Chapter 3 - THE DEED WITH HIS FATHER'S NAME
Carmine did not sleep that night.
At two in the morning, the Orsini estate stood almost completely dark except for the library.
Records covered the desk.
Deeds.
Tax documents.
Shell companies.
Bank transfers.
Insurance correspondence.
His father's name appeared everywhere.
Salvatore Orsini had purchased the Fontaine property through Orsini Holdings LLC for seventy-nine thousand dollars.
The building had been worth nearly four times that amount before the fire.
Eight months later, Orsini Holdings transferred it to another corporation.
That corporation belonged to March Development.
Purchase price:
One dollar.
Carmine stared at the number.
One dollar.
There were insults more subtle than murder.
Someone had destroyed Emmett Fontaine's livelihood, financially crushed his daughter, taken the property through Carmine's father, then handed it to the March family for the legal equivalent of nothing.
Benny entered carrying coffee.
“You should eat.”
“I ate yesterday.”
“That isn't how food works.”
Carmine ignored him.
“What did you find on the company?”
“Orsini Holdings was dissolved two years after your father died.”
“Who authorized the transfer to March?”
Benny slid another document across the desk.
Carmine recognized the signature immediately.
Salvatore Orsini.
His father.
A man Carmine had spent most of his life trying not to become.
Salvatore had been feared throughout Louisiana.
He had also lived by rules.
No children.
No drugs near schools.
No attacking legitimate family businesses unless there was a direct threat.
At least, that was what Carmine had believed.
He looked toward the dark windows.
“Wake my grandmother.”
Benny winced.
“I'd rather fight Caleb March.”
“Wake her.”
Palmira Orsini arrived seven minutes later wearing a dark blue robe and carrying the irritation of an eighty-year-old woman who had survived three wars, two husbands and enough criminals to become unimpressed by all of them.
“If someone isn't dying,” she said, “someone may be soon.”
Carmine placed the property deed in front of her.
Palmira's expression changed before she touched it.
That was enough.
“You knew.”
She sat.
“About what?”
“Don't do that with me.”
Palmira looked at Benny.
“Coffee.”
Benny obeyed.
Carmine almost smiled.
Almost.
His grandmother lifted the deed.
“Where did you get this?”
“Records office.”
“You've been digging.”
“A bakery burned. A woman who works in my house was blamed. The rear exit was chained. Caleb March threatened the fire investigator. My father bought the property and handed it to March for one dollar.”
Palmira set the document down.
“And you're asking whether I knew.”
“Yes.”
“I knew some of it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means your father didn't tell me everything.”
“What did he tell you?”
Palmira looked at the doorway.
“Close it.”
Benny did.
She folded her hands.
“Salvatore did not burn Fontaine Bakery.”
Carmine felt his shoulders release slightly.
He hated that relief.
“But he helped bury the truth.”
The relief vanished.
“Why?”
“Because Caleb March wasn't acting alone.”
Palmira looked at him.
“Edwin March had spent years trying to acquire that block. Hotels, boutiques, private residences. The Fontaines were the final owners refusing to sell.”
“So they burned them out.”
“Yes.”
“And my father helped.”
“No.”
Palmira's voice sharpened.
“He tried to stop what came next.”
Carmine leaned forward.
“What came next?”
“A grand jury.”
Carmine blinked.
Palmira continued.
“Your father had records connecting March Development to public officials, inspectors, contractors and two judges. He believed the bakery fire was the mistake that would finally destroy Edwin March.”
“Then why wasn't March arrested?”
“Because someone inside your father's organization betrayed him.”
Carmine went very still.
Palmira took a breath.
“Two witnesses disappeared. One accountant was found dead in Baton Rouge. The prosecutor withdrew. Your father realized March knew exactly what evidence he had.”
“And Fontaine Bakery?”
“Salvatore bought the property because March's lawyers were preparing to take it in a civil judgment against Nell.”
Carmine frowned.
“They blamed the fire on her, then sued her?”
“Yes.”
“So Father bought the property first.”
“He bought the debt along with it.”
“Why transfer it to March?”
Palmira's eyes hardened.
“Because Edwin March threatened you.”
Silence filled the library.
Carmine stared at her.
“Me?”
“You were twenty-five.”
“I could take care of myself.”
“You were still his son.”
Palmira leaned closer.
“March sent Salvatore a photograph of you leaving a restaurant with your younger cousin Nico. They had Nico's school schedule too.”
Carmine felt something ugly settle in his stomach.
“So my father surrendered.”
“He negotiated.”
“He gave March the Fontaine property.”
