Chapter 2 - The Uncle Who Knew Her NameMargaret Foster arrived at the Moretti estate shortly after four in the morning.
She was furious.
Not frightened.
Furious.
Rebecca hurried down the front steps as soon as the SUV stopped.
Margaret climbed out wearing the same blue coat from the photograph and gripping her canvas grocery bag like she intended to use it as a weapon.
“Rebecca Elizabeth Foster.”
Rebecca froze.
Gabriel, standing several feet behind her, raised one eyebrow.
Margaret marched forward.
“You were in a hospital for two days and nobody told me?”
“I tried to call you.”
“You sent a message to the wrong number.”
“I know.”
“And somehow the wrong number belonged to Gabriel Moretti?”
Rebecca glanced over her shoulder.
Gabriel remained silent.
Margaret followed her gaze.
For the first time since exiting the vehicle, the older woman stopped moving.
Her face changed.
Not recognition exactly.
Something deeper.
Memory.
Gabriel noticed.
“Mrs. Foster?”
Margaret stared at him.
“You look like your father.”
The sentence changed everything.
Rebecca slowly turned toward her aunt.
“You knew his father?”
Margaret’s fingers tightened around the bag.
Gabriel stepped forward.
“How?”
Margaret looked from him to Rebecca.
Then she seemed to realize that whatever secret she had protected for years had finally reached the end of its usefulness.
“I worked for St. Catherine.”
Rebecca felt the air leave her lungs.
Gabriel said nothing.
Margaret walked inside.
Nobody spoke again until they were seated in the library.
Margaret refused tea.
She refused coffee.
She refused Gabriel’s suggestion that a doctor examine her after learning she had been followed.
Then she looked directly at Rebecca.
“I should have told you.”
Rebecca stared at her.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“About Daniel?”
Margaret hesitated.
That hesitation hurt worse than Rebecca expected.
“You knew something about Daniel.”
“I knew his name.”
Rebecca stood.
“Seven years, Margaret.”
“I know.”
“I was with that man for seven years.”
“I know.”
“You watched me get engaged to him.”
“Rebecca—”
“And you knew?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Gabriel moved toward the door.
Rebecca looked at him.
“Where are you going?”
“This is family.”
“Stay.”
He stopped.
Rebecca turned back to Margaret.
“Tell me everything.”
The older woman’s shoulders seemed to collapse.
Twenty-one years earlier, Margaret had worked part-time in the accounting office of St. Catherine Restoration Trust.
The organization had been created by Vittorio Moretti to restore historic churches, shelters, and community centers throughout Chicago.
At first, the work had been legitimate.
Then strange transfers appeared.
Small amounts.
Then larger ones.
Margaret had brought the discrepancies to Vittorio.
He had believed an outside contractor was stealing.
Over the next decade, the theft grew.
Shell companies.
False renovation projects.
Inflated construction bills.
Properties listed as receiving repairs even though some had already been demolished.
Then, eleven years earlier, Vittorio discovered something worse.
Someone inside Moretti Holdings was authorizing the payments.
“Who?” Gabriel asked.
Margaret looked at him.
“Your uncle.”
Rebecca saw Gabriel’s face change.
“Enzo?”
Margaret nodded.
Gabriel looked toward the fireplace.
Enzo Moretti was his father’s younger brother.
Vice chairman of Moretti Holdings.
The man who had taught Gabriel to drive.
The man who had stood beside him at Vittorio’s funeral.
The man who had placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and told him that family would survive what grief tried to destroy.
Rebecca spoke softly.
“What does Daniel have to do with it?”
Margaret looked ashamed.
“He worked for one of Enzo’s accounting firms.”
Rebecca sat down again.
“How long?”
“About twelve years ago.”
Before Rebecca met him.
Margaret continued.
“I recognized him the first time you brought him to my apartment.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled.
“And you said nothing.”
“I asked him questions.”
“What questions?”
“Where he worked. Who he knew. Whether he remembered St. Catherine.”
Rebecca’s voice sharpened.
“And?”
“He acted as though he had never heard of it.”
“You believed him?”
“No.”
The answer stunned her.
“Then why did you let me stay with him?”
Margaret’s composure broke.
“Because you loved him.”
Rebecca stared.
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“I know.”
“You could have warned me.”
“I was afraid.”
“For yourself?”
“For you.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Margaret looked at Gabriel.
“After Vittorio died, someone came to my apartment.”
Gabriel’s head lifted.
“A man?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I never learned his name.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me that accidents happened to people who misunderstood the difference between bookkeeping and loyalty.”
Silence.
Margaret continued.
“I quit. I moved. I changed my phone number. I raised Rebecca and tried never to speak about St. Catherine again.”
