Chapter 2 - THE NAME ON THE PAPER
The termination letter was ordinary.
That was what bothered Dominic.
Ordinary paper.
Ordinary company letterhead.
Ordinary language.
Dear Ms. Elena Carter,
This letter serves as formal notice of termination effective immediately...
Dominic read the next paragraph.
Attendance issues.
Failure to meet administrative standards.
Unauthorized access to restricted records.
Violation of confidentiality procedures.
He read it twice.
Then looked at Lily.
“Your mother was fired today?”
She nodded.
“Did she tell you to come here?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Lily hugged the rabbit tighter.
“Nobody.”
Dominic stared at her.
Six-year-olds lied badly.
This was not a lie.
This was a child trying to protect someone.
“Where is your mother?”
“At home.”
“Why aren't you with her?”
“She told me not to worry.”
“That didn't answer my question.”
Lily looked at the floor.
“She cried.”
The lobby suddenly seemed too large.
Dominic stood.
“Marco.”
His lieutenant stepped forward.
“Find Elena Carter.”
Marco already had his phone out.
“On it.”
Dominic looked at the termination letter again.
The signature belonged to Helena Voss, head of corporate administration.
Dominic's expression hardened.
Helena had worked for Moretti Group for eleven years.
She was meticulous.
Conservative.
Boring.
The kind of person who would rather die than misplace a comma in a financial report.
She did not fire people without documentation.
Yet this letter had been issued without Dominic's approval.
That alone was unusual.
Then he noticed the date.
Three weeks earlier.
The letter had been prepared three weeks before Elena's termination.
Dominic looked at Lily.
“Do you know what your mother did?”
“She helped people.”
“That isn't usually a crime.”
“She said somebody was stealing.”
Dominic stopped.
“Who?”
Lily shook her head.
“She didn't tell me.”
“Did she tell you anything about my company?”
Lily looked toward the elevators.
“She said Mr. Moretti didn't know.”
Dominic's stomach tightened.
“Didn't know what?”
“That bad people were using his building.”
Marco returned before Lily could answer.
He bent toward Dominic.
“Elena Carter is at 214 Monroe Street. Apartment 4B. No criminal record. Forty-one years old. Administrative coordinator at Moretti Group for six years.”
Dominic nodded.
“Anything else?”
Marco's expression changed.
“She has a daughter.”
Dominic glanced at Lily.
“We figured that part out.”
“Her husband died four years ago.”
Dominic's gaze returned to Marco.
“How?”
“Construction accident.”
Silence.
Dominic hated coincidences.
He had built his empire by assuming that coincidences were simply patterns nobody had recognized yet.
“Get the car.”
Lily immediately shook her head.
“I can walk.”
“No.”
“I know the train.”
“No.”
“Mom said not to go with strangers.”
Dominic looked at her.
“That is excellent advice.”
“Then why should I go with you?”
Marco coughed.
Dominic stared at the child for a long moment.
“Because your mother works for me.”
Lily considered that.
“You fired her.”
“I didn't.”
“You're Mr. Moretti.”
“Yes.”
“Then you should know.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Dominic crouched again.
“I intend to.”
Twenty minutes later, the black SUV stopped outside Elena Carter's apartment building.
Dominic expected poverty.
He found something worse.
Evidence of careful survival.
The apartment was clean.
Too clean.
The refrigerator contained almost nothing except milk, eggs, apples, and a jar of mustard.
A stack of unpaid bills sat beneath a child's drawing.
Elena opened the door and froze.
Her eyes went to Lily.
Then Dominic.
Then the termination letter.
“You brought her here?”
“No,” Dominic said. “She came to me.”
Elena's face collapsed.
“Lily.”
The little girl ran into her mother's arms.
Elena held her tightly.
“You weren't supposed to go.”
“I wanted him to know.”
“Know what?”
Lily pointed at Dominic.
“That you didn't do it.”
Elena looked at Dominic.
For the first time, fear appeared in her eyes.
“Mr. Moretti, you need to leave.”
Dominic closed the door behind him.
“No.”
Elena's voice trembled.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because if I tell you, my daughter becomes a target.”
Dominic's expression went still.
He knew that sentence.
He had heard versions of it from witnesses, accountants, drivers, politicians, and men who had survived things they never spoke about.
“Who threatened you?”
Elena said nothing.
Dominic looked around the apartment.
A children's drawing.
A broken lamp.
A shoebox beneath the couch.
He pointed.
“What is that?”
Elena moved quickly.
Too quickly.
Dominic caught her wrist.
She stopped.
“Don't.”
“What's inside?”
“Nothing.”
Lily spoke from behind them.
“Mommy says those are letters.”
Elena closed her eyes.
Dominic released her wrist.
“Letters from whom?”
She whispered the answer.
“Your father.”
Dominic's face changed.
His father had been dead for eleven years.
And Dominic knew every letter his father had ever written.
Or thought he did.
“Why would my father be writing to you?”
Elena stared at him.
“He wasn't.”
Dominic looked at the shoebox.
“Then who was?”
May you like
Elena whispered:
“Your mother.”
