Chapter 4 - THE PHOTOGRAPH HE COULDN'T EXPLAIN
Adrien Moretti had lied to me.
And this time, I had proof.
I photographed the image and contacted Detective Elena Brooks, who worked with a joint financial-crimes investigation in New York.
She agreed to meet me at a police office.
I brought the photograph, the handwritten note, and the original pendant.
I didn't tell Adrien where I was going.
At the station, Detective Brooks examined everything.
"Do you recognize the second man?"
"Adrien Moretti."
She nodded.
"And the first?"
"My father."
She looked toward the photograph.
"Where was this taken?"
"I don't know."
Brooks studied the background.
A brick building.
A metal fence.
An old sign partially hidden by my father's shoulder.
She enlarged a copy.
Then frowned.
"The sign appears to say East River Imports."
I stared.
"Does that mean anything?"
She hesitated.
"It's a company that appeared in an older organized-crime investigation."
My stomach tightened.
"And Moretti?"
"We'll verify the connection."
I nodded.
I appreciated that she didn't make promises.
Then I showed her the note.
She arranged for a certified Russian-language examiner to review the handwriting and wording.
But I could already tell her one thing.
My father had written it.
He used the same unusual way of forming the Russian letter д that appeared on birthday cards he'd sent me as a child.
Brooks asked whether my mother knew about the pendant.
"Of course."
"Does she know about the hidden note?"
"No."
"Then I recommend talking to her in a safe setting."
I nodded.
That afternoon, I returned to Queens with a police safety plan in place.
My mother sat at the kitchen table peeling potatoes.
She looked up when I entered.
"You're home early."
I placed the photograph before her.
"Mom, who is this man?"
Her knife stopped.
She stared.
Then her face turned white.
"Where did you get that?"
"From my necklace box."
She slowly sat down.
For several seconds, she seemed unable to speak.
Then she whispered, "I thought I destroyed every photograph."
My stomach dropped.
"Why?"
She looked at me with tears in her eyes.
"Because I didn't want you remembering him."
"Adrien Moretti?"
She shook her head.
"No."
I froze.
"What?"
My mother pointed toward the younger man.
"That is not Adrien Moretti."
I stared.
"Mom, I've seen his face."
She began crying.
"The man in that photograph is Adrien's older brother."
My chest tightened.
"Older brother?"
She nodded.
"His name was Matteo Moretti."
I stared at the picture again.
The resemblance was extraordinary.
Same dark hair.
Same sharp jaw.
Same watchful eyes.
"What happened to him?"
My mother lowered her face into her hands.
"Matteo disappeared the night your father died."
I couldn't breathe.
Then she whispered the truth she'd kept from me for seventeen years.
May you like
"Natalya, your father wasn't working alone."
"He was helping Matteo expose his own family's criminal accounts."
