Chapter 4 - The Night Dante Could Not Remember
Dante had spent seventeen years believing his brother died in a fire. Now he was being accused of locking another man inside it.
And the worst part was that he couldn't remember everything that happened that night.
“That's impossible,” he told Margaret.
She looked exhausted.
“Gabriel saw someone wearing your coat.”
“My coat?”
“A dark wool overcoat with a silver Moretti family pin.”
Dante remembered it.
Antonio had given him that coat for his twenty-fifth birthday.
He'd worn it to the shipping headquarters that morning.
But by evening, it was missing.
“I left the coat in my office.”
Margaret leaned forward.
“Then somebody took it.”
Caleb spoke from the doorway.
“Boss, we need to get back.”
Dante stood.
“Mrs. Vale, come with us.”
Margaret shook her head.
“I can't.”
“Richard Sterling knows where you live.”
“I know.”
“Then you're in danger.”
Margaret looked toward the photograph of Gabriel.
“I've been in danger for seventeen years.”
Dante took a card from his wallet.
“Call this number if anything happens. It's a secure line to Caleb.”
She accepted it.
Then caught his hand.
“Your brother wasn't a murderer, Dante.”
“I know.”
“Don't say that because he's your brother.”
Dante looked into her eyes.
“I'm saying it because I intend to find out what happened.”
Outside, the October air was cold.
As Dante reached the car, Margaret called after him.
“One more thing.”
He turned.
“Gabriel was injured in the fire. His left hand was badly burned.”
Dante remembered the security photograph.
The intruder's left hand had been hidden inside a glove.
Margaret continued.
“If you see him, don't rush toward him.”
“Why?”
“He's spent seventeen years being afraid of the people he loves.”
Dante said nothing.
But as the car pulled away, he made himself a promise.
If Gabriel was alive, he would not lose him again.
Not to Richard Sterling.
Not to Vanessa.
And not to another lie.
At the Moretti estate, Clara stood beside Eleanor's bedroom door.
She had refused to leave the elderly woman's side.
Two security guards waited in the hallway.
Inside, Eleanor sat on the edge of her bed, holding an old photograph.
She couldn't see it.
But she knew every detail.
Two little boys in matching blue sweaters.
Dante, twelve.
Gabriel, eight.
Antonio had taken the picture on Christmas morning.
“Clara?”
“Yes, Mrs. Moretti?”
“Do you think Dante hates me?”
Clara sat beside her.
“No, ma'am.”
“I let him grieve for his brother.”
“You were afraid.”
Eleanor nodded.
“That's what I keep telling myself.”
Clara took her hand.
“Fear doesn't make what happened right. But your son still loves you.”
Eleanor began crying.
“Gabriel used to call me every Christmas.”
Clara froze.
“Every Christmas?”
“Until six years ago.”
“After Mr. Antonio died?”
“Yes.”
Clara remembered something.
During her first year at the estate, Eleanor had received a small package without a return address.
Inside was a wooden music box.
When Clara wound it, the melody made Eleanor cry.
She had never explained why.
“Was the music box from Gabriel?” Clara asked.
Eleanor nodded.
“He made it.”
“Where is it?”
“In my wardrobe.”
Clara retrieved a walnut box with a tiny brass handle.
She turned it over.
Something rattled inside.
“Mrs. Moretti, there's something loose.”
Eleanor frowned.
“Gabriel made that box by hand. He never left anything loose.”
Clara examined the bottom.
One corner had a narrow seam.
She pressed gently.
A small compartment opened.
Inside lay a folded piece of paper.
Clara unfolded it.
Her heart began pounding.
“Mrs. Moretti…”
“What is it?”
“There's a note.”
“Read it.”
Clara swallowed.
Mom, if I stop calling, it means someone has found me. Please don't trust the man who claims he was with Dad when I died.
Eleanor went still.
“Read that again.”
Clara did.
The elderly woman's breathing changed.
“Richard Sterling,” she whispered.
“Was he with your husband that night?”
“He said he was.”
Clara turned the paper over.
A second message was written on the back.
The evidence isn't in the warehouse. It's in the one place Richard never thought to search.
Below the message was a drawing.
A small boat.
Clara stared.
