Chapter 3 - The Last Message From a Dead Man
Vincent Moretti had an explanation ready.
Of course he did.
Men like Vincent never survived nineteen years beside powerful people without learning how to lie.
"Paolo wanted to discuss the Marseille delays," he said.
Adrian studied him.
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"It wasn't important."
"A meeting with my European liaison hours before his death wasn't important?"
Vincent looked away.
I watched his hands.
They were trembling.
Adrian's voice remained calm.
"Gabriel, preserve the relevant records and have our attorney contact the investigators."
Vincent's expression changed.
"You're involving the police?"
"Paolo died under suspicious circumstances. I want answers."
For the first time, Vincent looked genuinely frightened.
Later that evening, I found myself standing inside Adrian's enormous library.
A fire burned behind a black marble grate.
Beyond the windows, rain rolled down the glass.
Adrian stood beside his desk.
"Mara, you can leave whenever you want."
I folded my arms.
"Am I still employed?"
He looked surprised.
"Yes."
"Will I still be paid Friday?"
"Yes."
"Then I'd like to finish my shift."
For one brief moment, he almost smiled.
Then he looked at the photograph of my father.
"How old were you when Daniel disappeared?"
"Seventeen."
"Did he leave a note?"
"No."
"Did he contact your mother?"
"Not that I know."
Adrian nodded slowly.
Then he asked about Marseille.
I told him about the failing bar.
The old sailors.
The languages Dad insisted I learn.
The nights when he made me repeat strange phrases until I could understand them without thinking.
"Why?" Adrian asked.
I looked down.
"He said one day knowing the right words might keep me alive."
Silence settled between us.
Then Adrian opened an old leather folder.
Inside was a photograph of two young men.
One was Adrian.
The other looked remarkably similar.
Matteo.
"My brother disappeared when I was twenty-four," he said.
I studied the picture.
"Did you search for him?"
"For years."
"What happened?"
"Eventually, everyone told me to stop."
I looked at him.
"And you listened?"
His expression changed.
"No."
Then his phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
He read the message.
His face went white.
"What is it?" I asked.
He turned the screen toward me.
A video began playing.
Paolo Ricci sat inside a hotel room, looking exhausted.
"If you're seeing this," he said, "something has happened to me."
My heart raced.
Paolo continued.
"Adrian, your brother didn't die in the explosion."
Adrian gripped the desk.
"Matteo discovered that someone had stolen the original ownership records for the Marseille port terminals."
The old man coughed.
Then leaned toward the camera.
"The proof is hidden in a place nobody would think to search."
A pause.
"Daniel Vale knows where."
Then Paolo's voice dropped.
"And Adrian, whatever Vincent tells you, remember this."
May you like
He looked directly into the camera.
"The person who arranged Matteo's disappearance was your father."
