Chapter 4 - MY MOTHER HAD LEFT HALF A WARNING
My mother’s letter became the most valuable missing page in New York.
Nico had never opened the envelope.
At least, he said he had not.
The wax seal appeared intact before me.
But seals can be copied.
I asked directly.
“Did you remove the second page?”
“No.”
I believed him.
That was inconvenient.
“Who had the letter before you?”
“My father.”
“Before him?”
“Your mother.”
“Anyone else?”
“Nico.”
His mouth tightened.
“My uncle Luca handled family papers after my father died.”
“Where is he?”
“Sicily.”
“Convenient.”
“He’s seventy-eight and hates airplanes.”
“Still convenient.”
Nico smiled.
This time openly.
It changed his face.
Dangerous.
I looked away.
Marriage was complicated enough without discovering my husband looked human when amused.
We contacted Luca by secure video.
He remembered the letter.
Two pages.
Definitely.
“Did you read them?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
He shrugged.
“Your father, Nico.”
My husband went still.
“Before he died?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say anything?”
Luca looked uncomfortable.
That was answer enough.
“What?”
“He said Evelyn Hart’s mother had been smarter than every man in both families.”
I liked her more by the minute.
Then Luca added:
“And that James Hart would one day regret pretending he didn’t know why she died.”
My stomach turned.
“My mother died from pancreatic cancer.”
Silence.
Luca’s face changed.
“Then forget I spoke.”
“No.”
I moved closer to the screen.
“What did he mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know something.”
“I know only that your mother was afraid before she became ill.”
Afraid of whom?
The call ended before Luca would say more.
I called my father.
Nico stopped me.
“Don’t.”
“You don’t give me orders.”
“No.”
He held my gaze.
“I’m asking you not to warn whoever is watching him.”
That was annoyingly reasonable.
I put the phone down.
Then someone knocked.
A Caruso guard entered.
“Nico.”
“What?”
“Visitor at the south gate.”
“Who?”
“James Hart.”
Of course.
My father came inside furious.
“You accessed Bellweather records.”
Not hello.
Not are you safe.
Nico glanced at me.
“How do you know?”
James froze.
Mistake.
I stood.
“Who told you?”
He recovered.
“My IT security.”
“About Caruso records?”
Silence.
Nico’s eyes hardened.
“My systems are isolated.”
My father looked trapped.
For the first time, I wondered whether he had come because he feared for me.
Or because we found something.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Who inside your company can monitor Caruso systems?”
“Nobody.”
“Wrong answer.”
He stared.
Then sat down.
“The breach came through our joint construction portal.”
“Who controls it?”
“Chief technology officer.”
“Name?”
“You know him.”
I did.
Andrew Mercer.
My father’s closest executive.
Family friend.
Man who sent me graduation gifts every year.
Respectable.
Exactly my mother’s warning.
Nico asked:
“Did Mercer know Evelyn worked for the DA?”
My father did not answer.
I felt cold.
“Dad.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He approved your internship background check.”
“You told me you didn’t know about the internship.”
“I knew where you were. Not what you were doing.”
A distinction designed by lawyers.
Then I asked:
“Did Mom trust Andrew?”
My father’s face drained.
That was it.
The name on the missing page.
Before he could speak, gunfire cracked outside.
Short.
Controlled.
Security moved.
Nico pushed me behind the desk.
Thirty seconds later, his phone rang.
A guard.
“Nico, we stopped the vehicle.”
“Who?”
“Driver is dead.”
“And?”
“There’s a package in the back seat.”
Inside was the missing second page of my mother’s letter.
One sentence circled in red:
NEVER TRUST ANDREW MERCER.
May you like
And below it, in fresh ink:
YOUR MOTHER DIDN’T.
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