Chapter 2 - The Key Thomas Left BehindThe door opened.
Nobody entered.
A folded piece of paper slid across the floor.
Arthur picked it up.
Clara watched his face change as he read it.
“What does it say?”
He handed it to her.
Five words.
MATTEO KNOWS YOU KNOW.
Clara's heart pounded.
“Who wrote this?”
Arthur shook his head.
“I don't know.”
He looked toward the hallway.
Enzo was gone.
That frightened him.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
Arthur turned.
“Clara.”
“You told me my brother was alive.”
“Yes.”
“Then I'm coming.”
“This isn't a game.”
“I know.”
“People die.”
“I know that too.”
He stared at her.
“Why aren't you afraid?”
She looked down at the key.
“Because I've been afraid for eleven years.”
Arthur had no answer.
They left the room through a hidden passage behind her wardrobe.
The passage led to the old servant staircase.
Clara had worked in the estate for four years and never known it existed.
“You built this?”
“No.”
“My grandfather.”
They entered the library.
Arthur locked the door behind them.
“Matteo's office is across the hall.”
“Then let's go.”
Arthur shook his head.
“Not yet.”
He walked to a painting.
A portrait of his father.
He pressed the frame.
A section of wall moved.
Inside was a small safe.
Arthur used a combination.
The door opened.
Inside were files.
One was labeled:
THOMAS BENNETT.
Clara grabbed it.
There were reports.
Surveillance.
Bank accounts.
Photographs.
A medical file.
And a handwritten statement.
Thomas was never a Moretti employee.
He had been an independent auditor hired by Arthur's father.
He discovered that money was being diverted from legitimate Moretti companies.
Not by Thomas.
By Matteo.
Clara looked at Arthur.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“Then why did you kill him?”
Arthur's face hardened.
“Because Matteo showed me fabricated evidence.”
Clara read faster.
The fake records had been designed to prove Thomas was selling information.
But beneath them was another document.
Thomas's handwriting.
If I disappear, Matteo is responsible.
Clara's hand shook.
“Where is this original?”
Arthur pointed to the brass key.
“That.”
She stared.
“The key opens a second archive.”
“Where?”
“Beneath St. Michael's Church.”
Clara looked at him.
“Why would my brother hide evidence in a church?”
“Because Matteo couldn't search it without attracting attention.”
“Then we go.”
Arthur nodded.
They left through the basement.
At 4:03 a.m., the city was nearly empty.
They drove without security.
Arthur insisted.
Clara sat beside him.
Neither spoke for miles.
Finally, Arthur said:
“I'm sorry.”
She looked at him.
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“That isn't enough.”
“I know.”
“You took eleven years from me.”
“I know.”
“You let me believe my brother was a traitor.”
“I know.”
“You let my mother grieve for a son who was alive.”
“I know.”
She turned toward the window.
“Then don't apologize.”
“What should I do?”
“Tell me the truth.”
Arthur nodded.
“I will.”
St. Michael's Church was dark.
The priest met them at the side entrance.
He knew Arthur.
But he did not greet him warmly.
“You took long enough.”
Arthur frowned.
“Where's the archive?”
The priest looked at Clara.
Then at the key.
“He told me she'd come.”
Arthur froze.
“Who?”
“Thomas.”
Clara's breath caught.
The priest led them beneath the church.
A metal door waited behind the wine cellar.
Clara inserted the brass key.
The door opened.
Inside were boxes.
Thomas's notebooks.
Bank records.
Photographs.
And a cassette recorder.
Clara pressed play.
Her brother's voice filled the room.
“If you're hearing this, then Clara knows.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
Thomas continued.
“Arthur, if you hear this, understand one thing.”
“I never betrayed you.”
A pause.
“Matteo did.”
The recording continued.
“He has been moving money for years.”
“He has political protection.”
“He has police protection.”
“And he has someone inside your household.”
Clara looked at Arthur.
Thomas's voice became quieter.
“Do not trust Enzo.”
Arthur opened his eyes.
His face had gone cold.
Enzo.
The man who had been beside him for fifteen years.
Thomas continued.
“He knows about the children.”
Clara frowned.
“What children?”
The tape crackled.
Then Thomas said:
“Arthur has a daughter.”
Silence.
Arthur looked at Clara.
“What?”
The tape continued.
“She doesn't know.”
Clara stopped breathing.
Arthur stared.
“I don't have a daughter.”
Thomas's voice came again.
“You do.”
A photograph slid from one of the boxes.
A woman.
Pregnant.
Standing beside Arthur.
Clara looked at it.
She recognized the woman.
Isabella Moretti.
Arthur's former girlfriend.
“That's impossible.”
Arthur took the photograph.
His hands shook.
“She told me the baby was never born.”
Thomas continued.
“Isabella gave birth.”
“The child was taken.”
“Matteo knows where she is.”
The recording ended.
Clara stared at Arthur.
“You have a daughter.”
He couldn't answer.
Before either could process it, footsteps sounded above.
The priest looked toward the ceiling.
“We aren't alone.”
The lights went out.
A gunshot shattered the silence.
The priest fell.
Arthur pulled Clara behind the shelves.
Someone shouted:
“Find the key!”
Clara clutched it.
Arthur whispered:
“Run.”
They escaped through a rear passage.
When they reached the street, Arthur looked at the church burning behind them.
“My brother told me the truth.”
May you like
Clara nodded.
“And now we have to find my daughter.”
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