Chapter 8 - THE UNCLE WHO NEVER LEFT CHICAGO
Gabriel DeLuca had been alive for fifteen years.
Not in Europe.
Not hiding in Sicily.
In Illinois.
Margaret's letter explained that Gabriel survived the warehouse confrontation.
He had been beaten badly and threatened.
Salvatore helped create the story that he'd fled because admitting what happened would expose the financial crimes and fracture the family.
Margaret secretly arranged medical care.
Then helped Gabriel disappear under another identity.
Roman read the location twice.
A residential facility outside Rockford.
The same facility had received anonymous payments every month until Margaret died.
Afterward, someone else continued paying.
Charles Mercer.
"Why would Mercer pay to keep him alive?" I asked.
Rebecca examined the records.
"Perhaps because a living witness can be controlled."
Roman's expression hardened.
"Or threatened."
We drove to Rockford that afternoon.
Again, with investigators involved.
The facility director reviewed the documents before allowing contact.
Gabriel lived under the name Michael Grant.
He was sixty-two.
A stroke years earlier had weakened one side of his body.
When we entered his room, he was sitting near a window playing chess alone.
Roman stopped in the doorway.
Gabriel looked up.
For several seconds, neither man moved.
Then Gabriel whispered:
"Roman?"
Roman's face broke.
"Uncle Gabe."
I had never seen Roman move that quickly.
He crossed the room and embraced him.
Gabriel's good arm wrapped around his nephew.
Both men cried.
I turned away.
Some moments belonged to family.
Later, Gabriel told us what happened.
He'd confronted Salvatore about the stolen charity money.
Charles Mercer had created the false lending network.
Victor handled threats.
Salvatore benefited from some business deals and protected them.
But on Christmas Eve, Salvatore had hesitated when Victor wanted Gabriel killed.
Instead, Salvatore ordered him hidden.
"He saved my life," Gabriel said bitterly, "after destroying it."
Roman sat beside him.
"Why didn't you contact me?"
Gabriel looked devastated.
"Your father threatened your mother."
Roman closed his eyes.
"He said if I returned, she'd disappear."
I thought of Margaret secretly helping Dad.
Trying to repair damage while trapped in her own marriage.
Gabriel looked toward me.
"You're Thomas Bennett's daughter."
I nodded.
"Claire."
His face softened.
"Your father was a brave man."
Tears filled my eyes.
"Did you know him?"
"He visited me."
My breath caught.
"When?"
"Several times."
Gabriel smiled sadly.
"He promised he'd expose everything."
I swallowed.
"Did my father die naturally?"
The room went silent.
Gabriel looked toward Roman.
Then back at me.
"I don't know."
My stomach tightened.
Dad's pancreatic cancer had been diagnosed late.
He deteriorated rapidly.
I had never questioned it.
Gabriel continued.
"But your father believed someone was tampering with his medication."
My blood ran cold.
"Who?"
"He never proved it."
Then Gabriel reached inside a drawer.
He removed a sealed envelope.
"Thomas gave me this."
My hands shook.
It had my name on it.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph taken outside Dad's oncology clinic.
Charles Mercer stood beside Dad's pharmacist.
And next to them stood someone I recognized instantly.
May you like
Dr. Henry Walsh.
The physician who had treated my father until the day he died.
Related Stories
