Chapter 4 - The Man Behind the Lies
Grace read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
“Who is it talking about?” Vincent asked.
“I don't know.”
“Does your mother mention anyone else?”
Grace shook her head.
“That's all.”
Vincent examined the envelope.
The handwriting was unmistakably Margaret's.
He recognized it from the few letters his father had kept in an old family album.
His mother and Margaret had known each other.
That revelation unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
“Did your mother ever talk about Eleanor Martell?” he asked.
Grace frowned.
“Not that I remember.”
“Think carefully.”
“She used to receive letters from someone named Ellie. I assumed it was an old friend.”
Vincent looked at her.
“My mother's name was Eleanor.”
Grace stepped backward.
“You think they were friends?”
“I think they were more than acquaintances.”
Before either could say another word, Tony appeared in the doorway.
“There's something else.”
Grace turned.
“What now?”
Tony held an old photograph.
It showed three people standing outside a warehouse.
Vincent recognized his father immediately.
Beside him stood a younger Tony.
The third person was a woman wearing a red scarf.
Margaret.
But there was someone else in the background.
A fourth figure, partially obscured by a truck.
Vincent took the photograph.
His expression darkened.
“That's impossible.”
“What?” Grace asked.
“The man behind my father.”
He pointed.
“That's my uncle.”
Grace looked closer.
“Who is he?”
“Sebastian Martell. My father's younger brother.”
“Where is he now?”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“Dead.”
“How?”
“Officially? A heart attack. Eleven years ago.”
Tony sat heavily on an old chair.
“Sebastian was the person your father suspected.”
Vincent stared at him.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't have proof.”
Grace looked between them.
“And Richard Callaway?”
Vincent answered quietly.
“Richard worked for Sebastian.”
The name suddenly carried a different weight.
Richard hadn't merely been a rude businessman.
He had been connected to the people who destroyed their families.
Grace remembered the way Richard had looked at her during the confrontation.
The amusement.
The contempt.
The strange satisfaction when he realized Vincent was watching.
“He knew who I was,” she whispered.
Vincent nodded.
“He knew your mother was involved.”
“Then why humiliate Jenna? Why cause that scene?”
Vincent considered it.
“Perhaps he wanted to see how I would react.”
Grace looked at him.
“And how did you react?”
“I canceled the deal.”
“Which told him you were willing to lose money over a waitress.”
Vincent nodded slowly.
“He was testing whether I still had a conscience.”
Grace's expression hardened.
“And now he knows.”
Before Vincent could respond, a loud crash came from the dining room.
They rushed out.
Jenna stood beside the overturned host stand.
Her face was pale.
A man in a dark coat was running toward the front entrance.
“Stop!” Grace shouted.
The man pushed past a customer and disappeared into the street.
Jenna pointed toward the counter.
“He left something.”
Grace approached.
A white envelope sat beneath the reservation book.
Her name was written across it.
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph of herself leaving Vincent's office.
On the back were six words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED OUT OF IT.
Tony reached for his phone.
Vincent stopped him.
“Don't call the police from the restaurant phone.”
Grace looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because someone may be monitoring your calls.”
“That sounds paranoid.”
Vincent's expression didn't change.
“It sounds familiar.”
He called his security chief.
Within minutes, two men arrived to inspect the restaurant.
Grace was furious.
“You can't just turn my workplace into a fortress.”
“I'm not asking permission.”
“That's your problem, Vincent. You keep confusing power with authority.”
He looked at her.
“Someone threatened you.”
“I can read.”
“Then understand the danger.”
Grace stepped closer.
“I'm not leaving my employees because some rich criminal thinks he can frighten me.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“Do you understand what these people are capable of?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop acting like this is a disagreement over rent.”
Grace's voice softened.
“I'm not acting. I'm scared.”
That answer surprised him.
She continued.
“But being scared doesn't mean I should let them decide what happens to my life.”
For a moment, Vincent said nothing.
Then he nodded.
“Fair enough.”
He turned to his security chief.
“Two guards outside. No one enters without identification. No one approaches the staff without Grace's approval.”
Grace raised an eyebrow.
“Look at you. Learning.”
“Don't get used to it.”
She almost smiled.
That evening, Vincent drove Grace home.
She lived in a small apartment above a pharmacy in Dorchester.
When they reached the entrance, she unfastened her seat belt.
“Thank you.”
Vincent nodded.
“Keep your phone on.”
“I will.”
She opened the door.
Then he spoke.
“Grace.”
She turned.
“Your mother was brave.”
Grace's expression softened.
“She was stubborn.”
“I think I understand where you got it.”
She smiled faintly.
“Good night, Vincent.”
He watched until she entered the building.
Then his phone rang.
His security chief.
“Boss, we found something.”
“What?”
“The man who entered Roselli's. We identified him.”
“And?”
A pause.
“He wasn't working for Richard.”
Vincent sat upright.
“Who was he working for?”
The answer came quietly.
“Your mother, sir.”
Vincent went cold.
“My mother is dead.”
“Yes, sir. But the man claims she hired him six months ago.”
May you like
And then the security chief added something that changed everything.
“He says Eleanor Martell is alive.”