“To stop the killing long enough to move witnesses and family members out of danger.”
“Then why never reopen the case?”
Palmira looked suddenly older.
“Because he died before he could.”
Four years earlier, Salvatore Orsini had suffered what doctors called a massive stroke.
He had been dead before Carmine reached the hospital.
No autopsy had been requested.
The room seemed to tilt.
Carmine spoke slowly.
“You think March killed him?”
“I think your father became sick after dinner with Edwin March.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because you were thirty years old, furious and newly responsible for hundreds of people.”
Palmira's voice softened.
“And I knew exactly what you would have done.”
Carmine did not deny it.
“You would have started a war before your father's funeral flowers died.”
She was right.
That made him angrier.
“Does Nell know any of this?”
“No.”
“You knew who she was when she was hired?”
Palmira didn't answer.
Carmine stood.
“You knew.”
“I approved her application.”
“Why?”
Palmira looked toward the ceiling, toward the bedrooms above them.
“Because her father needed medical care.”
Carmine stared.
Palmira continued.
“Nell had changed her surname. She was working two cleaning jobs. When one of our former employees mentioned a quiet girl named Brisco who cooked better than most restaurant chefs, I investigated.”
“And you brought her here.”
“Yes.”
“Without telling her our family had once owned her bakery.”
“Yes.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I wanted her somewhere protected.”
“She became a maid no one bothered to thank.”
Palmira's eyes narrowed.
“You think I didn't notice?”
“Did you?”
“I noticed everything.”
“Then why leave her with Odette?”
“Because invisibility can be protection.”
Carmine laughed once.
Cold.
“That is something powerful people tell themselves when someone else pays the price.”
Palmira absorbed the accusation.
For once, she did not argue.
A noise came from the doorway.
Carmine turned.
Nell stood there.
Barefoot.
No cap.
Her dark hair fell loose around her shoulders.
She wore a plain sweater and black pants.
Her eyes were fixed on the deed sitting on the desk.
Carmine knew immediately how much she had heard.
“Your father owned the bakery?”
Her voice sounded hollow.
“Nell—”
She walked forward and picked up the deed.
Her eyes moved across Salvatore's signature.
“This says he bought it seventeen days after the fire.”
“Yes.”
“And then he gave it to March.”
“There was more happening.”
She looked at Palmira.
“You hired me.”
Palmira stood.
“Yes.”
“You knew who I was.”
“Yes.”
“For three years?”
“Yes.”
Nell laughed.
It was the first time Carmine had heard her laugh.
There was no happiness in it.
“I cleaned your bedrooms.”
“Nell—”
“I washed your linens.”
Her voice rose.
“I polished silver in a house owned by the family that took my father's bakery.”
Carmine stepped closer.
“My father was trying to protect your family.”
“By taking everything we had?”
“No.”
“That's what the papers say.”
“The papers are incomplete.”
“My father's brain was damaged because someone chained him inside a burning building.”
Nell's eyes filled now.
“And I spent three years cleaning the home of the people who helped cover it up.”
She pulled the gloves from her pocket.
Placed them on the desk.
Then the house keys.
Odette appeared behind her.
“Miss Brisco, what are you doing?”
Nell looked at the woman who had supervised her for three years.
“Quitting.”
Odette's face tightened.
“You cannot leave in the middle of—”
“She's leaving.”
Carmine's voice stopped her.
Nell looked at him.
For one second, hurt passed between them like something physical.
Then she walked away.
Carmine did not stop her.
He wanted to.
That was precisely why he didn't.
At the front door, Nell put on her old wool coat.
Benny moved automatically toward Carmine.
“Want me to have someone follow her?”
“Yes.”
Nell turned.
“No.”
Carmine looked at her.
She shook her head.
“I don't want your protection.”
“This isn't about what you want.”
Her eyes flashed.
“That's exactly the problem with men like you.”
She opened the door.
Cold air entered the foyer.
Carmine said quietly, “Caleb March knows you're alive.”
“He has known that for years.”
“How?”
Nell stared at him.
“Because he visited my father in the hospital after the fire.”
Carmine's blood went cold.
“He came into my father's room, put flowers beside the bed, and whispered something to him while I was outside speaking to a nurse.”
“What?”
“I didn't know.”
Nell swallowed.
“Until Dad started screaming.”
Carmine stepped forward.
“What did March say?”
“I found out six months later when Dad finally learned to write again.”
Her eyes met Carmine's.
“He wrote four words.”
Nell opened the door wider.
May you like
“He said, ‘The book is safe.’”
Then she walked into the night.