Rebecca’s anger began mixing with something else.
Understanding.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But understanding.
Gabriel walked to the window.
“Did my father give you anything before he died?”
Margaret did not answer.
Gabriel turned.
“Mrs. Foster.”
Still nothing.
Rebecca stared at her aunt.
“Margaret?”
The older woman looked down at her hands.
“Yes.”
Gabriel crossed the room.
“What?”
“A ledger.”
Rebecca’s heart jumped.
Gabriel stopped directly across from her.
“Where is it?”
“In a safe-deposit box.”
Adrien entered the room at that exact moment.
He had clearly heard the final words.
“Which bank?”
Margaret looked at him.
“First Chicago Federal.”
Adrien’s expression darkened.
“That branch opens at eight.”
Margaret nodded.
“Then we’ll go at eight.”
Gabriel shook his head.
“You’re not going anywhere until we know whether they’re watching the bank.”
Margaret almost smiled.
“Your father used to give orders like that too.”
Gabriel’s expression softened for the first time.
“And did people listen?”
“Usually.”
“Did you?”
“Rarely.”
Rebecca let out a startled laugh.
It was small.
But real.
The tension in the room broke for half a second.
Then the front door opened.
Voices echoed from the foyer.
Adrien immediately touched his earpiece.
His expression hardened.
Gabriel looked at him.
“Who?”
Adrien answered quietly.
“Your uncle.”
Rebecca felt every muscle in her body tense.
Enzo Moretti entered the library without waiting to be invited.
He was sixty-two, elegant, silver-haired, and dressed in a charcoal suit despite the hour.
His resemblance to Vittorio was obvious.
But where Vittorio’s photograph showed warmth, Enzo’s face carried calculated charm.
“Gabriel.”
His gaze moved around the room.
Adrien.
Margaret.
Rebecca.
The smile disappeared.
“Margaret Foster.”
Rebecca’s stomach dropped.
Gabriel watched his uncle.
“You know her.”
Enzo recovered quickly.
“I knew many people involved with St. Catherine.”
Margaret did not move.
“You remembered me after twenty-one years.”
Enzo smiled again.
“I have a good memory.”
“So did Vittorio.”
The room became silent.
Enzo looked at Gabriel.
“I heard there was an incident involving Mercer.”
Gabriel’s expression did not change.
“Interesting.”
“What is?”
“You heard quickly.”
“I sit on the company board.”
“You were informed about an assault against an employee before I told the board?”
Enzo’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Rebecca noticed.
So did Gabriel.
Enzo turned toward her.
“And you must be Rebecca.”
She stared at him.
He extended a hand.
She did not take it.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you.”
Rebecca asked, “How do you know what happened?”
Enzo’s hand slowly lowered.
“Gabriel just mentioned the assault.”
“He didn’t mention the cellar.”
Gabriel’s eyes sharpened.
Enzo had not said cellar either.
But Rebecca deliberately continued.
“Did Daniel tell you?”
The older man’s face remained composed.
“I haven’t spoken to Daniel.”
“Then who did?”
Gabriel stepped forward.
“Rebecca.”
She looked at him, expecting him to stop her.
Instead he said, “Let him answer.”
Enzo’s expression cooled.
“This is absurd.”
Margaret spoke from behind them.
“Is it?”
Enzo turned toward her.
For several seconds, the two older people stared at each other.
Then Margaret said something that made Gabriel go completely still.
“Your brother knew about Hawthorne Fleet Services.”
Enzo’s face changed.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But Rebecca saw it.
Gabriel saw it.
Adrien saw it.
Enzo looked at Margaret.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Margaret nodded slowly.
“That’s what I thought.”
Enzo walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he stopped beside Rebecca.
“You’ve had a difficult week. You should be careful about involving yourself in matters you don’t understand.”
Rebecca looked directly at him.
“Daniel said almost the same thing.”
Enzo’s eyes hardened.
Rebecca did not look away.
He left.
Twenty seconds later, Gabriel turned toward Margaret.
“What is Hawthorne Fleet Services?”
Margaret reached into her grocery bag.
For a moment, Rebecca expected groceries.
Instead Margaret removed a small brass key.
She placed it on the desk.
“The company that serviced your father’s car two days before he died.”
Gabriel stared at it.
“And that?”
“The key to the box where I kept the ledger.”
Adrien’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face drained of color.
Gabriel noticed immediately.
“What happened?”
Adrien looked at Margaret.
“The bank.”
Margaret’s hands began trembling.
Adrien continued.
“Someone accessed Mrs. Foster’s safe-deposit box yesterday.”
Rebecca stood.
Margaret whispered, “That’s impossible.”
May you like
Adrien looked at Gabriel.
“The box is empty.”
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