Chapter 1 - The Name His Dead Father Had Been InvestigatingFor several seconds, Rebecca Foster could hear nothing except the rain striking the library windows.
Gabriel Moretti stood beside the fireplace with the photograph of his father still in his hand.
Eleven years.
That was how long his family had publicly accepted Vittorio Moretti’s death as an accident.
A wet road.
A failed turn.
A car through a guardrail.
Nothing suspicious.
Nothing criminal.
Nothing worth reopening.
But Gabriel’s expression told Rebecca that he had never believed any of it.
“You said your father was investigating financial irregularities,” she said carefully.
Gabriel placed the photograph on the desk.
“He was.”
“And St. Catherine Restoration Trust was involved?”
His eyes returned to her.
“That’s what I’m trying to understand.”
Rebecca wrapped both hands around the mug of tea she had stopped drinking ten minutes earlier.
Something in the back of her mind was scratching for attention.
A number.
A line on an invoice.
A date.
Daniel’s office had contained hundreds of papers. Most had meant nothing to her when she found them. She had photographed them because the signatures looked wrong and because Daniel had become strangely defensive whenever she entered the room while he was working.
But one document had been different.
“I saw your father’s name.”
Gabriel went completely still.
Rebecca swallowed.
“Not his full name. Just an initial and last name.”
“What exactly did it say?”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
“Try.”
His voice had sharpened.
Rebecca flinched before she could stop herself.
Gabriel saw it.
The change in him was immediate.
He stepped back.
“I’m sorry.”
Rebecca looked down.
Gabriel lowered his voice.
“I’m not angry with you.”
“I know.”
“No. Your face says you don’t.”
Silence passed between them.
Three days earlier, Daniel had struck her for refusing to surrender photographs.
Three days earlier, she had been trapped behind an oak door underground, listening to the footsteps of the man she had planned to marry disappear up the stairs.
She was beginning to understand that fear did not vanish simply because the person standing in front of her happened to be different.
Gabriel understood it too.
He moved to the other side of the desk and sat down.
Farther away.
“You don’t owe me the answer tonight.”
Rebecca inhaled slowly.
Then she said, “There was a handwritten note beside one of the transfers.”
Gabriel waited.
“It said something like ‘V. Moretti—St. Catherine—final reconciliation.’”
His fingers tightened against the arm of the chair.
“Date?”
“I don’t know.”
“Month?”
She closed her eyes.
Daniel’s desk.
The invoices.
The lamp beside his computer.
A glass of bourbon.
Her own reflection in the black window.
Then she remembered.
“October.”
Gabriel stopped breathing.
Rebecca opened her eyes.
“What?”
“My father died October eighteenth.”
The room seemed to grow colder.
Rebecca stared at him.
Gabriel stood abruptly and reached for his phone.
“Adrien.”
The security chief answered immediately.
“I need Rebecca’s damaged phone recovered from evidence as soon as police allow it. I also need every image she took extracted, including deleted files, cloud backups, message attachments, everything.”
Rebecca frowned.
“I deleted the pictures.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“Did you delete them or did Daniel make you delete them?”
“He made me delete them.”
“Then you may not have deleted anything permanently.”
Rebecca felt the first flicker of hope she had experienced since being locked in the cellar.
Adrien said something through the phone.
Gabriel’s expression changed.
“What time?”
Another pause.
Gabriel turned toward the window.
“Send me the footage.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” Rebecca asked.
Gabriel did not immediately answer.
Instead, he crossed the library and pulled the curtains closed.
That frightened her more than if he had shouted.
“Gabriel?”
“Someone approached the guest house forty-three minutes ago.”
Rebecca stared at him.
“What?”
“One of the northern cameras caught movement near the garden.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
“I thought your property was secure.”
“So did I.”
He picked up his jacket.
“You’re staying in the main house tonight.”
Rebecca stood.
“No.”
Gabriel looked at her.
She hated that her heart was pounding.
But she forced herself to continue.
“I agreed to stay here because you told me I would have choices.”
“You do.”
“Then don’t tell me where I’m sleeping.”
His jaw tightened.
“There may be someone on this property trying to reach you.”
“Then explain that to me.”
“I just did.”
“No. You gave me an order.”
Gabriel stared at her.
Most people in Chicago would not have spoken to him that way.
Rebecca knew that.
She also knew that three days ago she might not have been capable of doing it herself.
But Daniel had taught her something in that cellar.
A locked room did not always have stone walls.
Sometimes it was built one command at a time.
Gabriel slowly nodded.
“You’re right.”
Rebecca had expected resistance.
The quick acceptance unsettled her.
Gabriel continued.
“My recommendation is that you sleep in one of the upstairs rooms here tonight because this building has a separate security system, reinforced doors, and two guards on the floor. But if you choose to return to the guest house, I’ll increase the security there instead.”
Rebecca studied his face.
“You’d let me?”
His expression hardened.
“I don’t own you, Rebecca.”
Something inside her chest loosened.
“Then I’ll stay here tonight.”
Gabriel nodded.
“Your decision.”
“Mine.”
“Yes.”
Twenty minutes later, Adrien arrived in the library holding a tablet.
He was a broad-shouldered man in his early forties with the calm expression of someone who had spent most of his adult life expecting danger.
He handed the device to Gabriel.
The video showed the side of the guest house at 9:16 p.m.
