Chapter 3 - The Girl Rafferty Never Forgot
Rafferty had spent most of his adult life believing information was safer than emotion.
Emotion made men reckless.
Information gave them choices.
So when Silvano placed the Saint Aurelia’s records on his desk at one in the morning, Rafferty did what he always did when the past threatened to become personal.
He turned it into an investigation.
“Start at the beginning.”
Silvano sat opposite him.
“Saint Aurelia’s wasn’t only an orphanage. The monastery owned forty-three acres along what was then an undesirable section of riverfront.”
“I remember.”
“By the late nineties, developers realized the land would become valuable.”
Rafferty looked toward the dark Mississippi outside his windows.
“And the Vanderpools wanted it.”
“Looks that way.”
Silvano pushed forward another document.
“Their charitable foundation began making donations. Renovations. Food programs. New beds.”
“Then?”
“Then the monastery started signing agreements nobody there fully understood.”
Rafferty’s eyes narrowed.
“Who represented the foundation?”
“Celeste’s father.”
August Vanderpool.
A man Rafferty had shaken hands with less than five hours earlier.
A man who had toasted him as a son.
“What did Marguerite discover?”
Silvano opened a thin scanned report.
“According to this, she believed money intended for the children was being redirected through maintenance companies.”
“Fraud.”
“Possibly. She complained to an administrator.”
“And then lost her job.”
“Three days later.”
Rafferty’s fingers curled slowly against the desk.
“What happened to the land?”
“The monastery eventually sold.”
“To whom?”
Silvano met his eyes.
“Vanderpool interests.”
Rafferty leaned back.
For several moments the only sound was the clock.
Thirty years.
A woman working in a kitchen discovered wealthy donors might be stealing from children.
She complained.
She disappeared.
Her daughter disappeared with her.
That daughter had grown into Fay.
And tonight Celeste Vanderpool had forced her onto her knees over spilled wine.
Coincidence did not sit comfortably with Rafferty.
Still, he refused to jump where facts had not yet led.
“Find everything.”
Silvano nodded.
“Quietly?”
“Very.”
“And Celeste?”
“Nothing yet.”
Silvano stood.
At the door he paused.
“You know what this means if it’s true.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got contracts with the Vanderpools worth tens of millions.”
“I’m aware.”
“Breaking the engagement already creates problems.”
“I haven’t broken it.”
Silvano raised an eyebrow.
“You put her in a car and sent her home from her engagement party.”
“Postponed.”
“Ah.”
Rafferty looked at him.
Silvano lifted both hands.
“Postponed.”
He left.
Rafferty remained alone.
He should have studied the financial records.
Instead, he opened the leather sleeve.
The boat lay inside.
A child had folded it three decades ago.
He could still remember fever burning through him.
Saint Aurelia’s had never been cruel exactly.
Cruelty required attention.
Mostly, the orphanage had simply been overwhelmed.
Too many children.
Too few adults.
Beds in rows.
Donated clothes.
Meals stretched thin.
Children learned quickly not to ask for anything that might be denied.
Rafferty had learned fastest of all.
He had stopped crying before he turned seven.
Then fever came.
For three nights he shook beneath thin blankets.
On the second night, a girl from the kitchen appeared.
“You’re awake,” she whispered.
He had glared at her.
“Go away.”
“No.”
“I’ll bite you.”
“I heard.”
Even sick, he was offended by the lack of fear.
She sat beside the bed.
“What’s your name?”
“None of your business.”
“I’m Fay.”
“I didn’t ask.”
She smiled.
The memory had survived with impossible clarity.
Fay had produced a square of notebook paper.
“What are you doing?”
“Making something.”
“It looks stupid.”
“So do you.”
He had stared at her.
Then, despite fever and misery, laughed.
She folded the paper carefully.
A boat emerged.
“Boats survive storms,” she told him.
“That’s stupid. Boats sink.”
“Some.”
“Then your story is wrong.”
“No. It means you keep going until you find the kind that doesn’t.”
She drew a star on one side.
“Why a star?”
“So if you get lost, you know which way is up.”
He had kept that boat.
Kept it through Saint Aurelia’s.
Through foster placements that failed.
Through the first apartment he rented at seventeen.
Through the first warehouse he bought.
Through every victory men later pretended had come easily.
He had searched for Fay once he had money.
No records.
No address.
No Marguerite.
Nothing.
Eventually, he concluded some doors stayed closed.
Tonight one had opened.
And behind it stood a woman wearing worn shoes who needed money badly enough to endure hours on a marble floor.
Rafferty closed the sleeve.
Across town, Fay did not sleep.
At six in the morning she sat beside Josie’s bed watching sunlight enter through the faded curtains.
Ten days.
That was all she had.
The hospital required twenty-eight thousand dollars.
She had twelve.
Savings from years of work.
Tips.
Extra shifts.
A small community fundraiser.
Money Mrs. Odette had quietly contributed.
She was still sixteen thousand short.
Fay rubbed both hands over her face.
The procedure was not guaranteed to restore Josie’s hearing completely.
