Chapter 8 - A Photograph from Two Years Ago
Marcus Bellini didn't look like a man hiding from the Chicago underworld.
He looked like someone's grandfather.
Gray cardigan.
Reading glasses.
Thin hands.
A half-finished puzzle on the table beside him.
When Luke spoke his name, Marcus looked up slowly.
Then he saw me.
The color drained from his face.
"Danny."
"Been a long time."
He stared at the wheelchair.
Something like guilt crossed his expression.
"I heard."
"Everybody heard."
Emma stood beside me.
Marcus studied her.
"Who is she?"
"Someone I trust."
The answer came naturally.
Emma looked at me.
I pretended not to notice.
Marcus nodded toward the private sitting room.
"We should talk alone."
"No," I said.
He understood.
Luke closed the door.
I placed my father's letter on the table.
Marcus didn't touch it.
"He wrote to you."
"Apparently."
"I told him he should."
"You knew?"
"He knew pieces."
"Then give me the rest."
Marcus lowered his eyes.
"Your father didn't die from his heart."
Everything inside me stopped.
Officially, Antonio Moretti suffered cardiac arrest at fifty-eight.
No suspicion.
No investigation.
No reason for one.
I leaned forward.
"Choose your next words carefully."
Marcus looked exhausted.
"Antonio discovered money missing."
"How much?"
"Almost twenty million."
Luke swore.
"Richard Vale?"
Marcus nodded.
"Richard moved it through holding companies."
"For himself?"
"Not entirely."
"Then for whom?"
Marcus looked at me.
"Victor."
Silence.
Emma shifted beside me.
I felt her hand touch the back of my chair.
Grounding me.
"Proof."
Marcus pointed toward the envelope.
"Your father's ledger."
"Gone."
His expression changed.
"Then they're cleaning up."
"Who?"
"Victor. Adrian. Anyone still connected."
Luke leaned forward.
"Why would Victor steal from his own family?"
Marcus laughed bitterly.
"Because Antonio was going legitimate."
I knew that.
Before his death, my father had wanted to shift our businesses.
Real estate.
Construction.
Hospitality.
Logistics.
No more street operations.
No more old-world debts.
Victor hated the idea.
"He thought Antonio was destroying everything your grandfather built," Marcus continued.
"So he killed him?"
"I don't know."
"You just said—"
"I said Antonio didn't die naturally."
My fingers tightened.
"How do you know?"
"Richard told me."
"When?"
"Six months after the funeral."
"Why?"
"Drunk."
Marcus rubbed his face.
"He said Victor had found a doctor willing to alter medication."
My vision narrowed.
Emma whispered, "Danny."
I barely heard her.
"Name."
"He never gave me one."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Marcus laughed without humor.
"You were twenty-eight and already becoming more dangerous than your father. I had no proof. Victor controlled half the old guard. Richard controlled the money."
"So you ran."
"I tried warning Antonio first."
"He knew enough to write that letter."
"Yes."
My voice went cold.
"And then two years later I was shot."
Marcus looked at the wheelchair again.
"Because you started doing exactly what your father planned."
I remembered.
Six months before the attack, I had begun shutting down several high-risk operations.
Moving investments legitimate.
Ending relationships that had existed for decades.
Victor fought me constantly.
I thought it was generational conflict.
Maybe it had been something worse.
"You think Victor ordered it."
"I know Richard coordinated surveillance."
Emma leaned forward.
"The Riverside Diner?"
Marcus turned toward her.
"You know about that?"
"I worked there."
His eyes widened.
"I heard them talking."
Marcus sat back.
"Then you're lucky to be alive."
I didn't like the way he said it.
"Explain."
"Richard used the diner because employees changed constantly and nobody cared about old men drinking coffee."
Emma's jaw tightened.
"They met there for months."
"Who?"
"Richard. Pierce sometimes. A contractor named Nolan Reeves."
Luke immediately typed the name into his phone.
Marcus continued.
"Reeves was former military. Worked private security."
"The sniper?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"Where is he?"
"Last I heard, Canada."
Luke's phone buzzed.
He looked up.
"Not anymore."
He turned the screen toward me.
Nolan Reeves.
Dead.
Car accident.
Nine months after the shooting.
Another dead witness.
"Convenient," Emma whispered.
Marcus nodded.
"That's how Victor survives."
My anger sharpened.
"Why are you alive?"
"Because everybody thinks I'm senile."
For the first time, a faint smile appeared.
Marcus tapped his temple.
"I encouraged the rumor."
Luke almost laughed.
"Smart."
"Fear makes people careless. Pity makes them stupid."
I knew something about being pitied.
"Do you have evidence?"
Marcus stood carefully.
He crossed the room to an old cabinet.
