Chapter 3 - THE BOX
I had known Dante for thirty-seven years.
Brothers raised in the same house learn each other's silences.
I knew the difference between his angry silence and his calculating silence.
That night, what frightened me was neither.
It was the silence of a man who had just realized someone else knew where his secret was buried.
I asked Clara what was inside the box.
She refused to tell me.
Not because she didn't trust me.
Because she was terrified someone was listening.
So I moved her and Ellie into the guest wing and stationed two trusted security men outside.
Then I called Marco.
“Find out everything about Clara Romano.”
He paused.
“Everything?”
“Employment. Addresses. Bank accounts. Legal records. Medical records. Everything.”
“And Dante?”
“Don't touch him.”
Marco understood.
That meant watch him.
It was nearly two in the morning when he returned.
He placed a thin folder on my desk.
“There's something strange.”
“What?”
“Clara was employed by Dante's property company four years ago. She resigned after six months.”
“That's what she said.”
“She also received a payment.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
I looked up.
“From Dante?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“An account belonging to Moretti Children's Foundation.”
My chest tightened.
The foundation had been created after Sofia died.
It funded leukemia research and pediatric oncology programs.
I had personally signed every major grant.
“Why would the foundation pay Clara?”
Marco opened another document.
“It didn't.”
“What?”
“The payment was disguised as a medical grant.”
“To whom?”
“A clinic in Brooklyn.”
“Which clinic?”
He gave me the name.
I recognized it.
It had treated children with blood disorders.
“What was Clara doing there?”
Marco shook his head.
“Nothing on paper.”
“Then find out.”
He hesitated.
“There’s another problem.”
“What?”
“Someone accessed the foundation's records tonight.”
My eyes narrowed.
“When?”
“Thirty minutes ago.”
“From where?”
He looked at me.
“Your house.”
The room seemed to become colder.
“Who?”
“We don't know yet.”
I stood.
“Check the cameras.”
“We did.”
“And?”
“One camera went offline.”
“Which one?”
“The hallway outside your private study.”
I walked there immediately.
The hallway was empty.
My study door was locked.
I opened it.
Everything looked normal.
Except one thing.
The third gold coin was missing from my desk.
I stared at the empty space.
Someone had taken it.
Not stolen.
Taken.
As if they knew exactly what it meant.
I heard footsteps behind me.
Dante.
He stood at the end of the hallway.
“What are you doing awake?”
I held up the empty palm.
“Looking for this.”
His expression didn't change.
But his eyes did.
“You're becoming paranoid.”
“Maybe.”
I walked toward him.
“Where is Clara's box?”
His face hardened.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Then why did you just look at the place where I keep Sofia's coins?”
He said nothing.
I smiled.
It was the first smile I'd given him that night.
“Goodnight, Dante.”
I walked past him.
He caught my arm.
“Vince.”
I stopped.
“If you keep digging, you're going to hurt people who don't deserve it.”
I slowly removed his hand.
“That's interesting.”
“What?”
“You always say that when you're afraid.”
I left him standing there.
At 3:16 a.m., Ellie woke screaming.
I ran into the guest room.
Clara was already there.
Ellie was sitting upright, clutching her rabbit.
“Someone was outside,” she whispered.
I checked the window.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something beneath the door.
A small brown envelope.
No name.
No stamp.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed Clara four years earlier, standing outside the Brooklyn clinic.
Beside her was a man I recognized.
Dr. Samuel Reed.
The doctor who had treated Sofia during her final months.
My hands went cold.
May you like
On the back of the photograph, someone had written six words.
Sofia's death was not what you think.
