Chapter 4 - THE PERSON WHO USED MY NAME
“I didn't go there.”
My voice sounded defensive even to me.
Detective Jennings held up one hand.
“I haven't accused you.”
Vincent said nothing.
That was worse.
I looked at him.
“Vincent.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because Sofia trusted you.”
“That didn't stop someone from using my name.”
“No.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“But I know where you were that day.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“You were here.”
“How could you possibly remember?”
He looked toward the window.
“Ellie had pneumonia.”
I had forgotten the exact date.
Vincent had not.
Four months after Sofia died, Ellie had developed a fever of 104.
I had spent two nights beside her at Northwestern Medicine Lake Forest Hospital.
Isabella had sent her a drawing.
Vincent had paid the hospital bill anonymously.
I only discovered that months later.
Jennings checked the date.
“If Rachel was hospitalized with her daughter, someone used her identity.”
The security records from the storage facility still existed.
The footage took three hours to obtain.
We watched it in Vincent's study.
A woman entered the facility at 8:41 in the morning.
Baseball cap.
Dark coat.
Sunglasses.
Approximately my height.
She presented identification.
Signed my name.
Then used Sofia's key.
Vincent paused the video.
“That's not Rachel.”
Jennings looked at him.
“You can tell from that?”
“Yes.”
I almost asked how.
Then the woman turned slightly.
A lock of blond hair slipped from beneath her cap.
I knew her.
“Oh my God.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Who?”
“Caroline.”
Caroline Reed had been Sofia's personal assistant.
She had resigned six weeks after the funeral.
According to Dominic, she could no longer emotionally handle working in the house.
I had believed him.
Everyone had.
Jennings searched her database.
“Caroline Reed, thirty-one.”
Vincent said, “Find her.”
The detective's expression tightened.
“She hasn't used a credit card, driver's license, bank account, or registered address in nine months.”
“When did she disappear?”
Jennings typed.
“Two months after accessing the storage unit.”
Another vanished person.
My skin prickled.
“Maybe she found something.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Or somebody found her.”
We obtained a warrant that evening.
The storage facility manager opened unit 5372 shortly before midnight.
Vincent, Jennings, two officers, and I stood outside.
I had insisted on coming because Sofia had apparently trusted me enough to use my name.
Vincent had objected.
I reminded him that being his employee did not make me furniture.
He stopped arguing.
The metal door rolled upward.
The unit looked almost empty.
Three boxes.
A canvas bag.
One framed painting wrapped in blankets.
No secret wall of evidence.
No piles of cash.
Jennings photographed everything.
The first box contained Sofia's personal journals.
The second contained company statements.
The third contained Isabella's old schoolwork.
Vincent stared.
“Why hide this?”
Jennings opened one folder.
“Because these aren't normal statements.”
The pages showed Moretti Development transactions.
Millions moving between subcontractors.
Some names repeated.
Vesceri Consulting.
North Harbor Holdings.
S. Moretti Family Trust.
Salvatore.
Dominic.
Money flowing in circles.
Vincent looked sick.
“I signed some of these.”
Jennings stared at him.
“You knew?”
“No. Dominic brought documents in batches.”
“You signed without reading?”
Vincent looked at her.
“I trusted him.”
It was not an excuse.
He knew it.
Jennings knew it.
The canvas bag contained a small digital recorder.
A set of keys.
And a disposable phone.
The phone was dead.
The recorder still worked.
There were fourteen audio files.
Sofia had been documenting everything.
The first few were meetings.
Dominic speaking about money.
Salvatore discussing “cleaning” accounts before auditors arrived.
Then we reached file eleven.
Sofia's voice.
Alone.
“If you're hearing this, I was right to be afraid.”
Vincent stopped moving.
She continued.
“Vincent, I love you. But loving you has never meant pretending your world is safe.”
His eyes closed.
“I asked you for years to leave the parts of the business that depended on fear. You said you were trying. I believed you.”
A pause.
“But Dominic and Salvatore built something inside your organization that you never authorized.”
Jennings glanced at Vincent.
Sofia continued.
“They're using your companies to move money for men you would never knowingly work with.”
Another pause.
“Caroline helped me copy the records.”
Vincent opened his eyes.
So Caroline had been on Sofia's side.
“If something happens to me, find Caroline.”
The recording ended.
We all looked at one another.
Jennings immediately called her department.
“Caroline may be a protected witness or a victim. Run missing persons nationally.”
The next recording was stranger.
Sofia speaking to someone.
A man.
“I can't take Bella with me yet.”
The man answered, “Then you need to tell Vincent.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“When I know which people around him are still his.”
Vincent flinched.
The man said, “You have forty-eight hours.”
“I know.”
“You and your daughter are in danger.”
“I know.”
Vincent looked at Jennings.
“Who is he?”
She shook her head.
The audio quality was poor.
The final recording was made the morning Sofia died.
Her voice sounded calm.
Too calm.
“Rachel, if this reaches you, I'm sorry.”
My heart stopped.
She was speaking to me.
“You probably don't understand why I put your name on the storage account.”
I moved closer to the recorder.
“You are the only person in that house who never asks what someone's kindness can buy you.”
Tears blurred my eyes.
Vincent looked away.
“I watched you with Isabella after Ellie was born. You treated my daughter like she mattered even when nobody important was watching.”
I covered my mouth.
“So if I fail, protect Bella.”
A pause.
“And please don't let Vincent become harder because of me.”
Vincent's face broke.
Just slightly.
Enough.
The recording continued.
“He believes hardness is how men protect families.”
Sofia laughed softly.
“He is wrong.”
Then her voice changed.
“Someone is outside.”
We heard movement.
A door.
Footsteps.
Sofia whispered:
“Sal?”
The recording stopped.
Salvatore had been with her shortly before the crash.
Jennings immediately called for him to be located.
The answer came twenty minutes later.
Salvatore Moretti was not at his Chicago residence.
Not at his office.
Not at his club.
His driver claimed he had left alone that morning.
Destination unknown.
Vincent stared at the phone.
“He knows.”
Jennings nodded.
“Someone warned him.”
Dominic was in custody.
Salvatore was running.
That meant at least one person still inside Vincent's circle was communicating with them.
We searched the rest of the unit.
Inside the wrapped painting, we found another surprise.
Sofia had painted Lake Michigan at sunset.
At first it seemed sentimental.
Then Jennings noticed writing along the back of the canvas.
A list of license plate numbers.
One belonged to Dominic.
One to Salvatore.
A third belonged to a vehicle registered to Moretti Security.
Vincent frowned.
“Which vehicle?”
Jennings checked.
A black Suburban.
Assigned eleven months ago to Vincent's head of residential security.
Caleb Rourke.
I felt my stomach drop.
Caleb was inside the estate.
Right now.
He controlled the cameras.
The gates.
The guards assigned to Isabella.
Vincent grabbed his phone.
No signal.
Jennings checked hers.
Nothing.
The storage facility lights flickered.
Then went out.
Emergency lighting came on.
Vincent's expression changed instantly.
“Everybody move.”
Jennings drew her weapon.
A sound came from the corridor.
Metal scraping.
The exterior security gate had begun closing.
Someone was locking us inside the facility.
My phone suddenly vibrated.
One message.
From the estate nanny.
RACHEL, COME HOME.
Then another.
PLEASE.
Then a photograph appeared.
Ellie and Isabella were asleep in my guest room.
Standing in the doorway behind them was Caleb Rourke.
May you like
And beneath the photograph were six words.
BRING THE MUSIC BOX OR THEY DIE.
