Chapter 7 - MARCO HAD WATCHED MIA AT PRESCHOOL
Mia could not tell us when.
She was three.
Time meant:
Yesterday.
A long time ago.
After snack.
Before nap.
But the preschool had cameras.
I called the director myself.
Not Vincent.
Not Renzo.
Me.
We reviewed visitor footage with the proper staff present.
Three weeks earlier, Marco stood across the street from Mia’s preschool for twenty-seven minutes.
He never entered.
Never approached her.
Still enough.
Then two weeks earlier:
Dominic.
Same corner.
Same time window.
My stomach turned.
“They were checking my schedule.”
Renzo nodded.
Probably.
Mia arrived at 8:15.
I started work at nine.
If someone wanted to know where I was, preschool drop-off confirmed it.
Then the preschool director showed me something else.
A man had called asking whether Mia still attended.
He claimed to be her uncle.
The number traced to a prepaid phone.
No proof who called.
Enough to terrify me.
Vincent offered to relocate us.
Again.
This time I said:
“Yes.”
Not into his house.
A secure apartment owned through one of his legitimate companies.
Temporary.
My sister came too.
Mia thought it was a vacation because the building had a rooftop garden.
Good.
Then my babysitter called.
The one who canceled the morning everything started.
“I heard something happened at the estate.”
“Where did you hear that?”
She hesitated.
A man had called her the night before she canceled.
He claimed to work for Vincent’s household office.
Said there had been a schedule change.
Offered her $200 to take the morning off because I would not be needed until later.
She refused.
Then she genuinely got sick the next morning anyway.
Coincidence.
Important.
Not every event belonged to the conspiracy.
We were all learning not to force every loose thread into one story.
Then Marco arrived for dinner at the estate.
I was not there.
Neither was Mia.
Renzo later told me what happened.
Vincent served wine.
Marco complained about quarterly numbers.
Then Vincent asked:
“Do you remember Noah Reed?”
Marco paused.
Only half a second.
“No.”
Vincent slid Noah’s photograph across the table.
Marco looked.
Still calm.
“Should I?”
Vincent said nothing.
Then another photograph.
The warehouse.
Marco standing beside Noah.
Marco’s face changed.
Tiny.
Enough.
He claimed he met hundreds of accountants.
Possible.
Then Vincent showed him nothing else.
No ledger.
No drive.
He simply said:
“Go home.”
Marco looked confused.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Renzo told me later:
“The most dangerous thing Vincent can do is let a guilty man wonder what he knows.”
I did not particularly enjoy that sentence.
But the strategy worked.
Marco made three calls within twenty minutes of leaving.
Dominic.
An offshore accountant.
And a storage facility in Queens.
Law enforcement already had the appropriate investigative process underway.
The storage unit became important.
Because inside, investigators found twelve boxes of records.
May you like
And one personal item.
Noah’s missing work laptop.
