Chapter 4 - The Letters Hidden in the Cedar Box
The police wanted Mrs. Bell taken to the hospital immediately.
Natalie went with her.
Alessandro followed in a separate vehicle, speaking to his attorney and security director along the way.
By noon, Mrs. Bell had been diagnosed with a concussion and several bruises.
She would recover.
But the attack had frightened her badly.
Natalie sat beside her hospital bed while rain darkened the windows.
“Why didn't you tell me?” she asked.
Mrs. Bell stared at her hands.
“Because your father made me promise.”
“He's been dead for twenty-three years.”
“I know.”
“You could have told me when I was eighteen. Or twenty-five. Or when Michael started college.”
Mrs. Bell's eyes filled.
“And what would I have told you? That the people who helped destroy your family still had money and influence? That a man powerful enough to frighten Luca Vitale might come looking for you?”
Natalie looked away.
Mrs. Bell reached for her hand.
“Your father wanted you to live.”
The words broke something inside Natalie.
For years, she had quietly resented how little information her parents had left behind.
The accident report had contained no satisfying answers.
The police called it a tragic collision caused by a commercial truck driver who lost control during heavy rain.
The trucking company settled the civil claim quickly.
Natalie received a modest payment that barely covered the funeral and several outstanding bills.
She had spent adulthood believing the tragedy was meaningless.
Now she was beginning to understand that her parents' deaths might not have been random.
“Did Dad know he was in danger?” she whispered.
Mrs. Bell nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why didn't he leave New York?”
“He tried.”
Natalie looked up.
“What?”
“Your parents had arranged to relocate to Vermont. They were supposed to leave two weeks after the accident.”
Natalie felt tears gathering.
She remembered her mother talking about a small house with a porch.
She had thought it was a dream.
Something adults discussed when they were tired of city traffic.
“They were going to take us away,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
Mrs. Bell squeezed her hand.
“Daniel believed he had enough evidence to protect the family. He was wrong.”
At the hospital entrance, Alessandro stood beside Marco.
His attorney, Evelyn Price, had joined them.
Evelyn was a sharply dressed woman in her early forties, with dark-framed glasses and the composed manner of someone accustomed to difficult clients.
She reviewed the documents Marco had collected.
“The nine-million-dollar transfer was headed to a brokerage account controlled through three corporate entities,” she explained.
Alessandro watched the hospital doors.
“Who owns them?”
“We're tracing that.”
“Richard?”
“Possibly. But the structure suggests he had help.”
“Freeze everything connected to the account.”
“We've instructed the bank to hold the pending transfer, and we're preparing preservation notices. We also need an independent forensic audit.”
Alessandro nodded.
Evelyn hesitated.
“There is another problem.”
“What?”
“The original Meridian Educational Trust appears to have been established with funds that were supposed to belong to a separate scholarship endowment.”
“Which one?”
Evelyn looked at the file.
“The Collins Memorial Education Fund.”
Alessandro went still.
“Collins?”
“Yes.”
She turned a page.
“It was created using the settlement money from Daniel and Rebecca Collins's deaths, along with a matching charitable contribution made by Luca Vitale before he died.”
Alessandro stared at her.
“My brother created a fund for their children?”
“It appears so.”
“Why wasn't I told?”
“Someone buried it inside the foundation's records.”
Alessandro looked toward the hospital.
Natalie had sold her mother's engagement ring to help Michael pay for medical school.
She had worked double shifts.
She had postponed her own education.
All while a scholarship endowment intended for her family had apparently existed in the foundation's records.
His chest tightened.
“How much?” he asked.
Evelyn hesitated.
“Originally, approximately four hundred thousand dollars.”
“And now?”
“Based on the available investment records, it should be worth at least several million. We need to determine how much was actually preserved and how much was diverted.”
Alessandro closed his eyes.
Richard had not merely stolen charitable funds.
He had stolen from children who had already lost everything.
That evening, Natalie returned to her apartment with Alessandro and a police detective.
The burglary investigation was ongoing.
But officers had finished collecting evidence, and Natalie needed the letters.
Her cedar box sat in the bottom drawer of her bedroom dresser.
She lifted it carefully.
The wood was scratched.