From behind a stack of photo albums, he removed a brown envelope.
"Not enough to convict anyone."
"I didn't ask about court."
Emma glanced at me.
I ignored it.
Marcus returned.
Inside the envelope were copies of bank transfers.
Photographs.
One photograph stopped me.
Victor meeting Pierce.
Date stamped four days before I was shot.
Beside them stood Richard Vale.
And Adrian.
All four.
"Where was this taken?"
"Private airport."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Luke examined the image.
"Could be anything."
"Exactly," Marcus said. "That's the problem. Everything could be anything until you put all of it together."
Emma picked up another photograph.
She froze.
"Danny."
She handed it to me.
The image showed Nolan Reeves entering Riverside Diner.
Behind him, reflected in the window, was Emma.
Younger.
Carrying a tray.
The timestamp was the night she remembered hearing the route conversation.
Marcus stared.
"You were there."
Emma nodded.
"Then Richard may have known."
She swallowed.
"No."
"He might have seen you."
I felt cold.
"If he thought she heard—"
"He would've dealt with her then," Luke said.
"Unless he didn't know."
Marcus nodded.
"Or unless Richard wasn't as ruthless as Victor."
We spent another hour questioning him.
When we finally prepared to leave, Marcus caught my arm.
"Danny."
I turned.
"Your father made mistakes."
"Everybody does."
"No."
Marcus looked toward Emma.
"He believed protecting someone meant keeping them away from the truth."
I followed his gaze.
"That doesn't always protect them."
His words stayed with me.
On the drive back, Emma remained quiet.
I watched snow begin falling beyond the windows.
"What?"
She shook her head.
"Nothing."
"You're terrible at lying."
"You do it professionally, remember?"
"Exactly."
She sighed.
"I'm thinking about my mother."
"She's safe."
"I know."
"Then?"
Emma looked at the photograph in her hands.
"What if I remembered more?"
"About the diner?"
"Yeah."
"You said it was years ago."
"But maybe..."
She frowned.
"My mom used to come in sometimes."
"To the diner?"
"Before she got sick."
Something changed in her expression.
"She knew Richard."
I straightened.
"What?"
"I don't know how."
"You just remembered?"
"Not exactly."
Emma pressed fingers to her temple.
"I remember them talking once."
"What about?"
"I couldn't hear."
"Did your mother work with him?"
"No."
"Did they know each other socially?"
"I don't think so."
Emma's breathing quickened.
"There was something else."
"Take your time."
"She gave him an envelope."
Luke turned from the front passenger seat.
"What kind?"
"White. Thick."
"When?"
"Maybe three years ago. Before your shooting."
I looked at her.
"Did you ever ask?"
"I did."
"What did she say?"
Emma closed her eyes.
Then whispered:
"She said, 'Some secrets don't belong to the people keeping them.'"
The SUV went silent.
Luke and I exchanged a look.
Emma's mother had known Richard Vale.
She had given him something.
And now Alzheimer's had taken most of her memories.
Most.
But perhaps not all.
"We need to talk to her," I said.
Emma's expression hardened.
"No interrogation."
"I wouldn't."
"She's confused."
"I know."
"If she gets upset, we're done."
"Agreed."
Emma studied me.
Then nodded.
That evening we reached the care facility.
Margaret sat beside her new window.
Birds gathered at a feeder outside.
Emma knelt beside her.
"Mom?"
Margaret looked over.
Her face brightened.
"My Emma."
A good moment.
Emma squeezed her hand.
"Mom, do you remember Richard?"
Margaret's smile disappeared.
The change was instant.
Terrifying.
She looked toward the door.
Then at me.
Her eyes widened.
"Antonio?"
I froze.
She thought I was my father.
Emma whispered, "Mom?"
Margaret grabbed my wrist with surprising strength.
"Antonio, you have to leave."
My heart pounded.
"Why?"
"The brother knows."
Emma stared.
"What brother?"
Margaret looked toward the hallway.
Then leaned closer to me.
Her voice dropped to a terrified whisper.
"Victor knows about the book."
Every hair on my arms rose.
"The ledger?"
Margaret didn't seem to hear.
"He'll kill you too."
Emma went pale.
"Mom, what book?"
Margaret looked at her daughter.
For one brief second, recognition sharpened her eyes.
"I hid it."
Emma froze.
"Where?"
Margaret smiled.
Then the moment vanished.
She turned toward the window.
"Look, sweetheart."
A bird landed on the feeder.
"Cardinal."
Emma tried again.
"Mom, where did you hide the book?"
Margaret only smiled at the bird.
The memory was gone.
But one thing had become clear.
The missing ledger had not disappeared recently.
Emma's mother had hidden it years ago.
May you like
And Victor had been searching for it ever since.
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