Chapter 8 - Someone Wanted Avery at That Door
The three vehicles belonged to federal investigators.
That was the good news.
The bad news was that none of them believed the Vitalis were innocent.
Special Agent Natalie Shaw of the FBI introduced herself beneath flickering warehouse lights while two agents photographed the contents of Locker C-17.
She was forty-something, composed, and unimpressed by wealth.
Avery liked her immediately.
Lorenzo did not.
"You entered a location containing financial records relevant to an ongoing federal investigation," Shaw said.
"My company owns the location."
"Ownership doesn't exempt you from evidence rules."
"We didn't know you had an investigation."
"That is generally the purpose of keeping investigations confidential."
Gabriel stepped between them before testosterone turned paperwork into warfare.
Avery sat on an overturned crate holding her mother's recorder.
Agent Shaw noticed.
"Ms. Boon?"
Avery looked up.
"I'd like to speak with you separately."
Lorenzo said, "Her attorney should—"
"I don't have an attorney," Avery said.
"You do now."
She glared at him.
"Do I?"
Gabriel sighed.
"I'm standing right here."
Agent Shaw almost smiled.
Avery agreed to talk.
She told the truth.
The rerouted delivery.
The seven-minute delay.
The dinner.
The photograph.
The threats.
Dana's interview.
The old courier template.
Her mother's recording.
Shaw listened without interruption.
Then she asked a question Avery had not considered.
"Who knew you had accepted the delivery before you reached the estate?"
"My dispatcher."
"Name?"
"Eric Sloane."
"Anyone else?"
"The routing system."
"Can employees see driver assignments?"
"Supervisors can."
"Could a client request a specific courier?"
"Not normally."
"Normally?"
Avery thought.
"Premium accounts can sometimes request preferred drivers."
"Did Vitali Holdings have you listed as preferred?"
"No."
"Did Duca Maritime?"
Avery hesitated.
"I've delivered for them before."
"How often?"
"Maybe twelve times this year."
"Same offices?"
"Usually."
"Same route?"
"Mostly."
Agent Shaw wrote something.
Then looked up.
"Ms. Boon, I don't think your selection was random."
Avery's chest tightened.
"Why me?"
"We've been investigating suspicious freight billing for eleven months."
Lorenzo, several feet away, went still.
"You knew?"
Shaw ignored him.
"Three months ago, we identified a pattern involving courier deliveries associated with shell-company mailboxes."
Avery remembered Box 314.
"You were watching the mailbox."
"Yes."
"Did you see me?"
"We saw several drivers."
"Then why—"
"Because after your delivery three days before the Vitali incident, somebody accessed your employment file."
Avery felt cold.
"Who?"
"We don't know."
"Why didn't you warn me?"
"We didn't know you were at risk."
"Until now."
"Correct."
Lorenzo stepped closer.
"What else?"
Shaw looked at him.
"The package she delivered Thursday included documents copied from records we believe were stored in this warehouse years ago."
"By Mary Boon."
"Possibly."
"Who mailed them?"
"We don't know."
Avery clutched the recorder.
Agent Shaw continued.
"But whoever did had access to Mary Boon's dormant courier credentials."
Avery remembered her mother's account prefix.
"What happened to my mother's account after she died?"
"According to your courier company, it was deactivated."
"Then how was the template restored?"
"Administrative access."
"From where?"
Shaw paused.
"The request came through an IP address associated with a Vitali subsidiary."
Every person turned toward Lorenzo.
His face didn't change.
"Which subsidiary?"
"Vitali Construction Southeast."
Lorenzo looked at Gabriel.
"Who controls network administration?"
"Corporate IT."
"Who oversees construction operations?"
Gabriel hesitated.
"Marco."
There it was again.
Marco Vitali.
Lorenzo walked away several steps.
For the first time, Avery saw something beyond anger.
Hurt.
Marco wasn't merely a cousin.
He had grown up beside Lorenzo.
Shared holidays.
Shared grief.
Shared a name.
Families knew where you were soft.
Avery's mother's words echoed through her.
Agent Shaw approached Lorenzo.
"We aren't accusing anyone yet."
"You're thinking it."
"We think many things."
"Useful skill."
Avery stood.
"What happens now?"
"These records come with us."
"My mother's recorder?"
Shaw considered.
"We'll copy it and return it."
Avery nodded reluctantly.
"Am I under investigation?"
"No."
