Chapter 2 - THE MAN IN THE GRAY COAT
Antonio Moretti stared at the photograph as if the paper had become a weapon.
For twenty years, he had remembered the crash in fragments: the mountain road slick with rain, the sudden grinding sound beneath the hood, Luca's frightened voice over the telephone, and the terrible moment when the brakes stopped responding.
He had never remembered seeing the second man.
Now the face was unmistakable.
“Franklin,” Antonio whispered.
Luca looked at him. “Franklin Hayes?”
His father's former business partner had been dead for seven years, according to the official records. Hayes had served as the Moretti family's legal adviser and financial architect before a supposed heart attack ended his career. He had also been Antonio's closest friend.
“He was supposed to be in New York that night,” Antonio said. “He told me himself.”
Thomas shook his head. “He was at the garage. I saw him speaking to Richard. They argued about something before the car was brought around.”
Luca slipped the photograph into his jacket.
“Why didn't you tell me any of this before?”
“Because I thought your uncle would kill my daughter,” Thomas replied. “Then he convinced everyone I was a drunk, and I had no money to fight him. When I finally found the courage to contact the police again, the officer who took my statement had disappeared.”
Luca's expression darkened. “Which officer?”
“Daniel Price. He worked in the county sheriff's office.”
Luca turned to his security chief, Marco Bellini, who had accompanied them to the gates.
“Find out whether Price is alive. Quietly.”
Marco nodded and moved away to make the call.
Sophie stood beside Thomas, clutching the empty bread bag. She had expected the evening to end with her dismissal. Instead, she was watching the most feared man in the city uncover a conspiracy that had survived two decades.
“Mr. Moretti,” she said hesitantly, “there's something else Thomas told me.”
Luca turned.
“He said someone had been leaving envelopes near the guardhouse. Sometimes money. Sometimes photographs. He never knew who left them.”
Thomas looked startled. “You never told me that.”
“You told me not to trust strangers.”
“Did you keep the envelopes?” Luca asked.
Sophie nodded. “I put them in my room because I thought they might help him.”
Luca immediately ordered Marco to secure the mansion's staff quarters without disturbing anything. When they returned to the estate, Vanessa was waiting in the entrance hall, her arms folded over an immaculate cream dress.
“You embarrassed me in front of everyone,” she said to Luca. “You brought a homeless man into our home and let a servant turn dinner into a circus.”
“You knew Thomas was alive.”
Vanessa's eyes flickered.
“I knew there was an old man outside the gates. I had no idea who he was.”
“Then why did you threaten Sophie for feeding him?”
“Because stealing is stealing.”
“Leftover bread?”
“It's about discipline.”
Luca stepped closer. “You told me your parents died when you were thirteen.”
“They did.”
“Your father is standing behind me.”
For one moment, Vanessa looked less like a furious socialite than a frightened child.
Then her expression hardened.
“He abandoned me.”
Thomas flinched as though she'd struck him.
“I searched for you every day,” he said.
“You searched until it became inconvenient.”
“I searched until Richard's men told me you were dead.”
“And you believed them?”
Thomas's lips trembled. “I was shown a death certificate.”
Vanessa looked away.
Luca watched her carefully. Her anger was genuine, but beneath it lay something more complicated: fear, resentment, and the desperate determination of someone who had spent years building a life on top of a buried truth.
“Tell me who gave you the certificate,” he demanded.
She said nothing.
“Vanessa.”
“Ask your uncle,” she snapped. “He's the one who knows everything.”
Then she walked upstairs.
Luca followed her to the foot of the staircase, but Marco returned before he could continue.
“Boss, we found something in the staff quarters.”
In Sophie's small room, beneath a loose floorboard, lay six envelopes tied with blue ribbon. Inside were photographs of Thomas, copies of old financial statements, and a handwritten note that read: The man who caused the crash is not the man who paid for it.
The final envelope contained a photograph of a woman standing outside a hospital.
On its reverse, someone had written three words:
ASK ABOUT ELEANOR.
Antonio stared at the photograph.
His face turned white.
“Eleanor,” he whispered. “My wife.”
Luca had been eight when his mother died. The family had always said she succumbed to complications from an illness shortly after the accident. Yet the woman in the photograph was unmistakably Eleanor Moretti, standing outside a hospital four months after the supposed date of her death.
Luca looked at his father.
“You told me Mom died in the hospital.”
Antonio could barely speak.
“That is what Richard told me.”
A phone vibrated in Marco's hand. He listened, then looked at Luca.
“Daniel Price is alive. He retired years ago. He says he has something he wants to give you.”
“Where is he?”
Marco hesitated.
“He says he'll meet you tomorrow. But he gave me a warning.”
“What warning?”
Marco lowered his voice.
“He said not to trust anyone who claims Eleanor Moretti died.”
Before Luca could respond, every light in the mansion went out.
A crash sounded from the upper floor.
Then came Vanessa's scream.
Luca drew his weapon and raced upstairs.
Her bedroom door stood open. The curtains whipped in the cold night air, and the window was shattered. Vanessa was gone.
On her dressing table lay a single bloodstained envelope.
Inside was a photograph of Sophie entering the estate three weeks earlier.
Across Sophie's face, someone had drawn a red circle.
And beneath it was a message:
May you like
THE MAID IS NEXT.
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