No ethical doctor promised miracles.
But specialists believed it could greatly improve what her daughter could perceive in the impaired ear.
It might give her access to sounds she had never experienced clearly.
Fay had imagined the day so often it frightened her.
Josie hearing rain.
A bird outside the window.
Music.
Her mother saying her name.
Fay would have worked every night for a year.
She would have scrubbed every ballroom in Louisiana.
But ten days was not enough.
A knock came.
Mrs. Evelyn entered carrying coffee.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The older woman sat.
Fay showed her the letter.
Mrs. Evelyn read it.
“Oh, honey.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Call the hospital.”
“I have.”
“Church fund?”
“Applied.”
“The charity from Baton Rouge?”
“Waiting list.”
Mrs. Evelyn sighed.
Then noticed the expensive black business card lying near Fay’s purse.
RAFFERTY CAIN.
She picked it up.
“What is this?”
Fay took it.
“He gave it to me.”
“Who?”
Fay looked at her.
Mrs. Evelyn’s eyes widened.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“The Rafferty Cain?”
“I assume there aren’t many.”
“What happened?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“He knew me when we were children.”
Mrs. Evelyn stared.
Fay immediately regretted answering.
“You knew a mafia boss as a child?”
“He wasn’t a mafia boss at eight.”
“Well, that’s comforting.”
Fay laughed despite everything.
Mrs. Evelyn tapped the hospital letter.
“Ask him.”
“No.”
“For a loan.”
“No.”
“For work.”
Fay hesitated.
That was different.
She needed additional shifts.
Cain Holdings owned hotels, restaurants, event spaces, shipping offices.
Maybe Rafferty knew someone who needed temporary staff.
Fay looked at the card.
Mrs. Evelyn saw the hesitation.
“Pride is valuable,” she said. “But so is knowing the difference between asking for an opportunity and asking to be rescued.”
Fay glanced toward Josie.
The child was waking.
One hand reached toward the sunlight.
Fay made her decision.
At nine thirty she used a prepaid phone to call the number.
She expected an assistant.
Rafferty answered himself.
“Cain.”
Fay almost hung up.
“It’s Fay.”
A pause.
Then his voice changed.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Your knees?”
“Sore.”
“Did you see a doctor?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re knees, Rafferty.”
Another pause.
He did not correct her for using his first name.
“What do you need?”
The directness made her uncomfortable.
“Work.”
He was silent.
“I mean additional work. Temporary. Anything legitimate.”
“Why?”
“I need money.”
“How much?”
“That isn’t relevant.”
“It sounds extremely relevant.”
“I’m asking for work, not interrogation.”
He exhaled softly.
“All right.”
“Do you know anyone hiring evenings? Cleaning, catering, hotel shifts. I can do administrative work too.”
“I own several places.”
“I know.”
“You’re asking me for employment.”
“I’m asking whether you have honest work available.”
Rafferty looked down at the hospital research report Silvano had just placed on his desk.
One name stood highlighted.
JOSEPHINE DELACROIX.
He had asked Silvano only to confirm Fay arrived home safely.
Silvano, being Silvano, had discovered more.
Rafferty now knew why she needed money.
But if he told her that, she would hang up.
“Come to the Cain Hotel at eleven,” he said.
“For an interview?”
“Yes.”
“An actual interview?”
His mouth almost curved.
“Would you prefer a fake one?”
“I prefer not to be handed a job because you remember a paper boat.”
“That can be arranged.”
“Good.”
She paused.
“Rafferty?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
He looked at the old boat on his desk.
“You did it first.”
Fay did not understand.
Before she could ask, he ended the call.
At eleven, she arrived at the Cain Hotel.
She expected Rafferty.
Instead, a woman named Helena Brooks, the hotel’s operations director, interviewed her.
Helena was brisk and intimidating.
She asked about Fay’s work history, scheduling, customer service, bookkeeping, computer skills, and availability.
No favors.
No sentimentality.
Fay respected her immediately.
Forty-five minutes later, Helena closed the folder.
“I have a temporary evening position assisting event administration. Better pay than serving. Four weeks, possibly permanent.”
Fay’s heart lifted.
“How soon can I start?”
“Tonight.”
Fay smiled.
Then Helena added, “Mr. Cain specifically instructed me not to hire you unless you qualified.”
Fay’s smile faded.
“He said that?”
“Repeatedly.”
Something warm moved unexpectedly through her chest.
She accepted the position.
What she did not know was that twenty floors above them, Rafferty had just received another call.
Silvano entered his office.
“We have a problem.”
Rafferty looked up.
“What?”
“Someone accessed the old Saint Aurelia’s archive last night.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Silvano placed a security still on the desk.
A man in a dark coat had entered the records warehouse at 3:12 a.m.
Rafferty studied the image.
“Anything missing?”
“One box.”
“Which box?”
Silvano’s expression told him the answer before he spoke.
“Marguerite Delacroix.”
Rafferty rose slowly.
Someone else knew they were looking.
May you like
And whoever it was had just made the first move.
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