Chapter 8 - THE SECOND AGREEMENT
Vincent Ferraro's voicemail followed me into sleep.
Ask Matteo what his father agreed to do after the fire.
For six years, Matteo had believed Giuseppe was murdered because he uncovered a crime. The evidence supported that. But the more we learned, the harder it became to separate the man who tried to stop the fire from the man who had helped create the business that made it profitable.
When I woke, the hotel room smelled of Sophie's coffee. She stood by the window in a sweatshirt, watching commuters move below the gray October sky.
"You were talking in your sleep," she said.
"What did I say?"
"You kept asking Mom to open a door."
I pulled the blanket around my shoulders. "I guess all these doors are getting into my head."
She placed a mug beside me. "Ortiz called. Bianca's attorney says she was taken from her apartment by her father. The detective wants to talk to you about the voicemail."
"Taken? Did Bianca call for help?"
"Her lawyer says she sent him a text. I don't know anything else."
I stared at the steam rising from the cup. I hated Bianca. I hated the way she'd looked at me while my ear bled, the way she'd treated servants like objects. But the idea of her trapped with Vincent made my stomach turn. People could be responsible for cruelty and still be in danger themselves.
At the police office, Ortiz showed us a photograph of a signed memorandum recovered from Wolfe's computer. It was dated September thirtieth, the day before the warehouse fire. The heading read: CONTINGENT PROPERTY DISPOSITION FOLLOWING CASUALTY LOSS.
Giuseppe's signature appeared at the bottom. Beneath it were the signatures of Vincent Ferraro and Adrian Wolfe.
"The agreement provided for the transfer of Harborline's damaged property if an insured event occurred," Ortiz explained. "The language is vague enough that it could describe ordinary disaster planning. But it also gave Vincent's company a substantial financial benefit from a fire."
Matteo read the paper twice. "My father signed this."
"It appears so. We still need the original to authenticate it."
"He knew something might happen," Matteo said, almost to himself. "He knew there was a plan."
Miriam, seated beside the window, shook her head. "He knew Vincent wanted the property transferred. He didn't know Vincent had ordered an arson. The morning before the fire, Giuseppe told me he was going to cancel the arrangement and deliver the accounts to investigators."
"Why didn't he?" Matteo asked.
"He thought he could convince Vincent to abandon the plan without destroying the friendship. That was his fatal mistake."
The room fell quiet. I looked at the document. The signatures were neat and confident, nothing like the uneven handwriting on my mother's letter. These were people who believed contracts would protect them. But a contract hadn't opened the east exit when a man needed it.
Ortiz turned another page. "There's more. The memorandum lists a charitable disbursement to the Romano Community Fund after the property transfer. If the fire went ahead, a portion of the proceeds was supposed to create a public memorial."
"A memorial," I repeated, horrified. "For people they expected to die?"
"We don't know whether Giuseppe anticipated casualties," Ortiz said carefully. "But someone drafted the document knowing there might be a serious loss."
Matteo pushed back his chair and walked to the window. I let him stand there for a while. When he returned, his eyes were red.
"I used to tell stories about him to my staff," he said. "How brave he was. How he always knew the right thing to do."
"Maybe he was brave at the end," I said. "That doesn't erase the decisions he made before it."
"No." Matteo nodded. "It doesn't."
Then he took out his phone and called his attorney, Nora Pierce. I had met her once at a staff holiday party. She was a sharp-eyed woman who spoke quickly and seemed unimpressed by anyone's wealth.
"Nora," Matteo said when she answered, "I want a full independent review of every transaction connected to Harborline and Bellini. Including contracts I renewed. I won't authorize anyone to conceal anything. If the authorities ask for records, we'll respond through the proper process."
He listened to her answer. "I understand there could be consequences. Do it."
For a moment the office felt less like the site of a family tragedy and more like the beginning of something difficult and necessary.
Ortiz's phone rang. She answered, listened, and opened a computer map.
