Chapter 3 - The Name Hidden in the Old Ledger
Lorenzo gave me access to the archives.
Not the public records.
Not the cleaned-up financial reports.
The private files.
The ones stored beneath the mansion.
My father's name appeared dozens of times.
Patrick Sullivan.
Senior accountant.
Trusted adviser.
Financial strategist.
Then suddenly:
TERMINATED.
No explanation.
No investigation.
No police report.
Just gone.
Lorenzo stared at the file.
“This isn't how my father documented betrayal.”
“How did he document it?”
“Evidence.”
He pulled another ledger from a cabinet.
“Every employee accused of stealing had pages of proof.”
I opened it.
There was nothing about Patrick.
“Someone removed his file.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“From the original archive.”
“Who had access?”
“Four people.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
“Dead.”
“My uncle.”
“Dead.”
“Giovanni.”
“Missing.”
Lorenzo looked at me.
“And Thomas.”
We both knew what that meant.
Thomas hadn't merely disappeared before the assassination.
He had access to my father's original records.
We found the clue at three in the morning.
An old shipping invoice.
Nothing unusual.
Except for the signature.
Thomas's.
And beneath it, a second signature.
Patrick Sullivan's.
The date was fifteen years ago.
Six months after Patrick supposedly disappeared.
My hands went cold.
“He was alive.”
Lorenzo looked closer.
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
He studied the document.
“This invoice came from a private warehouse.”
“Where?”
“Pier Seventeen.”
I knew the name.
The same pier where several Rossi shipments were processed.
Lorenzo ordered a team there.
They found an abandoned office.
Inside was a safe.
The safe contained photographs.
My father.
Giovanni.
Thomas.
And one other man.
Vincent.
I stared at the photo.
Vincent was much younger.
Standing beside my father.
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
“My driver.”
The room became silent.
“Your driver knew my father?”
“Apparently.”
We confronted Vincent.
He didn't deny it.
“I knew Patrick.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Vincent looked at Lorenzo.
“Because I was seventeen.”
“What happened?”
“Patrick was trying to expose Giovanni.”
“Expose what?”
“The money.”
“What money?”
Vincent looked at me.
“The charity accounts.”
Lorenzo's expression changed.
His father had operated legitimate businesses and charitable foundations.
But according to Vincent, someone had been siphoning money from those accounts and moving it through shell companies.
“Who?”
“Giovanni.”
“And Patrick?”
“He found proof.”
“Then why did everyone think he stole?”
“Because Giovanni framed him.”
I looked at Lorenzo.
“What happened next?”
Vincent shook his head.
“Patrick tried to run.”
“Did Giovanni kill him?”
“No.”
“Then where is he?”
Vincent's eyes lowered.
“I don't know.”
I felt something collapse inside me.
For fifteen years, I had believed my father was dead.
Now I had proof that he might have survived.
Lorenzo placed a hand on my shoulder.
I flinched.
He removed it.
“Sorry.”
I shook my head.
“Don't.”
He looked at me.
“I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“If your father is alive, he may be the reason all of this started again.”
“How?”
“Because someone may believe he still has evidence.”
That night, Lily received a message.
One line.
WE KNOW WHAT YOUR FATHER HID.
She brought it to me.
Lorenzo read it.
His expression hardened.
“Does your sister know anything?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
Then Lily spoke.
“There is something.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She hesitated.
“Mom kept a box.”
My heart raced.
“What box?”
“She said never to open it unless someone came looking for Dad.”
“Where?”
“At home.”
We drove there under heavy security.
My childhood apartment had been empty for months.
My mother had died two years earlier.
The place smelled like dust and old photographs.
Lily opened the closet.
Behind a box of Christmas ornaments sat a metal case.
A key was taped underneath.
We opened it.
Inside was a cassette recorder.
Three photographs.
And a letter.
The letter was addressed to me.
Norah,
If you are reading this, I failed to keep you away from the Rossi family.
I need you to know your father never betrayed them.
The person who did was someone Lorenzo trusts.
Someone who will still be standing beside him when you find this.
My breath stopped.
The person Lorenzo trusts.
There were four names in my head.
Thomas.
Vincent.
Giovanni.
And someone else.
Someone closer.
The cassette contained one sentence.
Patrick's voice.
“Norah, don't trust the man who saves you. Trust the woman who makes sure no one sees you.”
I stared at Mrs. Gable.
The housekeeper.
May you like
Lorenzo's oldest employee.
My blood turned cold.
