Chapter 10 - The Crash
“No.”
Donovan answered immediately.
“He did not say Vittorio caused the accident.”
Anton remained rigid.
“Then say that first.”
“I just did.”
Delia released the breath she had been holding.
The last thing this story needed was a murder hiding beneath it.
Donovan continued.
“Police records still classify Isabella's crash as weather-related loss of control. Heavy rain. Hydroplaning. No evidence of mechanical interference or another vehicle.”
Anton sat.
The tension in his shoulders eased by a fraction.
“Then why does Voss knowing about the guardianship matter?”
“Because it explains why Vittorio acted so quickly afterward.”
Anton looked at the papers.
“He was prepared.”
“Yes.”
Delia understood.
Vittorio didn't need to cause tragedy to exploit it.
Sometimes evil arrived afterward with forms to sign.
Anton rubbed both hands over his face.
“I spent six months wondering whether I could have prevented that crash.”
Delia watched him.
“Don't add another imaginary version.”
He looked at her.
“Meaning?”
“You're already building one where your uncle killed Isabella because he knew about a document.”
“I asked a question.”
“You were building the room.”
Anton remembered what she had said.
Grief can become a room you furnish.
He nodded.
“You're right.”
“I know.”
That earned the faintest smile.
Later, Anton called an emergency company meeting.
Delia didn't attend.
She had no interest in corporate warfare.
Instead she sat on the nursery floor with the triplets.
Lucia crawled badly.
Matteo chewed a cloth book.
Nico studied Delia suspiciously as if deciding whether language was worth the trouble.
“Say Dee.”
Nico stared.
“Dee.”
Nothing.
“Papa?”
Nico looked toward the door.
Anton stood there.
Tie loosened.
Exhausted.
“How did it go?” Delia asked.
“Vittorio is suspended.”
“Did he fight?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Anton sat on the floor.
This seemed unnatural for him.
He looked at Nico.
“Papa.”
Nico stared.
Anton pointed to himself.
“Papa.”
Nico grabbed Anton's tie.
“Pa.”
Anton froze.
Delia smiled.
“Again.”
Nico tugged harder.
“Pa-pa.”
Anton laughed.
A real laugh.
Lucia startled.
Then laughed too.
Matteo banged his book against the carpet.
“Papa!”
Anton looked around as though someone had opened every locked window in the room at once.
Three children who barely vocalized were finding words.
Not because a specialist had forced them.
Because they felt safe.
Delia's eyes filled.
Anton noticed.
“You're crying.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“It's allergies.”
“Indoors?”
“Very aggressive carpet.”
He smiled.
The moment would have stayed gentle if Celeste hadn't entered.
She stopped in the doorway.
Anton stiffened.
“I told staff not to admit anyone.”
“I used the garden entrance.”
“That's worse.”
“I know.”
Celeste held a small digital recorder.
Anton stared.
“What is that?”
“Isabella's.”
He stood.
“Where did you get it?”
“I had it.”
“For six months?”
Celeste nodded.
Anton looked devastated.
“Why?”
“I couldn't listen.”
“That doesn't mean you keep it from me.”
“I know.”
Delia quietly began gathering toys.
Anton shook his head.
“Stay.”
Celeste sat on the edge of a chair.
“Isabella recorded messages while she was pregnant.”
Anton took the recorder.
His fingers trembled.
“There are several?”
“Yes.”
“Did Vittorio know?”
“I don't think so.”
“You don't think.”
“Anton.”
He closed his eyes.
Then pressed play.
Static.
Then Isabella's voice filled the room.
Warm.
Alive.
“If you're listening to this, then apparently I have become one of those women who talks to electronic devices instead of her husband…”
Anton sat abruptly.
Delia stopped moving.
Isabella laughed on the recording.
It was loud.
Exactly as Anton described.
“Izzy,” he whispered.
The recording continued.
“Anton is at work. Again. Which means someday I will personally set his calendar on fire.”
Delia looked at him.
“That sounds reasonable.”
Anton almost smiled through tears.
The message was ordinary.
Pregnancy complaints.
A craving for beignets.
A joke about Celeste buying absurd baby clothes.
Then Isabella grew serious.
“I've been thinking about what kind of world these babies are entering.”
Anton listened.
“My husband's family believes love is proven by protection. They're not entirely wrong. But sometimes they protect people until nobody can breathe.”
Celeste covered her mouth.
“I don't want that for our children.”
Isabella paused.
“If something happens to me—and Anton, if you're hearing this, stop scowling because women are allowed to discuss mortality—I need you to remember something.”
Anton laughed once through tears.
Isabella continued.
“Children don't care about last names. They don't care about tailored suits, board seats, houses or reputations. They care who comes when they're crying.”
Delia felt Lucia crawl against her knee.
“They care who makes the scary room feel less scary.”
Anton looked at Delia.
The recording continued.
“I met a woman once at a grief workshop. Delia. I don't know if I'll ever see her again. She stayed afterward to help an old woman stack chairs.”
Delia stopped breathing.
“I kept thinking about her because nobody asked her. Nobody thanked her. She just saw something heavy and helped carry it.”
Delia covered her mouth.
“If our children grow up surrounded by people like that, maybe they'll be all right.”
Anton stared at Delia.
Isabella laughed again.
“Anyway, this has become embarrassingly sentimental, so I'm going to find cake.”
The recording ended.
Nobody moved.
Delia wiped her eyes.
Celeste was crying openly.
Anton held the recorder against his palm.
Finally he said, “She remembered you.”
Delia nodded.
“But she didn't know the future.”
“No.”
“She didn't choose me to replace her.”
“No.”
“Good.”
Anton looked surprised.
Delia picked up Lucia.
“I need that to be true.”
“It is.”
“I can't be a dead woman's assignment.”
“You aren't.”
She looked at him.
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Lucia touched Delia's cheek.
“Mama Dee.”
Delia kissed her forehead.
“Just Dee for now.”
Lucia smiled.
“Dee.”
Anton looked at his daughter.
“Papa.”
“Papa.”
Matteo joined.
“Papa!”
Then Nico.
“Papa.”
Anton bowed his head.
His three children had finally called him father.
The sound broke something open in him.
Delia moved closer and placed one hand on his shoulder.
Anton covered it with his.
Only for a second.
Then released.
Later that evening, Donovan arrived.
“Vittorio wants to meet.”
Anton didn't look up.
“No.”
“He says he can explain everything.”
“He had eighteen months.”
“He says there is one document you haven't seen.”
Anton looked toward Delia.
“What document?”
Donovan handed him a message.
One sentence.
Ask Delia why Isabella transferred fifty thousand dollars into an account bearing Delia Marsh's name two weeks before the accident.
Delia stared at the screen.
“I have never received fifty thousand dollars in my life.”
Anton believed her.
That wasn't the frightening part.
May you like
The frightening part was that somewhere, apparently, an account existed saying she had.
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