Chapter 5 - THE ROOM THAT HAD BEEN LOCKED FOR TWENTY YEARS
Room 317 smelled like dust and lavender.
My mother’s perfume.
I remembered it instantly.
My hands shook.
“Why was she here?”
Grandma stood in the doorway.
“Caroline came back the night she died.”
I turned.
“You said she died in a highway accident.”
“She did.”
“Then why say she died here?”
“Because she was dying before she got into the car.”
My blood ran cold.
Vincent stepped closer.
“What happened?”
Grandma looked at the floor.
“She had been poisoned.”
The room went silent.
“By who?”
“We never proved it.”
“Frank Cavallo?”
“Probably.”
“Why?”
“Because Caroline had the ledger.”
I looked around the room differently.
My mother.
Twenty years younger than I am now.
Terrified.
Trying to protect evidence.
Trying to protect me.
Grandma pointed toward an old wardrobe.
“The key.”
I inserted it into a small lock hidden inside the wood.
A panel opened.
Inside was a tape recorder.
And one envelope.
My name.
My knees weakened.
Vincent caught my elbow.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
I opened the letter.
My Daisy,
If you are reading this, then I failed to keep the past buried.
My eyes filled.
Your father loved you before you were born.
He died because he refused to let Frank Cavallo use Bennett property for trafficking.
I stopped.
So Gabriel’s boating accident wasn’t an accident.
Grandma closed her eyes.
I continued.
Your grandfather and Anthony Moretti made a bargain.
They would hide the ledger.
Anthony would protect you.
Henry would protect the tunnel.
Vincent whispered:
“My grandfather knew about Daisy.”
“Yes,” Grandma said.
I read further.
If a Moretti ever comes asking about the tunnel, do not trust the name alone.
Trust actions.
Then:
There is one Moretti who may someday learn the truth.
Vincent.
He stared at me.
My mother knew his name before I was born?
I kept reading.
Anthony believed Vincent would become different from the men before him.
If that proves true, he will know what to do with the ledger.
I lowered the paper.
“Where is it?”
Grandma shook her head.
“Caroline moved it.”
Vincent looked at the tape recorder.
We pressed play.
My mother’s voice filled the room.
Older than I remembered.
More frightened.
“Henry, if you’re listening, Frank knows.”
A pause.
“He knows Gabriel made copies.”
Vincent stiffened.
Copies.
“He believes one ledger is enough to destroy him.”
“But there are three.”
Tess whispered:
“Of course there are.”
My mother continued.
“One goes to Anthony.”
“One stays with us.”
“And the third…”
Static swallowed several words.
Then:
“…is inside the Moretti family chapel.”
Vincent’s face changed.
“What chapel?”
“My family mausoleum in New York.”
My stomach twisted.
Then another voice appeared on the tape.
A man.
“Caroline.”
She gasped.
The recording shook.
The man continued:
“You shouldn’t have come back.”
Grandma went white.
I looked at her.
“You know that voice.”
She nodded.
Vincent asked:
“Who?”
Grandma whispered:
“Not Frank Cavallo.”
Then tears filled her eyes.
“It was your grandfather, Daisy.”
Henry Bennett.
The man I had worshiped.
The tape continued.
My mother screamed:
May you like
“Dad, put the gun down.”
And the recording ended.
