Chapter 2 - The Ghost of the Dead Brother
Brena waited until breakfast.
She did not confront Tiberio about the photograph.
Instead, she watched him.
He sat at the far end of the dining table reading engineering reports while sunlight poured through the windows.
His posture was relaxed.
His eyes were not.
He looked like a man who slept lightly and trusted even less.
Brena placed her phone beside her coffee.
“Who was Alio?”
Tiberio's eyes lifted.
“I told you.”
“You told me he died.”
“Yes.”
“You didn't tell me everything.”
His expression changed.
“What did you hear?”
“That he made a business mistake.”
“That was part of it.”
“Was he murdered?”
Tiberio became completely still.
“Why would you ask that?”
“I received a photograph.”
He held her gaze.
“Show me.”
She turned the screen toward him.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he took the phone.
His fingers tightened around it.
“That photograph was taken four days before Alio died.”
“I know.”
“It was never supposed to exist.”
“Who sent it?”
“I don't know.”
Tiberio stood.
“Where is your phone?”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
His eyes hardened.
“Brena.”
“You married me because you wanted to control my father. You didn't buy ownership of me.”
He took a breath.
“You have no idea what this means.”
“Then explain it.”
He stared at the photograph.
Finally, he sat again.
“Alio was alive four days before he died.”
“Obviously.”
“He called me that night.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me he had discovered something in Grant Walsh's books.”
Brena's stomach dropped.
“What?”
“A second set of accounts.”
“Accounts for what?”
“Payments.”
“To whom?”
Tiberio looked at her.
“That is what I've spent two years trying to determine.”
Brena stared at him.
“Then why did you tell me my father killed him?”
“I didn't.”
“You implied it.”
“I said your father ruined him.”
“That's different.”
“Yes.”
She leaned back.
“So who killed Alio?”
“I don't know.”
The honesty in his voice unsettled her more than a lie would have.
He continued.
“The police said overdose.”
Brena's eyes widened.
“That wasn't the official story.”
“It was publicly reported as an overdose after a car accident.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Exactly.”
Tiberio opened a file on his tablet.
A medical report appeared.
Brena read the toxicology results.
Sedatives.
A large amount.
Not enough by themselves to prove murder.
Enough to raise questions.
“The night before he died,” Tiberio said, “Alio met someone.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why marry me?”
“Because Grant was the last person Alio called before he disappeared.”
Brena went silent.
“My father spoke to him?”
“Yes.”
“What did they discuss?”
“I don't know.”
“Then we're both chasing ghosts.”
Tiberio looked directly at her.
“No.”
He slid a file toward her.
Inside was a photograph of Grant meeting a man she had never seen.
She recognized the location.
Her father's office.
The man wore a dark coat and carried a silver walking cane.
“Who is that?”
“Roman D'Angelo.”
The name made the atmosphere change.
Brena had heard it.
Everyone in North Jersey had.
Roman D'Angelo was a financier, businessman, restaurant owner, and philanthropist.
He was also one of those men whose public biography never seemed to explain why people lowered their voices when speaking his name.
Tiberio continued.
“Roman controlled several companies Alio was supposed to invest in.”
“Was?”
“Yes.”
“And my father worked with him?”
“I believe so.”
Brena studied the photograph.
Her father was smiling.
Roman was not.
“Why would Grant lie to me about Alio?”
“Because you would have asked questions.”
“So would you.”
Tiberio smiled without humor.
“I did.”
“And?”
“He disappeared.”
Brena looked up.
“Who?”
“Roman.”
She stared.
“You mean he vanished?”
“From New York.”
“How long?”
“Seven months.”
“Then why are you still looking?”
“Because men like Roman don't disappear.”
“What do they do?”
“They wait.”
That evening, Brena returned to her bridal studio.
She had not told anyone about the marriage motive.
The employees thought she had married for love.
She hated that.
Her assistant, Nora, hugged her.
“You're married!”
Brena smiled weakly.
“Yes.”
“Is he romantic?”
Brena looked toward the window.
“Complicated.”
Nora laughed.
“That's a yes.”
For several hours, Brena worked.
Then a client arrived.
An elegant older woman who said she needed a dress altered for an event.
Brena noticed the woman's gloves.
Black leather.
The same shade as the gloves worn by Roman D'Angelo in the photograph.
“Have we met?” Brena asked.
The woman smiled.
“No.”
Then she leaned closer.
“You should ask your husband what happened at the Ravel Hotel.”
Brena's heart stopped.
“What?”
The woman turned toward the door.
“Don't trust the photograph.”
She walked away.
Brena followed her outside.
Nothing.
No car.
No woman.
Only traffic.
That night, Tiberio found Brena standing in the kitchen.
“What happened?”
“Someone mentioned the Ravel Hotel.”
His face changed.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“What exactly did they say?”
“That I should ask you what happened there.”
Tiberio's voice became very quiet.
“The Ravel Hotel was where Alio was last seen alive.”
Brena felt sick.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't want you involved.”
“You married me.”
“I know.”
“You made me involved.”
“I know.”
She slammed her glass down.
“I am tired of hearing you say you know.”
He looked at her.
“I lied because I was trying to protect you.”
“That's the excuse every powerful man uses.”
“Maybe.”
“No. There is another reason.”
“What?”
“You don't trust me.”
He didn't answer.
Brena laughed sadly.
“You trust yourself to save everyone. You don't trust anyone enough to let them help.”
His eyes softened for one brief second.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His face went blank.
“Where?”
Pause.
“When?”
He looked at Brena.
“Stay here.”
She followed him.
He stopped at the door.
“Brena.”
“I heard you.”
“I mean it.”
“Then tell me what's happening.”
He stared at her.
“Someone found Alio's car.”
Her heart skipped.
“Where?”
“Inside a warehouse.”
“Is there anything in it?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
May you like
Tiberio looked at her.
“Your father's fingerprint.”
