Chapter 9 - The Secret Hidden for Twenty-One Years
Dante immediately locked down the upper floor.
Rico moved Elena, Leo, and Clara into an interior study while his security team checked the property.
Salvatore’s voice had stopped.
But the final sentence remained.
Twenty-one years.
Clara looked at Elena.
“What did he mean?”
Elena hesitated.
“Your mother discovered Salvatore’s financial operation years before I did.”
“Twenty-one years ago?”
“Yes.”
Clara shook her head.
“My mother was a nurse. She wasn’t involved with criminals.”
“She wasn’t,” Elena said. “That’s exactly why Salvatore underestimated her.”
Rebecca had worked nights at a private clinic used by powerful families. One evening, she treated a badly injured accountant who had helped Salvatore create false accounts.
Before dying, the man gave Rebecca evidence.
She hid it.
Salvatore spent years searching.
“Why didn’t he hurt her?”
“He tried to frighten her. But Rebecca had already created insurance. If she disappeared suspiciously, copies would be released.”
Clara felt sick.
“And when she got cancer?”
“She decided to pass the evidence to someone else.”
Elena touched the gold locket.
“To me.”
Rico looked toward Clara.
“So the ledger is inside that?”
“No,” Elena replied. “The locket is only the key.”
Clara opened it again.
There was nothing besides the warning note.
Elena pressed the inner rim.
A tiny metal plate popped loose.
Beneath it was a number.
718-555-0917.
Clara recognized it.
“That was our old home phone.”
Elena nodded.
“Rebecca told me the location could only be understood by you.”
Suddenly Clara remembered something.
Her mother had always kept one locked wooden box beneath her bed.
After Rebecca died, Clara had opened it.
The box contained childhood drawings, birthday cards, and an old copy of The Secret Garden.
Nothing valuable.
Or so she had thought.
“My mother underlined random words in that book.”
Elena grabbed her hand.
“That’s it.”
Clara closed her eyes, remembering where the box had gone.
A storage unit in Queens.
Rico stood.
“We go now.”
Dante’s radio crackled.
A guard spoke urgently.
Then static.
Dante looked at Rico.
“Boss…”
“What?”
“The basement entrance was opened from inside.”
Rico stared toward the door.
Only family and senior security knew the interior access code.
Then Dante’s phone displayed the access log.
One name appeared.
Rico Moretti.
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Someone had entered using Rico’s personal code.
And the only other person who knew it was Dante.
