Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Lydia Hollis became the center of everything.
I called old relatives.
No one knew anything.
I searched public records.
Her death certificate existed.
Burial records existed.
Everything looked legitimate.
Too legitimate.
Vincent sent the documents to a private investigator.
The results arrived within twenty-four hours.
Lydia never died.
Her death certificate had been forged.
The cemetery plot belonged to another woman.
And two weeks before my father's supposed final meeting, Lydia withdrew a large amount of cash.
From an account connected to Anthony Bellante.
My stomach tightened.
“She betrayed my father.”
Vincent shook his head.
“Maybe.”
“Then why hide for fifteen years?”
“Because she was afraid.”
“Of Anthony?”
“Possibly.”
“Of you?”
He looked at me.
“I don't know.”
We found Lydia living under another name in Pennsylvania.
When we arrived, she opened the door.
Saw me.
And started crying.
“June.”
I froze.
“How do you know my name?”
“Your father talked about you every day.”
I stepped inside.
“Why did you let me believe you were dead?”
“Because your father told me to.”
“Why?”
She looked at Vincent.
“Because he knew what was coming.”
“What?”
“The ledger.”
I felt angry.
“I keep hearing about this ledger.”
Lydia sat.
“Your father discovered that Anthony Bellante wasn't working alone.”
“Who else?”
“People in the courts.”
“The police.”
“Bankers.”
“Politicians.”
My chest tightened.
“He was trying to expose them.”
“Yes.”
“Why did he die?”
Lydia looked at Vincent.
“Because he trusted the wrong person.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“Who?”
“Your father.”
Vincent stared.
“My father betrayed Daniel?”
“He gave Daniel's location to Anthony.”
I looked at Vincent.
He had gone pale.
“My father killed him.”
Lydia nodded.
“Not directly.”
Vincent's eyes closed.
“But he knew.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then Lydia handed me a small envelope.
“Your father left this for you.”
I opened it.
A letter.
June,
If you are reading this, then Vincent finally told you the truth.
I don't know whether you should forgive him.
I only know that he was a boy when all of this started.
And boys can choose to become their fathers.
Or they can choose not to.
I believe Vincent chose not to.
The rest was shorter.
The ledger is hidden where you learned to tell the truth.
Not where you learned to speak.
Where you learned to tell the truth.
I read it twice.
“What does that mean?”
Vincent looked at me.
“The courthouse.”
I froze.
“My workplace.”
“Yes.”
The next morning, we returned to Essex County.
I accessed old archives.
Wedding records.
Divorce files.
Property filings.
Birth certificates.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something.
The courthouse's training basement.
When I was nineteen, I had volunteered there.
There was a storage room containing old legal manuals.
I went downstairs.
Behind a cabinet sat a small metal box.
Inside was a ledger.
The original.
My father's handwriting covered the first page.
I cried.
Vincent stood behind me.
“What does it say?”
I read.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
But the final section was written in red.
IF I DIE, DO NOT TRUST THE PERSON WHO ASKS FOR THE BOOK.
I looked at Vincent.
He didn't ask.
That mattered.
Instead, he said:
“Take it home.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want it.”
“You don't?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it destroyed your father.”
I studied him.
“You're afraid.”
He didn't deny it.
“Yes.”
That was the first time he admitted fear.
We returned to the mansion.
The next day, Vincent gathered his men.
“I am shutting down the old operations.”
Marco stared.
“You can't.”
“I can.”
“The family will turn on you.”
“I know.”
“Anthony will come.”
“I know.”
Vincent looked at me.
“I've decided.”
I didn't understand why.
Then I saw the papers.
He was transferring ownership of several properties.
Selling businesses.
Closing accounts.
Walking away from parts of the empire.
“Why?”
“Because I don't want you paying for my life.”
I stared.
“And what about you?”
“I'll survive.”
“You might lose everything.”
He smiled faintly.
“I've already lost everything that mattered.”
I didn't know what to say.
That night, I found another envelope outside my bedroom.
Inside:
THE FIRST YEAR ENDS EARLY IF THE WIFE LEAVES.
I looked toward Vincent's study.
He was standing there.
Watching me.
“You received it too?”
“Yes.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means they're trying to separate us.”
“Why?”
“Because they don't know what we're going to do together.”
I stared at him.
“You keep saying together.”
He walked closer.
“Because sometime between the contract and now, this stopped being an arrangement.”
My heart pounded.
“What is it?”
He looked at me.
“A marriage.”
I couldn't answer.
Then gunfire erupted outside.
The windows shook.
Vincent pushed me behind him.
His men ran through the halls.
Someone had attacked the estate.
May you like
And on the glass of the broken window was written in red:
DIVORCE HER OR WATCH HER FAMILY DIE.
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