One corner had been repaired with glue.
Inside were birthday letters, postcards, and a photograph of her parents standing beside an old yellow bicycle.
Natalie sat on the bed.
Alessandro remained near the doorway.
“You don't have to do this tonight,” he said.
“Yes, I do.”
She opened the first letter.
Her eighth birthday.
Her father had written about how proud he was that she had learned to ride without training wheels.
The second letter described her ninth birthday.
The third contained a terrible joke about a penguin.
Natalie laughed through sudden tears.
Alessandro remained silent.
She reached the final envelope.
Her eleventh birthday.
Six months before her parents died.
The paper felt thicker than the others.
Natalie examined it carefully.
Then she noticed something.
The envelope had been sealed twice.
A narrow strip of adhesive ran beneath the original flap.
She retrieved a small magnifying lens from her purse.
Alessandro watched.
“You carry that?”
“It's useful for checking engraved details.”
She studied the envelope.
“Someone reinforced the seam.”
“Your father?”
“Probably.”
She carefully loosened the paper with a thin letter opener.
Inside was the birthday letter.
But there was also a second folded sheet.
A sheet made from translucent tracing paper.
On it, her father had written a series of numbers.
Underneath was a message.
Nat, if you ever need to understand why we had to leave, remember the game we played with the library books. The answers are hidden where stories begin.
Natalie stared.
Alessandro moved closer.
“What does it mean?”
She whispered, “Dad used to play a game with us.”
“What kind?”
“He would choose a book from the library and leave clues about where he had hidden our birthday presents. Page numbers. Paragraph numbers. The first word on a line.”
She examined the numbers again.
“It's a book cipher.”
Alessandro sat beside her.
“Do you remember which book?”
Natalie looked at the photograph in the box.
Her father had taken it the summer before he died.
Michael was sitting on the porch holding a children's edition of Treasure Island.
Natalie's heart began racing.
“Dad gave Michael the same book every year until he was eleven. He said it was our family's treasure map.”
She picked up her phone.
Michael answered after several rings.
“Nat? Everything okay?”
She forced herself to speak calmly.
“Do you still have Dad's copy of Treasure Island?”
A pause.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Where is it?”
“In my apartment. I took it when I moved.”
Natalie closed her eyes.
“Michael, listen carefully. Don't open your door for anyone you don't know.”
“What?”
“I'm serious.”
“Nat, what's going on?”
She glanced at Alessandro.
He nodded.
“Tell him enough to keep him safe.”
Natalie explained that someone had broken into her apartment and that their father's old records might be involved in a financial investigation.
Michael fell silent.
Then he said, “There's something I never told you.”
Natalie's stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Two weeks ago, a man came to the hospital asking about Dad.”
“Who?”
“He said his name was Richard Vale.”
Natalie stopped breathing.
“What did he want?”
“He asked whether Dad had left me any books.”
Alessandro stood abruptly.
“Put him on speaker,” he said.
Michael heard the unfamiliar voice.
“Who is that?”
“Alessandro Vitale,” Alessandro replied. “Michael, I need you to listen carefully. Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Lock your door.”
Michael hesitated.
Then Natalie heard the lock turn.
“Done.”
“Is anyone outside?”
Michael moved toward his apartment entrance.
A few seconds passed.
Then his voice changed.
“There's a black car parked across the street.”
Alessandro signaled to Marco.
“Send a team to Michael Collins's address. Coordinate with local police.”
Michael whispered, “Nat?”
Natalie gripped the phone.
“I'm here.”
The line crackled.
Then Michael said, “Someone's coming up the stairs.”
A knock sounded.
Three sharp taps.
“Michael Collins?” a man called.
Michael whispered, “He says he's from building maintenance.”
Alessandro's voice became steel.
“Don't open the door.”
The knocking grew louder.
“Mr. Collins, there's a water leak downstairs. We need access.”
Michael backed away.
“I didn't request maintenance.”
The man outside stopped knocking.
A second voice spoke quietly.
Then Michael heard metal scrape against his lock.
“Nat,” he whispered.
“I'm here, Michael.”
The lock began turning.
May you like
And somewhere in the room, the frightened medical student whispered the words his sister would never forget.
“They're coming inside.”
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