“Mrs. Moretti, did Gabriel ever own a boat?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“No. But Antonio did.”
Clara remembered the painting the intruder had shattered.
Antonio's sailboat.
“Maybe it means the painting.”
“No,” Eleanor whispered.
“Why?”
“Because Antonio named his boat after Gabriel.”
Clara looked up.
“Where is it now?”
“The marina.”
Dante returned just before dawn.
Clara met him in the foyer with the note.
He read it twice.
Then examined the drawing.
“Dad's boat is still in storage,” he said.
“Can we go there?”
“Not until I know it's safe.”
Eleanor appeared at the top of the staircase.
“Dante?”
He hurried toward her.
“Mom, what are you doing out of bed?”
“I heard your voice.”
He guided her down the final steps.
She touched his cheek.
“Did you find Gabriel?”
“Not yet.”
Her shoulders fell.
“But I found someone who knew him.”
“Margaret?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor nodded slowly.
“She's a good woman.”
Dante hesitated.
“Mom, I need to ask you about the warehouse fire.”
Her hand tightened.
“What about it?”
“Did Dad ever tell you I was there?”
Eleanor frowned.
“You weren't.”
Dante stared.
“What?”
“You were in Boston.”
He searched his memory.
He had traveled to Boston for a meeting that morning.
Returned that afternoon.
Or had he?
“The fire started at 8:40 p.m.,” Eleanor continued. “You called me from the airport after nine.”
Dante went cold.
“Are you certain?”
“I remember because you asked me to tell Gabriel you were sorry about your argument.”
Dante closed his eyes.
That call.
He remembered standing beside a row of payphones.
The airport announcements.
His mother's voice.
But he'd always believed he'd made the call before the fire.
“Do we have proof?”
Eleanor nodded.
“Your father kept the telephone records.”
“Where?”
“In his office.”
Dante looked toward Caleb.
“Find them.”
Within an hour, Caleb returned carrying a file from Antonio's archived papers.
The records confirmed an outgoing call from a Boston airport payphone at 9:12 p.m.
The call lasted four minutes.
Dante had not been at the warehouse when Daniel Cross died.
Someone had worn his coat.
Someone had deliberately framed him.
And Gabriel had spent seventeen years believing his brother was responsible.
Dante sat down heavily.
“Richard.”
Caleb nodded.
“That's the obvious possibility.”
“Then we need evidence.”
Dante looked at Clara.
“Get the boat ready to be searched.”
At the marina, the old sailboat sat beneath a weatherproof cover inside a private storage building.
Its name was still painted along the hull.
Gabriel.
Dante climbed aboard with Caleb.
Clara waited near the entrance.
The cabin smelled of cedar and old canvas.
Dante ran his hand along the wooden table.
His father had taught both boys to sail here.
He remembered Gabriel laughing whenever the boat tilted.
For a moment, he could almost hear him.
Then Caleb called from below.
“Boss. You need to see this.”
Behind a removable panel beneath the navigation station was a metal case.
Dante opened it.
Inside were photographs, bank records, and a small videotape.
A label on the tape read:
Warehouse — October 14.
Dante stared.
The date of the fire.
Caleb found an old playback unit in the storage office.
They connected it to a monitor.
The picture flickered.
A security camera showed a warehouse corridor.
At 8:31 p.m., Daniel Cross entered an office.
At 8:34, someone wearing Dante's dark coat appeared.
The figure turned.
Dante leaned closer.
The face was partially hidden.
But the person had long hair tucked beneath a cap.
Not Richard Sterling.
Not Dante.
The figure locked the office door.
Then removed the cap.
Dante felt his heart stop.
It was a woman.
A woman he recognized.
Not Vanessa.
Her mother.
CATHERINE STERLING.
Caleb whispered, “My God.”
On the recording, Catherine turned toward the camera.
And spoke to someone standing outside the frame.
The audio was faint.
Dante increased the volume.
Catherine's voice emerged.
“YOUR SON WILL TAKE THE BLAME, ANTONIO. JUST LIKE WE AGREED.”
Dante stumbled backward.
May you like
His father had been there.
And the woman who locked Daniel Cross inside had been speaking to him.
Related Stories
