Chapter 5 - THE PHOTOGRAPH FROM THE DEAD
Nobody spoke for nearly a minute.
Dominic turned the photograph over.
There was a date.
Six months after his father's funeral.
Underneath it, three words:
He never left.
Elena whispered, “What does that mean?”
Dominic didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
His father was dead.
Dominic had seen the coffin.
He had signed the death certificate.
He had watched the grave being sealed.
There was no rational explanation.
Which meant there had to be an explanation.
Dominic had always trusted facts.
Facts could be ugly.
Facts could be criminal.
Facts could destroy families.
But facts did not lie.
People did.
Photographs could be manipulated.
Dates could be changed.
Death certificates could be forged.
The first rule of his old life had been simple:
Never believe what you cannot verify.
“Marco.”
“Yes?”
“Get the original.”
“The photograph?”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
“Everywhere.”
Marco understood.
Dominic turned to Elena.
“Who gave Lily the rabbit?”
Elena frowned.
“My sister.”
“Where does she live?”
“Queens.”
“Does she know about these letters?”
“No.”
“Then someone else put the photograph inside.”
Elena looked frightened.
Dominic knelt beside Lily.
“Did anyone touch your rabbit today?”
She shook her head.
“Yesterday?”
“No.”
“At school?”
“No school today.”
“Then who?”
Lily thought.
“A lady.”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“What lady?”
“She had red gloves.”
Elena stared.
“What did she look like?”
Lily shrugged.
“She was nice.”
“Where did you see her?”
“Outside our building.”
Dominic looked at Marco.
“Find her.”
They returned to Elena's apartment under heavy security.
The red-gloved woman never appeared.
But someone had been there.
The front door showed no damage.
Nothing had been stolen.
Nothing had been disturbed.
Except one thing.
The shoebox.
Dominic opened it.
The letters were gone.
Every single one.
Elena began to cry.
“No.”
Dominic stood motionless.
Then he noticed something beneath the empty box.
A small envelope.
His name was written on it.
Dominic.
He opened it.
His mother's handwriting.
My son,
If you are reading this, then they have already realized you found Elena.
Do not trust the man who tells you he has always protected you.
Dominic read the next line.
Then stopped.
Your father's death was real. The photograph is not what you think.
His breath released.
There was more.
There is one person who knows where the original records are. You knew him as Uncle Matteo.
Dominic froze.
Matteo Moretti.
His father's younger brother.
Dominic had not seen him since he was seventeen.
Everyone said Matteo had moved to Sicily.
His mother had forbidden Dominic from asking about him.
He had assumed it was family history.
Apparently it wasn't.
The letter continued.
Matteo did not betray your father. He tried to warn him.
Your father refused to listen.
When the Bellhaven accounts were discovered, they were hidden in a place no accountant would search.
A school.
Dominic stared.
“A school?”
Elena looked at him.
“What school?”
Dominic knew.
The Moretti Foundation had funded a small Catholic school in Newark for decades.
His father had donated anonymously.
Dominic had never understood why.
Now he did.
His mother had written:
Room 17.
The next morning, Dominic arrived at the school.
He did not bring guns.
He did not bring twenty men.
He brought Lily.
The headmaster recognized the Moretti name immediately.
“Your father was a generous man.”
Dominic looked around.
“Was he?”
The headmaster frowned.
“Of course.”
“Did he ever use Room 17?”
The man's expression changed.
“Why?”
Dominic smiled without warmth.
“Because I'm asking.”
They found the room locked.
Inside were old textbooks, broken desks, and a filing cabinet.
Nothing unusual.
Then Lily walked to the back wall.
She pointed.
“Rabbit.”
Dominic looked.
A tiny carved rabbit had been scratched into the wood.
Lily touched it.
“My mommy says rabbits find holes.”
Dominic stared at the wall.
There was a hollow sound behind it.
The filing cabinet moved.
Behind it was a narrow compartment.
Inside:
Three ledgers.
A flash drive.
And a letter addressed to Dominic.
He opened it.
This time the handwriting was not his mother's.
It was his father's.
Dominic,
If you found this, then I failed to protect you from the consequences of my choices.
Dominic read on.
His father's confession was devastating.
Bellhaven had been used for more than construction fraud.
It had been used to hide political payments.
Judicial bribes.
Union manipulation.
Illegal land transfers.
But his father had eventually tried to stop it.
The people involved were not outside the family.
They were inside it.
Arthur Bell.
Jonathan Pike.
Helena Voss.
And Matteo.
Dominic's eyes hardened.
His father had written one final sentence.
The person you should fear most is not the one who stole the money. It is the one who made you believe you were protecting the family by becoming exactly what they needed you to become.
Dominic slowly lowered the letter.
He knew what that meant.
Someone had shaped his entire life.
Someone had made sure he inherited the empire.
Someone had made sure he became ruthless enough to protect it.
Then the lights went out.
A door slammed.
Lily screamed.
Dominic grabbed her.
From somewhere inside the building came the sound of footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Approaching.
Then a man's voice spoke from the darkness.
“Hello, Dominic.”
Dominic knew that voice.
May you like
He had not heard it in twenty-two years.
Matteo.
