Chapter 7 - The Ledger Beneath the Floor
Liam finally agreed to reveal where he had hidden the documents.
Not because Vincent threatened him.
Because Norah threatened to make him eat nothing but plain oatmeal until he did.
Vincent found this deeply entertaining.
Liam did not.
“The old apartment,” he said.
Norah frowned.
“Mom’s?”
“Under the kitchen floor.”
She stared.
“You broke Mom’s floor?”
“One board.”
“She loved that floor.”
“She complained about it every day.”
“She was allowed to.”
Vincent cleared his throat.
Norah looked toward him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re laughing.”
“I’m absolutely not.”
“You are.”
Enzo entered.
“Cars are ready.”
The old Bennett apartment sat above a closed laundromat in Brooklyn.
Norah had not been inside since her mother died.
When she stepped through the door, she stopped.
The apartment smelled like dust.
Nothing else.
But in her mind she smelled garlic.
Laundry soap.
Her mother’s perfume.
Vincent noticed her expression.
“Do you want a minute?”
Norah shook her head.
“The kitchen.”
Liam led them inside.
He knelt beside a cabinet and pried at a floorboard.
Nothing.
His face changed.
“What?”
Liam tried again.
Then another board.
“It’s gone.”
Norah stared.
“What do you mean?”
“The package.”
Vincent’s eyes swept the room.
“Who knew?”
“Nobody.”
“Somebody knew.”
Liam stood.
“I swear—”
A sound came from the hallway.
Enzo drew his weapon.
Vincent moved Norah behind him.
“Stay.”
She hated being ordered.
At that moment, she obeyed.
Enzo opened the door.
An elderly woman stood outside holding groceries.
She screamed.
Enzo immediately lowered the weapon.
“Sorry.”
The woman stared at him.
Then recognized Norah.
“Norah?”
“Mrs. Delgado?”
The woman looked at Vincent, Enzo, Liam, and back at Norah.
“What kind of friends have you made?”
“It’s complicated.”
Mrs. Delgado looked at Liam.
“You.”
Liam smiled weakly.
“Hi.”
“You owe me eighty dollars.”
Norah closed her eyes.
“Of course he does.”
Vincent looked almost amused.
Mrs. Delgado stepped inside.
“I saw somebody in here last week.”
Every expression changed.
“Who?” Vincent asked.
Mrs. Delgado narrowed her eyes.
“Who are you?”
“Friend.”
“You don’t look friendly.”
Norah almost laughed.
“Mrs. Delgado, who did you see?”
“Tall man. Gray hair. Nice coat.”
Vincent and Enzo exchanged a glance.
“Martin?” Norah asked.
Vincent did not answer.
Mrs. Delgado continued.
“He had a key.”
Liam stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“Unless he copied one,” Enzo said.
Norah looked toward the empty floorboard.
“So Martin has the papers.”
“No,” Liam whispered.
Everyone turned.
“What?” Vincent asked.
Liam reached deeper into the opening.
His fingers found something.
A small flash drive taped beneath the wood.
“I separated them.”
Vincent crouched.
“Explain.”
“The paper originals were evidence. But I photographed everything first.”
He held up the drive.
Vincent stared.
For the first time, they had something Martin did not know still existed.
Back at the estate, the drive was opened on an isolated laptop.
Hundreds of photographs.
Invoices.
Schedules.
Wire transfers.
Company records.
Vincent stood behind Enzo as each page appeared.
Moretti.
Silas Crane.
Shell companies.
Payments.
Then a document appeared that changed everything.
A ledger.
Not financial.
Names.
Dates.
Assignments.
Next to Vincent’s name were six entries.
Surveillance.
Medical records.
Kitchen staffing.
Coffee delivery.
Morning schedule.
And beside the final entry:
APPROVED BY J.M.
Vincent frowned.
“Martin Vale isn’t M.”
Enzo looked at him.
“No.”
Norah leaned closer.
“Who is J.M.?”
Nobody answered.
Vincent enlarged the photograph.
Below the initials was a number.
Enzo recognized it first.
His face changed.
“No.”
“What?” Norah asked.
Vincent knew.
The number belonged to a private account used by Rossy Legal Holdings.
Only three people could authorize transactions.
Vincent.
Martin Vale.
And the attorney who had served the Rossy family for twenty-three years.
Julian Mercer.
Norah looked between them.
“Who is Julian Mercer?”
Vincent’s voice was quiet.
“My godfather.”
The word landed heavier than any other could have.
Julian had held Vincent as a baby.
Taught him chess.
Helped bury his father.
Sat beside Vincent’s hospital bed.
He was not merely inside the organization.
He was family.
Vincent stared at the initials.
Enzo spoke carefully.
“Could be somebody else.”
Vincent nodded.
“Could.”
Nobody believed it.
Norah looked at him.
The color had drained from his face.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“Norah.”
She touched his wrist.
Vincent stopped.
No one else would have dared.
He looked down at her fingers.
Then at her face.
“You need food.”
“I’m looking at evidence that my godfather may have arranged my murder.”
“Which will still be here after you eat.”
Vincent almost argued.
Then something strange happened.
He listened.
Norah brought soup.
The same chicken broth she had made the first night.
Vincent sat alone in his study while the evidence glowed from the laptop.
He took the first spoonful.
Then a second.
Norah remained nearby.
When the bowl was half empty, Vincent said, “My grandmother made something like this.”
“I know.”
His eyes lifted.
“How?”
“You look different when you eat it.”
He glanced down.
Norah continued.
“Like you’re remembering someone.”
For a long time, Vincent said nothing.
Then quietly:
“She was the only person in my family who wanted me nowhere near this life.”
“Smart woman.”
“She would’ve liked you.”
Norah smiled.
“You don’t know that.”
“She hated everyone.”
Norah laughed.
Vincent did too.
The sound felt strange inside a room full of betrayal.
Then Enzo appeared in the doorway.
“We have a problem.”
Vincent put down the spoon.
“What?”
Enzo held up his phone.
“Julian Mercer just called.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“What does he want?”
“To have dinner.”
Norah looked toward the bowl.
Vincent looked at the initials on the screen.
Then slowly back at Enzo.
“When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
Vincent’s eyes turned cold.
“Tell my godfather I’d be delighted.”
Because if Julian Mercer really had tried to poison him, Vincent intended to discover why.
May you like
And this time, dinner would be served on Vincent’s terms.
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