Chapter 7 - MY FATHER KNEW THE MORETTIS BEFORE I DID
My father looked strangely calm on the video.
That scared me more than panic would have.
Thomas Reed had spent thirty-four years teaching American history.
He believed every crisis could be improved with coffee, preparation, and a decent pen.
He did not belong tied to a warehouse chair beside Vittorio Moretti.
“Why him?” I asked.
Dante did not answer.
Too slowly.
I turned.
“You know.”
“No.”
“You know something.”
Dante stared at the screen.
“My father met Thomas before our wedding.”
“What?”
“One time.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
My heart pounded.
“Why?”
Dante looked ashamed.
“He wanted to know who you were.”
“Background check?”
“Yes.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
“But Thomas knew who Vittorio was before we contacted him.”
That stopped me.
“My father is a retired teacher.”
“That doesn’t mean he was always one.”
I called my mother.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then Rachel found something.
Thomas Reed had not always been Thomas Reed.
Before 1991, his name was Thomas Russo.
I stared at the screen.
Russo.
A name woven through Chicago organized-crime history.
Dante whispered, “Your father was an accountant for my grandfather.”
I felt sick.
“No.”
“He testified.”
According to sealed court records Rachel obtained through an old civil case, Thomas had helped federal prosecutors build a financial case against Angelo Moretti, Dante’s grandfather.
Then Thomas disappeared into a relocation program.
Years later he became a teacher.
Met my mother.
Built another life.
Never told me.
“Why didn’t Dante tell me?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Because your father made me promise.”
I laughed sharply.
“And promises to everyone else mattered more than honesty with your wife.”
“Yes.”
Again.
No excuse.
Just yes.
That made anger harder to hold cleanly.
The live feed shifted.
My father suddenly looked toward the camera.
Then he said something.
No sound.
Rachel enlarged his lips.
“He’s repeating something.”
We watched.
Three words.
Red.
Ledger.
Church.
Dante went rigid.
“What?”
“My grandfather kept a red financial ledger.”
“Where?”
“It vanished during the federal investigation.”
My father knew.
Dante whispered, “If Thomas hid it, Matteo wants more than the trust.”
The ledger could expose hidden ownership of assets Matteo had spent years trying to claim.
Then the warehouse camera moved.
Matteo stepped into frame.
He leaned toward my father and turned on the sound.
“Tell your daughter where you buried the ledger.”
My father smiled.
Actually smiled.
Then he said:
“I gave it to Lucia Moretti twenty-seven years ago.”
Dante stared.
His grandmother.
The woman who created the trust.
Matteo’s face darkened.
My father continued.
“And Lucia put it somewhere no Moretti man could ever legally open.”
I knew before anyone said it.
The trust vault.
The one now controlled by Lucia’s lawful beneficiary.
Me.
Then my father looked straight into the camera.
“Lena, whatever happens, do not open that vault for them.”
May you like
A gun appeared against his head.
And the countdown dropped below five hours.