"Lorenzo?"
Shaw looked at him.
"Mr. Vitali has been under various investigations for most of his adult life."
Avery nearly smiled.
Lorenzo didn't.
Shaw continued.
"At the moment, our interest concerns fraud, conspiracy, and potentially obstruction."
"Potentially murder?" Avery asked.
The warehouse became silent.
Shaw looked at her carefully.
"Your mother's death remains officially an unsolved traffic fatality."
"That's not what I asked."
"No."
"Do you think someone killed her?"
Shaw did not answer immediately.
"We are reopening the file."
Avery's legs almost gave out.
Lorenzo moved closer, but again he didn't touch her without permission.
She appreciated that more than she wanted to admit.
The ride back to the estate was silent.
At 3:12 a.m., Avery couldn't sleep.
She went downstairs.
Lorenzo sat alone in the kitchen.
No suit jacket.
Shirt sleeves rolled up.
A glass of water untouched beside him.
Avery sat opposite.
"You couldn't sleep either."
"No."
"Thinking about Marco?"
"Yes."
"Want to talk?"
"No."
"Good. Me neither."
They sat.
Five minutes passed.
Then Lorenzo spoke.
"When I was eleven, Marco broke his arm climbing a wall because I told him he couldn't."
Avery looked at him.
"He was eight."
"Sounds intelligent."
"He followed me everywhere."
"Older-cousin worship."
"Something like that."
Lorenzo stared at the table.
"When my father became unbearable, Marco hid in our house."
Avery understood why he hadn't confronted him.
Evidence against a business partner hurt.
Evidence against family rewrote memories.
"You don't know yet," Avery said.
"No."
"But you think it's him."
"Yes."
Avery nodded.
"That sucks."
Lorenzo looked at her.
No elegant sympathy.
No grand speech.
Just two words.
He laughed quietly.
"It does."
Avery smiled.
Then her phone vibrated.
They both froze.
Unknown number.
A video file.
Avery pressed play.
Security footage.
Thursday night.
The Vitali estate gate.
Timestamp 7:41.
Avery appeared beneath the awning.
At 7:44, the guard answered a phone.
At 7:48, he opened the gate.
The video switched angles.
Interior security office.
A man stood with his back to the camera making the call.
Tall.
Dark suit.
Avery couldn't see his face.
Then he turned slightly.
Lorenzo leaned closer.
"No."
Avery paused the video.
The man's face appeared in profile.
Not Marco.
Not Riccardo.
Gabriel Russo.
Avery looked slowly toward Lorenzo.
His expression emptied.
The lawyer who had helped them from the beginning.
The man who had written the public statement.
The man who knew every movement they made.
The man who had stood beside them at Warehouse 14.
Avery replayed the footage.
The time was unmistakable.
7:44 p.m.
Gabriel had called the gate three minutes after Avery arrived.
Four minutes before she entered Lorenzo's dining room.
Lorenzo reached for his phone.
Avery caught his wrist.
"Wait."
His gaze snapped toward her.
"If Gabriel wanted us to know he made that call," she said, "why hide the log?"
"He didn't."
"What?"
"The extension log was erased."
"Exactly."
Avery pointed at the video.
"Then why does security footage still exist?"
Lorenzo stared.
"Somebody wants us to suspect him."
"Or somebody wants us to finally notice him."
Neither option was comforting.
At that exact moment, the kitchen door opened.
Gabriel walked in.
He stopped when he saw their faces.
Then noticed the paused image on Avery's phone.
His own profile.
At the security desk.
Gabriel slowly set down the folder he was carrying.
"I can explain."
Lorenzo stood.
"I sincerely hope so."
Gabriel looked at Avery.
Then at Lorenzo.
"What I tell you now cannot leave this room."
Avery crossed her arms.
"That's becoming everybody's favorite sentence."
Gabriel's face remained serious.
"I called the gate Thursday because someone asked me to."
"Who?" Lorenzo demanded.
Gabriel took a breath.
"Your mother."
Lorenzo went completely still.
"My mother has been dead twenty-one years."
Gabriel nodded.
"I know."
Then he opened the folder.
Inside was a letter.
The paper was yellow with age.
Across the front, written in a woman's hand, were three words.
FOR LORENZO SOMEDAY.
And beneath them was a symbol Avery recognized from her mother's hidden ledger.
May you like
Whatever had begun six years earlier, it had roots reaching much further back.
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