Chapter 6 - THE JOB THAT WENT TOO BIG
Clara remembered more than she wanted to.
Daniel had called at 3:17 in the morning.
She almost ignored him.
They had been estranged for years.
Then their mother died, and grief weakened boundaries.
“He sounded terrified,” Clara said.
“What exactly did he say?”
“I wrote some of it down afterward.”
“You have it?”
“In an old notebook.”
Dominic sent someone.
Two hours later, the notebook arrived from Clara’s apartment.
Page fifty-three.
Her handwriting:
D called drunk. Says he has 180K. Says “job too big.” Keeps saying kid wasn’t supposed to be there. Says “woman changed seats.” Says he can never go back to RI.
Woman changed seats.
Elena.
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
Owen answered.
“Your wife usually sat behind the driver.”
That night, Matteo wanted to sit there because he liked watching traffic through the side window.
Elena moved to the rear passenger seat.
Directly above the device.
If the bomb targeted a seat—
My wife may not have been the intended victim.
I looked at Matteo’s old seating chart from the investigation.
The device sat under the seat I normally used when traveling with family.
Me.
Target:
Vincent Rossi.
Obvious.
Then why did Daniel say the woman changed seats?
Maybe whoever hired him expected me to sit rear passenger.
Standard.
Elena took it.
Matteo sat opposite.
I survived because I was in the front talking to the driver.
One small change.
Three ruined lives.
Clara stared at the notebook.
“I should’ve told police.”
“You didn’t know what he meant.”
“I knew it was bad.”
“You didn’t know it was this.”
She looked at me.
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
No.
But shame rarely improves evidence.
We focused.
Daniel had received payment from James Larkin’s shell company.
Larkin later died.
Who paid Larkin?
Records.
Money always moves.
Dominic used financial investigators outside our usual circle.
Three days later, they traced the shell funding backward through construction companies.
Then a waterfront development entity.
Then a trust.
Owner:
Bellini interests.
Rival family.
Too easy.
I didn’t believe it.
Neither did Dominic.
The Bellinis hated me.
That did not mean they financed the bomb.
Then we found the actual signer on the intermediary account.
Elias Mercer.
Matteo’s surgeon.
My chest tightened.
Why would a spinal surgeon be tied to waterfront shells?
Clara frowned.
“Maybe not the same man.”
It was.
Same date of birth.
Same address.
Mercer had invested privately in a redevelopment project with Bellini financing.
Not necessarily criminal.
Then another fact surfaced.
Dr. Mercer had treated James Larkin after a workplace injury.
And Daniel Hayes after a fractured hand.
Connections.
Not proof.
We needed Daniel.
Then Matteo spoke again.
Not because we asked.
At dinner, he looked at Clara and said:
“Mommy knew Daniel.”
Clara froze.
I moved slowly.
“How?”
Matteo looked at me.
“She said his name.”
“When?”
“Car.”
“Before the explosion?”
He nodded.
“What did she say?”
My son’s face tightened.
Then:
“She said, ‘Daniel, don’t.’”
Clara started crying.
Quietly.
Matteo looked scared.
She wiped her face.
“I’m okay.”
Then he said:
“He was under the car.”
There it was.
Daniel Hayes.
Clara’s brother.
The man who put her in this house.
He had planted the bomb.
May you like
But the bigger question remained.
Who hired him?
