Chapter 2 - The File That Shouldn't Exist
Mara knew Dante Moretti was watching her.
He wasn't good at pretending otherwise.
That surprised her.
Men like Dante were supposed to be good at everything involving deception.
For three mornings after he discovered her prosthetic leg, he appeared wherever she happened to be.
Breakfast room.
Library.
Terrace.
Once, absurdly, the laundry corridor.
On Saturday morning she found him standing in the kitchen drinking espresso while she organized a delivery.
Mara put down her clipboard.
"Do you need something?"
Dante glanced over his cup.
"Coffee."
"You're holding coffee."
"I noticed."
"Then why have you been following me?"
The chef quietly disappeared.
Dante watched him leave.
"Coward."
Mara folded her arms.
"I'm serious."
"So am I. He abandoned me."
"Dante."
His eyes flicked to hers.
She'd never called him that before.
"Interesting."
"What?"
"You usually call me Mr. Moretti."
"I'm annoyed."
"Apparently annoyance puts us on a first-name basis."
She refused to smile.
Almost succeeded.
"Did finding out about my leg suddenly make me suspicious?"
"No."
"Then what's going on?"
Dante placed the espresso cup down.
"When was your accident?"
Her stomach tightened.
"You know when."
"I want you to tell me."
"October 2018."
"Where?"
"Route 9."
"Who was driving?"
Mara's face changed.
Dante saw it.
"My father."
"What was his name?"
"Why?"
"Mara."
"No."
Dante leaned back against the counter.
She had expected pressure.
Instead he waited.
That was somehow worse.
"Daniel Ellison," she finally said.
"Did he survive?"
"No."
Dante looked away for half a second.
Mara caught it.
"What do you know?"
"Not enough."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
She stepped closer.
"You've been digging into my life."
"Yes."
The bluntness stopped her.
"You could at least lie."
"I don't lie when the truth is more useful."
"How comforting."
Dante's expression remained still.
"Your accident report was altered."
Mara didn't move.
"The original police file is missing. Your hospital payment came through a private account. The truck belonged to a company connected to my family."
For eight years, Mara had imagined hearing something like this.
She'd imagined rage.
Vindication.
Relief.
Instead she felt cold.
"What company?"
"Calder Freight."
Her fingers tightened around the clipboard.
She knew the name.
Her father had whispered it once.
Two nights before he died.
She'd been doing homework at the kitchen table when Daniel Ellison entered the apartment and locked three locks behind him.
He'd looked frightened.
Her father was never frightened.
"Have you heard of it?" Dante asked.
Mara looked at him.
"Yes."
"How?"
"My father."
Dante straightened.
"What did he say?"
"Nothing useful."
"Mara."
"He told me if anyone asked about Calder Freight, I should say I'd never heard the name."
Dante's eyes darkened.
"Did anyone ask?"
"Not until you."
The kitchen seemed impossibly quiet.
"What did your father do?"
"Accountant."
"For whom?"
"Different logistics companies."
"Including Calder?"
"I don't know."
Dante took out his phone.
Mara grabbed his wrist.
He looked at her hand.
She released him.
"Don't."
"Why?"
"Because every time someone investigated my father's death, something disappeared."
Dante studied her.
"Someone investigated?"
"I did."
That surprised him.
"I was nineteen and angry. I filed records requests. Called insurance companies. Contacted the trucking company."
"And?"
"The police report disappeared. The insurance company closed. The detective who originally handled the case retired and wouldn't speak to me."
Dante's jaw tightened.
"You stopped."
"I learned."
"Learned what?"
"That asking questions doesn't always get answers. Sometimes it just tells dangerous people where you are."
Dante said nothing.
Mara picked up her clipboard.
"My father died. I lost my leg. I spent eleven months learning how to walk again. Whatever happened that night already took enough."
She turned.
"Who did this to you?"
Mara stopped.
The question landed differently than she'd expected.
Not, What happened?
Not, Who was driving?
Who did this to you?
She slowly turned.
Dante's face had changed.
There was anger there.
But not at her.
"I told you. It was an accident."
"No."
"You don't know that."
"I know Calder Freight."
"Then tell me."
Dante hesitated.
Mara laughed once, bitterly.
"That's rich."
"What is?"
"You've spent three days investigating me, and now you're the one with secrets."
Dante's eyes hardened.
"Calder Freight belonged to my uncle."
Mara forgot to breathe.
"Vincent Moretti?"
"You know his name."
"My father knew his name."
Dante stepped toward her.
"How?"
"I don't know."
"Think."
"I have thought about that night every day for eight years."
Her voice cracked.
She hated that.
She hated giving him even that tiny glimpse.
Dante noticed and softened his voice.
"Tell me what you remember."
Mara closed her eyes.
Rain.
Headlights.
Her father's hands gripping the steering wheel.
A truck behind them.
Too close.
"Dad?"
"Put your seat belt tighter."
"It's already—"
"Tighter, Mara."
The truck struck them.
Once.
Her father fought the wheel.
Then it struck again.
Not an accident.
A deliberate hit.
She had never said that aloud.
Her eyes opened.
"It hit us twice."
Dante went still.
"What?"
"The truck."
Mara swallowed.
"The police report said the driver lost control."
"But?"
"The first impact pushed us toward the shoulder."
She could hear her father's voice again.
Could smell the coffee in the cup holder.
Could feel the violent jerk of the car.
"My father corrected. We would've stopped safely."
Her eyes met Dante's.
"Then the truck accelerated."
Dante's face became stone.
"It hit us again."
The clipboard slipped from Mara's fingers.
Neither reached for it.
"Our car went through the barrier."
Dante's voice was almost a whisper.
"Your father knew someone was coming."
Mara nodded.
"Before the second impact, he said something."
"What?"
She had spent years convincing herself she'd remembered incorrectly.
Now she knew she hadn't.
"He said, 'Vincent found out.'"
Dante stepped back.
The room tilted beneath him.
Vincent.
His uncle.
The man who'd raised him after his father's death.
The man whose portrait still hung in the Moretti social club in Brooklyn.
Mara watched the realization cross his face.
"You knew," she whispered.
"No."
"Your family did."
"That's different."
"Not to me."
She walked past him.
Dante didn't stop her.
His phone rang.
Nico.
Dante answered.
"What?"
"We found Daniel Ellison."
Dante stared toward the doorway Mara had disappeared through.
"He's dead."
"Not what I mean."
Paper rustled.
"Daniel Ellison wasn't just an accountant."
Dante's grip tightened.
"He was Vincent Moretti's accountant."
Silence.
"And Dante?"
"What?"
"We found the last ledger he worked on."
Dante closed his eyes.
May you like
"Your name is in it."
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