Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO NEVER CAME HOME
Eleanor Price refused to discuss the photograph over the telephone.
She insisted Dominic come to her office alone, bringing no security team and telling no one where he was going.
That was the first reason Dominic distrusted the meeting.
The second was the message waiting on his phone when he reached the garage.
Don't go to Eleanor. She won't tell you everything.
The sender was unknown.
Dominic stared at the screen, then deleted the message.
He drove himself through Chicago's afternoon traffic, taking three unnecessary turns before arriving at the law office on Wacker Drive.
Eleanor was waiting behind a locked conference-room door.
She looked older than Dominic remembered. Her silver hair was pinned neatly at the back of her head, but her hands trembled when she placed a thick envelope on the table.
“You look like Elena,” she said.
“People have been telling me that for four years.”
“She would have hated that.”
Despite himself, Dominic almost smiled.
“What did she leave?”
Eleanor slid the photograph across the table.
It showed Adrian at the top of the west staircase, one hand resting on the railing. Elena stood several feet away, holding a folder against her chest.
The timestamp in the lower corner read 4:36 p.m., October 18, 2021.
Dominic studied the image.
“Where did this come from?”
“An old security camera. The system was supposedly malfunctioning that afternoon. Elena arranged for a separate camera to be installed after she discovered discrepancies in the household security records.”
“Why didn't the police see this?”
“Because someone removed the original footage from the security system, and the photograph was printed from a backup device Elena kept in her study.”
“Who knew about it?”
“Three people. Elena, me, and Margaret Vale.”
Dominic tapped the photograph.
“Why is Adrian standing there?”
“That's what I hoped you would discover.”
He looked up sharply.
“You don't know?”
“I know what Elena told me. She said Adrian had come to her with a warning. She wouldn't tell me what the warning was.”
“Did she say they argued?”
“She said he was afraid.”
“Of whom?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Dominic, your wife was trying to protect someone. I believe she changed her will because she no longer trusted the people who would ordinarily inherit from her.”
“Then why Hannah?”
“Because Hannah wasn't a Moretti.”
The answer landed harder than he expected.
Eleanor continued.
“Your family has enemies, obligations, old loyalties, and people who stand to gain from every disagreement. Hannah had none of those connections. Elena believed the truth needed to be held by someone who couldn't be bought through family inheritance.”
Dominic looked down at the amendment.
“Can she actually inherit the money?”
“If the document is authenticated, yes. But the more important issue is the evidence she was named to protect.”
Eleanor opened a drawer and removed a small brass key.
“Your wife rented a private storage unit shortly before her death. She told me the key would lead to something Margaret couldn't safely carry.”
Dominic took it.
“Where?”
“Near the old freight yards on the south side. Unit 214.”
“Why didn't you retrieve it?”
“Someone searched my office three days after Elena died. They took nothing valuable. They opened every drawer and cut the lining out of the chair where I usually sat.”
She looked directly at him.
“I was being watched, Dominic. I have a daughter. I chose not to become another dead woman.”
He understood that fear.
He also understood that fear had kept the truth buried for four years.
Before he left, Eleanor handed him a second envelope.
“This contains Elena's original medical records. I held onto them because the official report never made sense.”
“What was wrong with it?”
“Her injuries suggested she had fallen backward. But the report described a forward fall. And the estimated time of death was changed twice.”
“By whom?”
“The final report bears the signature of a medical examiner named Dr. Paul Whitaker. He resigned six months later and moved out of state.”
Dominic pocketed the envelope.
“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet. There is something else.”
Eleanor hesitated.
“Vanessa Sterling came to see me two weeks before Elena died.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“What did she want?”
“She asked whether Elena could legally transfer control of the Moretti charitable foundation without your consent.”
“Why would Vanessa care?”
“I asked her the same question. She said she was worried about your family's reputation.”
“And you believed her?”
“No.”
Eleanor's expression grew grave.
“I believed she was afraid of something.”
***
The storage unit stood behind a row of shuttered warehouses.
Dominic found Unit 214 at the end of a narrow corridor. The brass key turned smoothly, and the door rolled upward with a metallic groan.
Inside stood a steel cabinet, three cardboard boxes, and an old wooden chair.
The cabinet contained copies of foundation ledgers. The boxes held bank statements, property records, and photographs of men Dominic recognized from his father's business circle.
One photograph showed Richard Sterling entering a private club with Victor Hale, a former Moretti accountant who had disappeared after a suspected embezzlement scandal.
Another showed Adrian standing beside a dark sedan outside the mansion on the afternoon Elena died.
Dominic checked the date.
October 18, 2021.
He had told the police Adrian was in the garage because Adrian had sworn it was true.
But the photograph showed him outside the house at 4:52 p.m.
The final box contained a digital voice recorder.
Dominic pressed PLAY.
Elena's voice filled the storage unit.
“If you're hearing this, then I failed to convince Dominic to investigate before it was too late.”
A pause followed.
“I don't know whether Adrian is involved. I know he has been lying to me. I know Richard Sterling has been moving money through companies that don't exist. And I know someone inside the house has access to my medication.”
Dominic gripped the recorder.
Elena continued.
“Margaret says the evidence is enough to expose Richard, but she doesn't understand the danger. The person who ordered these transfers isn't Richard.”
A sound came from the background.
A door opening.
Then Elena whispered, “You're not supposed to be here.”
A man's voice answered.
“Neither are you.”
The recording ended.
Dominic played it again.
He recognized the man's voice.
Not clearly enough to identify the words, but enough to recognize the rhythm, the low register, the slight rasp.
His father's voice.
Except his father, Michael Moretti, had died seven years earlier.
Dominic stood motionless in the storage unit.
Then he noticed an envelope taped beneath the recorder.
Inside was a photograph of Elena holding a newborn baby.
On the back, in her handwriting, were five words:
THE CHILD WAS NEVER REPORTED.
Dominic's phone rang.
Hannah.
“Sir, you need to come home.”
“What happened?”
“Someone came looking for my mother.”
“Who?”
“I don't know. He showed the guards a photograph of me and asked where Margaret was being held.”
Dominic's grip tightened around the phone.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes, but—”
She stopped.
“Hannah?”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“There's blood on the floor outside your wife's old bedroom.”
Dominic ran toward the exit.
“Don't touch anything. Don't go near that room. I'm coming.”
May you like
Then Hannah said something that stopped him cold.
“Sir, the blood isn't mine.”
