Chapter 6 - My Uncle Was Murdered Hours After Revealing My Mother Was Alive—And the Killer Left Lorenzo a Message
Richard's death confirmed something terrible.
We were running out of time.
He had been found in a parking garage less than an hour after leaving the facility.
One gunshot.
No weapon.
No wallet.
No phone.
But there was one thing.
A piece of paper folded inside his coat.
Lorenzo opened it.
Four words.
STOP LOOKING FOR HER.
I stared.
“My mother.”
“Yes.”
“She is the key.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“We'll find her.”
The investigation became a race.
We tracked every facility connected to the fake death record.
Every doctor.
Every vehicle.
Every private account.
One name kept appearing.
Dr. Marcus Hale.
A psychiatrist.
Paid by a shell company.
Lorenzo found him within 24 hours.
He agreed to meet.
We arrived at an old church.
Hale was waiting.
He looked exhausted.
“I know why you're here.”
“Then tell me.”
“My work was compromised.”
“Where is Elena Vance?”
Hale looked at me.
“Your mother is alive.”
I nearly collapsed.
“Where?”
“She was moved.”
“By whom?”
“Detective Vane.”
Lorenzo's jaw clenched.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“Why?”
“He discovered she had memories.”
“Of what?”
“The account.”
I swallowed.
“What account?”
Hale looked at me.
“The Moretti ledger.”
Lorenzo's expression darkened.
“My father kept a master ledger.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To record payments.”
“Payments to whom?”
“Everyone.”
Judges.
Police.
Politicians.
Businesses.
And one final recipient.
A confidential account known as The Blue Room.
Lorenzo stared.
“The Blue Room hasn't existed for decades.”
Hale shook his head.
“It still exists.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“But my mother does.”
“Yes.”
“She was taken because she knows.”
“Yes.”
“And Silas has her.”
Hale nodded.
He gave Lorenzo a location.
An old private hospital outside Joliet.
We arrived too late.
The building was empty.
But this time, there was a camera recording.
We found it.
Silas appeared on the footage.
He was standing beside a woman.
My mother.
Older.
Gray hair.
But alive.
I covered my mouth.
“Mom.”
She looked into the camera.
“Clara, if you're watching this, don't come after me.”
My knees weakened.
Silas stood behind her.
She continued.
“Your father loved you.”
Silas interrupted.
“Enough.”
My mother stared at him.
“You always were a coward.”
Silas grabbed her shoulder.
I wanted to scream.
Lorenzo's hand wrapped around mine.
“We'll find her.”
The video ended.
Then another started.
Silas alone.
Looking directly into the camera.
“Lorenzo.”
He smiled.
“You and I have been dancing around each other for years.”
Lorenzo watched without blinking.
“You know what I want.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
“I want the ledger.”
Silas leaned closer.
“And Clara is the only person who can lead you to it.”
My blood ran cold.
Silas smiled.
“She has the memory.”
“What memory?” I whispered.
The video changed.
A younger me stood with my father.
He asked me:
“Where did we put the blue book?”
My childhood voice answered:
“Under the piano.”
I froze.
The blue book.
I remembered.
The piano.
My father's house.
The house had been sold years ago.
But I remembered the basement.
A broken upright piano.
Lorenzo looked at me.
“Clara.”
“I know where it is.”
We went there immediately.
The house had new owners.
Lorenzo bought the property on the spot.
I almost laughed.
“You can't just buy people's houses.”
“I can.”
We entered.
The piano was still there.
Buried beneath dust.
I knelt.
My hands shook.
There was a loose panel.
Inside was a blue leather ledger.
My father's handwriting covered every page.
Names.
Accounts.
Payments.
And one column that made Lorenzo go silent.
Lorenzo Moretti.
Not as a suspect.
As a target.
My father's notes explained that someone had been financing a campaign to eliminate Lorenzo's family.
The money had come from one source.
The Vane network.
Silas wasn't simply protecting a corrupt operation.
He had been trying to destroy the Moretti organization for years.
I turned a page.
There was another name.
Arthur Delacroix.
I looked at Lorenzo.
“Your rival.”
“Yes.”
“He's working with Silas.”
“Yes.”
“And my father knew.”
“Yes.”
Then we found one final page.
A location.
Chicago River.
Warehouse 18.
A date.
Tonight.
And one sentence.
THE BLUE ROOM OPENS WHEN THE HEIR ARRIVES.
I stared.
“What heir?”
May you like
Lorenzo looked at me.
“I think that's you.”
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