 was watching Patrick Morgan right now.
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