Chapter 4 - The Kitchen Door
Rafael had six men at Evelyn’s nursing facility in fourteen minutes.
Too late.
Gregory Vale was gone.
Evelyn was unharmed, but someone had searched her room.
Drawers emptied.
Mattress lifted.
Closet torn apart.
Nothing taken.
“They were looking for the tag,” Evelyn said.
Marin sat beside her.
“It’s already gone.”
Rafael stood near the window.
“Vale took it?”
“I think so.”
Abel shook his head.
“If Vale had it, he wouldn’t search here.”
Rafael turned.
“Then someone else took it.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“You look like your father.”
Rafael ignored the observation.
“Mrs. Hollis, did Thomas ever tell you where the ledger was?”
“No.”
“Did he give you anything besides the tag?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Evelyn looked toward Marin.
Then away.
Rafael saw it.
“You’re lying.”
Marin stood.
“Watch how you talk to her.”
Rafael looked at Marin.
She did not flinch.
Interesting.
Most people did.
Evelyn whispered, “Thomas gave me a number.”
“What number?”
“1719.”
Abel frowned.
“That mean anything?”
Rafael shook his head.
Evelyn continued.
“He made me memorize it. Said never write it down.”
“Seventeen nineteen,” Rafael repeated.
“Exactly.”
Marin’s mind raced.
B-17.
1719.
They left the facility after midnight.
In the car, Marin sat beside Rafael while Abel drove.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Finally Marin said, “My father died saving yours.”
“Yes.”
“And your father knew?”
“I assume.”
“But he never helped my mother.”
Rafael looked at her.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s convenient.”
“No. It’s infuriating.”
“You own half the city.”
“Not half.”
She stared.
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then his expression darkened.
“If my father owed your family a debt and ignored it, I’ll find out.”
“I don’t want money.”
“I didn’t offer money.”
“What do you offer?”
“The truth.”
Marin looked out the window.
“That’s more expensive.”
At the restaurant the next day, Celeste arrived at four.
She kissed Rafael lightly.
He did not return it.
“You’ve been impossible to reach.”
“Busy.”
“With?”
“Payroll.”
She smiled.
“Thrilling.”
“Do you know Gregory Vale?”
Celeste’s smile stayed in place.
“Of course.”
“How well?”
“He manages your restaurant.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“Why are you interrogating me?”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Rafael said nothing.
Celeste hated silence.
It made other people control the room.
“He helped with event accounts,” she finally said.
“What accounts?”
“My foundation dinners.”
“Did you give him security access?”
“Occasionally.”
“Did you delete parking footage Tuesday night?”
“No.”
Quick answer.
Too quick.
Rafael looked at her.
Celeste crossed her arms.
“Is this about that waitress?”
“What waitress?”
“The brunette.”
“Marin.”
Celeste’s mouth tightened.
“You know her name.”
“I know everyone’s name.”
“No, Rafe. You know everyone’s file.”
He said nothing.
Celeste stepped closer.
“I don’t like the way she looks at you.”
Rafael’s eyes cooled.
“This conversation is done.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“No. This conversation is done because my employee is potentially the victim of theft and intimidation, and you turned it into jealousy.”
Celeste’s face changed.
For a second.
Anger.
Then gone.
“I’m going home.”
“Good.”
She left.
Rafael watched the door close.
Then called Abel.
“Follow her.”
At eight-thirty, Marin was carrying a tray through the kitchen when Celeste appeared.
Marin stopped.
“What are you doing back here?”
Celeste shut the door.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I’m working.”
“This will take one minute.”
Marin set down the tray.
“What?”
Celeste held up the brass tag.
Marin’s heart stopped.
“Where did you get that?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“You took it from my car.”
“No.”
“Then Vale did.”
Celeste’s eyes flickered.
There.
Marin saw it.
“You know he took it.”
Celeste stepped closer.
“You have no idea what you’re carrying.”
“Then explain it.”
“My father spent thirty years cleaning up what happened in that warehouse.”
Marin froze.
“Your father?”
“He was an attorney for Santoro Mercantile.”
“Thomas Hollis died there.”
“I know.”
“My father.”
“I know.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Marin whispered, “You knew who I was.”
“Not at first.”
“When?”
“When Vale found the tag.”
“You told him to search my car.”
Celeste’s jaw tightened.
“I told him to retrieve something that never belonged to you.”
“It belonged to my father.”
“It belonged to Santoro Mercantile.”
“My father died for it.”
Celeste grabbed Marin’s wrist.
“Lower your voice.”
“Let go.”
“Listen to me.”
“You’re hurting me.”
“Then stop fighting.”
Marin tried to pull away.
Celeste shoved her against the stainless-steel counter.
A plate crashed.
The sound exploded through the kitchen.
Marin’s old hand injury flared.
She gasped.
Celeste’s grip moved higher, bunching the front of Marin’s collar.
“You’re going to quit,” Celeste hissed.
“No.”
“You’re going to leave Chicago.”
“No.”
“You have no idea what Rafael will do if this comes out.”
Marin stared at her.
“I think you’re more afraid of what he’ll do to you.”
Celeste’s face twisted.
Her second hand came up.
And then a voice cut through the kitchen.
“Take your hands off her.”
Everything stopped.
Rafael stood in the doorway.
Black suit.
Black shirt.
No raised voice.
No visible rage.
That made it worse.
Celeste released Marin.
Slowly.
“Rafe.”
He crossed the room.
Marin stepped back.
Celeste reached for him.
“Let me explain.”
Rafael moved between them.
“You were hurting her.”
“She attacked me.”
Marin stared.
Celeste continued quickly.
“She tried to steal something from me.”
Rafael looked at the brass tag in Celeste’s hand.
“What is that?”
Celeste closed her fingers around it.
“Nothing.”
“Open your hand.”
“Rafael.”
“Celeste.”
She opened it.
The brass tag lay against her palm.
S.M.C.
B-17.
Rafael stared.
Abel entered behind him.
Saw the tag.
His face went pale.
Rafael took it.
Turned it over.
On the reverse side, beneath decades of scratches, was something Marin had never noticed.
A tiny engraved crest.
Santoro.
Abel whispered, “That’s not a storage tag.”
Rafael looked at him.
“What is it?”
Abel swallowed.
“Your father had one exactly like it.”
Rafael’s eyes narrowed.
“What did it open?”
Abel stared at Marin.
Then at Celeste.
“Not a door.”
He pointed toward the engraved crest.
“It opened a deposit box.”
Celeste went white.
Rafael noticed.
He turned toward her.
“What’s in the box?”
Celeste said nothing.
Marin suddenly remembered.
1719.
She looked at Rafael.
“My mother gave me a number.”
“What number?”
“Seventeen nineteen.”
Abel closed his eyes.
“God help us.”
Rafael grabbed his arm.
“What?”
Abel whispered:
May you like
“That was your father’s private vault number.”
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