Rain distorted much of the image.
Then a figure appeared.
Dark jacket.
Cap.
Gloves.
The person moved directly beneath one of the cameras.
Not randomly.
Deliberately avoiding its clearest angle.
Adrien froze the frame.
“He knew where the cameras were.”
Rebecca’s stomach tightened.
Gabriel looked at Adrien.
“Employee?”
“Possibly.”
“What did he do?”
Adrien changed the video.
The figure disappeared behind the guest house.
Thirty seconds later, he reappeared.
“That’s it?”
“No.”
Adrien reached into his coat.
He placed a clear evidence bag on the desk.
Inside was a folded piece of white paper.
Rebecca stared at it.
Gabriel read the handwriting through the plastic.
His expression became murderous.
Rebecca stepped closer.
Four words were written across the page.
THE CELLAR WAS MERCY.
For a moment, she could not move.
She was underground again.
Metal bolt.
Oak door.
Blood in her mouth.
Daniel’s footsteps fading away.
Gabriel spoke first.
“Rebecca.”
She blinked.
He was watching her carefully.
“Sit down.”
She almost obeyed automatically.
Then stopped.
“No.”
Gabriel said nothing.
Rebecca looked again at the note.
“Who knew what happened in the cellar?”
“Police.”
“Hospital staff.”
“Your legal team.”
“Adrien.”
“Daniel.”
Gabriel understood immediately.
“And whoever Daniel reported to.”
Rebecca slowly turned toward him.
“You don’t think Daniel was working alone.”
“I never did.”
The answer should have frightened her.
Instead, it made several things suddenly clearer.
Daniel had managed an estate.
He had not controlled a financial empire.
He could manipulate invoices, but moving almost three million dollars through old charitable structures required access beyond one mansion.
Someone had opened doors for him.
Someone had protected him.
Someone had known which accounts would avoid scrutiny.
And someone was frightened enough by Rebecca Foster to enter Gabriel Moretti’s property and leave a threat beneath her bedroom window.
Adrien’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then looked at Gabriel.
“We have something else.”
“What?”
“The hospital access investigation.”
Rebecca felt cold.
Gabriel had mentioned that someone had attempted to access her records.
Adrien continued.
“The request didn’t come from Daniel’s attorney.”
“Who?”
“We traced the credentials to an administrative account registered to Moretti Holdings.”
Gabriel’s expression changed.
Rebecca looked between the two men.
“Someone from your company?”
Adrien nodded.
“Someone with high-level access.”
Gabriel stared at the photograph of his father.
The old man smiling beside Lake Michigan.
The same father who had apparently discovered irregularities tied to St. Catherine eleven years earlier.
The same father who had died before he could expose them.
Rebecca looked at Gabriel.
“Who knew your father was investigating?”
Gabriel did not answer.
She asked again.
“Gabriel.”
He turned toward her.
“My father told three people.”
“Who?”
“His attorney.”
Rebecca waited.
“His accountant.”
“And?”
Gabriel’s face became unreadable.
“My uncle.”
Two hours later, Rebecca could not sleep.
She stood near the window of the second-floor guest bedroom, looking across the dark grounds.
Gabriel’s estate seemed peaceful from above.
The lake was a black sheet beyond the gardens.
Security lights glowed along the drive.
Men moved at distant checkpoints.
Yet Rebecca had never felt less certain of who was safe.
She reached for the glass of water beside the bed.
Her phone buzzed.
Not her damaged phone.
The temporary one Gabriel’s staff had given her.
Unknown number.
Her chest tightened.
She opened the message.
There was no greeting.
No threat.
Only a photograph.
Rebecca’s hand began to shake.
It showed an elderly woman leaving a grocery store.
Gray hair.
Blue coat.
Canvas shopping bag.
Her aunt Margaret.
The photograph had been taken that afternoon.
Beneath it were nine words.
Tell Gabriel to stop looking into St. Catherine.
Another message appeared.
Or next time, your aunt doesn’t make it home.
Rebecca stared at the screen.
Then she did something Daniel Mercer would never have expected.
She did not delete the message.
She did not hide it.
She did not try to handle it alone.
She opened the bedroom door and walked directly downstairs.
Gabriel was still in the library.
He looked up as she entered.
Rebecca placed the phone in front of him.
“My aunt is in danger.”
Gabriel read the messages.
His face went still.
Rebecca leaned both hands against the desk.
“I want her brought here.”
“It’s already happening.”
She blinked.
Gabriel was dialing Adrien.
Rebecca shook her head.
“No.”
He paused.
“What?”
“You don’t get to make the decisions without me.”
Gabriel lowered the phone.
Rebecca pointed at the photograph.
“That is my family.”
“I know.”
“Then ask me what I want.”
His eyes held hers.
“What do you want?”
Rebecca took a breath.
“I want Margaret protected.”
Gabriel nodded.
“And after that?”
Rebecca looked at the photograph of Vittorio Moretti.
Then at the threat on her phone.
Three days earlier, she had been a maid who believed surviving Daniel was the end of her problem.
Now someone powerful enough to reach inside Moretti Holdings was threatening the only family she had left.
Rebecca straightened.
“I want to know why a dead charity is worth hurting people for.”
Gabriel’s gaze hardened.
May you like
Rebecca continued.
“And I want to know who killed your father.”
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