Chapter 4 - THE RED CAR
Victor insisted on coming to the care facility.
I told him no.
He came anyway.
Technically, he followed my taxi in a separate car.
Apparently that was how powerful men interpreted boundaries.
When we reached my mother’s room, I turned on him.
“If you scare her, you leave.”
“I understand.”
“If she gets tired, we stop.”
“Yes.”
“No interrogating.”
His mouth tightened.
“I know what interrogating means.”
“Good. Because you look like one.”
For some reason, that almost made him smile.
My mother sat beside the window.
Rebecca Brooks was fifty-five but looked older.
Her right hand trembled.
Speech came slowly.
Memory came in pieces.
When she saw Victor, everything changed.
Her eyes widened.
Fear.
Immediate and unmistakable.
“Mom?”
She grabbed my wrist.
“Romano.”
Victor stopped several feet away.
“Mrs. Brooks.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“It’s okay,” I told her.
“No.”
She pointed toward him.
“Father.”
Victor frowned.
“My father?”
My mother squeezed her eyes shut.
“Carlo.”
Victor moved closer.
I raised one hand.
He stopped.
My mother reached toward the bedside table.
There was an old red pen inside the drawer.
She held it.
Then whispered:
“Car.”
“The red car?” I asked.
She nodded.
Victor’s expression became sharp.
“What red car?”
Mom began crying.
I sat beside her.
“Mom, you left me a message about it.”
Her hand tightened around mine.
“Garage.”
Victor inhaled.
“The estate garage?”
She nodded again.
“Carlo.”
Then she pointed to herself.
“Saw.”
My skin prickled.
“You saw Carlo with the red car?”
Yes.
Victor’s face went white.
The investigation report claimed the bomb had been planted in Victor’s father’s black SUV.
But my mother kept pointing toward the red pen.
“Red car,” she repeated.
Victor turned toward me.
“My mother owned a red Mercedes.”
“What happened to it?”
“Destroyed in the explosion.”
We looked at each other.
Why would Carlo be near Victor’s mother’s car before the bombing?
My mother suddenly pulled me closer.
Her lips touched my ear.
“Not bomb.”
I froze.
“What?”
She struggled.
“Switch.”
Victor heard.
“What switch?”
Mom pointed toward Victor.
“Victor… car.”
His expression changed.
On the morning of the explosion, Victor had been scheduled to drive the red Mercedes into Manhattan.
His mother changed plans at the last minute.
She and Victor’s father took the car instead.
Mia went with them.
Victor remained home.
The bomb had not been meant for his parents.
It had been meant for him.
Victor stood very still.
Then my mother whispered:
“Carlo knew.”
I looked at Victor.
“What did he know?”
She began trembling violently.
I pressed the call button.
A nurse rushed in.
Before my mother lost focus, she clutched Victor’s sleeve.
For the first time, she looked directly into his eyes.
“Your father… paid him.”
Victor froze.
“My father paid Carlo?”
She shook her head.
May you like
Then forced out the words:
“Paid him… to kill you.”