"We have a possible location for Vincent," she said. "One of his former drivers reported that Ferraro kept a private office above a closed river terminal. We also have a vehicle sighting in that area from last night. Officers are checking it now."
Miriam stood abruptly. "Not the Bellini Terminal."
"You know it?"
"My father ran accounts there when I was a child. Vincent leased the upper floor years later. If he goes there, it means he wants the archives."
"What archives?" I asked.
Miriam looked at me with sudden dread. "The original cashbooks. The ones that aren't digital. I thought he'd destroyed them."
"Why keep them?" Sophie would have asked. I knew the answer before speaking it aloud. "Insurance against everyone else."
Miriam nodded. "Wolfe couldn't turn against him while Vincent held the records of every payment. Neither could the contractors."
Matteo looked at Ortiz. "If Bianca is there with him, she may be in immediate danger."
"We're treating it that way," Ortiz said. "But you are not going there."
He opened his mouth, then closed it. "I won't interfere."
We waited in a room with bad coffee and an old television. The news showed a photograph of Matteo beside Bianca at an earlier charity gala. Reporters called the engagement collapse a possible financial scandal. Nobody mentioned Hannah Cole, the woman who had lost her hearing for a night and maybe longer. I was grateful for the omission.
As the hours passed, I thought about the music room. Giuseppe had used it for years to store his regrets. My mother had hidden copies of his decisions because she feared the truth would die with her. Yet neither of them had imagined that their children would be the ones searching through the ruins.
At five thirty, a text arrived on Matteo's phone from Bianca's number.
DADDY SAYS HANNAH WILL COME IF I ASK. HE WANTS THE SECOND CASSETTE. DON'T TRUST HIS PROMISES.
Matteo showed it to Ortiz without replying.
"He thinks I have it," I said.
"He may think you control it," Ortiz corrected. "But it's in evidence custody. That makes you a target of a threat, not the holder of the tape."
A second text followed.
HE SAYS IF MATTEO DOESN'T BRING THE WATCH, I'LL BE THE NEXT ONE THEY FIND IN THE RIVER.
I felt my stomach drop. The watch was in the police lab. It contained an engraving with my name. What else did Vincent think was inside it?
Ortiz called the officers near the terminal and relayed the messages. No one suggested that I go. No one asked me to bargain. I was relieved, and a little ashamed to discover that part of me had expected them to.
At six fifteen, a patrol officer confirmed lights on the terminal's third floor. The building sat between a disused loading dock and a public riverwalk. Investigators were seeking an emergency warrant while officers established a perimeter. Bianca's phone remained active inside, but she had stopped responding.
Matteo stood and walked to the corridor. I followed at a distance.
"I want to go," he admitted when he saw me. "Every part of me wants to go through that door and make Vincent answer for my father."
"What would your father want?"
He let out a bitter laugh. "I'm not sure I know anymore."
"Then decide what you want the rest of your life to mean."
He looked at me for a long time. "I want it to mean that no one has to be afraid of me just because of my name."
I stepped closer. "Then start with this. Let the police do their job."
He nodded. His hand lifted as though he might touch my cheek, then stopped. Instead he reached for the door and opened it for me.
We returned to the waiting room just as Ortiz's phone lit up. She listened carefully, then motioned for silence.
"They have entered the ground floor," she whispered. "No contact yet."
Minutes passed. Somewhere in the building a clock ticked loudly. I focused on the sound in my good ear, grateful that I could still hear something clear.
Then the detective's radio crackled. "Third-floor office secured. One woman located. Conscious. No visible weapon. She's asking for medical help."
Matteo exhaled sharply. "Bianca?"
"Stand by," Ortiz said into the radio.
Another transmission followed, urgent now. "Ferraro not on site. Rear service elevator has been used. There is an open maintenance tunnel leading to the river."
Before Ortiz could answer, a third voice cut across the channel.
"Detective, we found the ledger. But it's inside a locked safe, and there's a message written on the door."
"Read it."
A pause.
"IT TAKES TWO ROMANOS TO OPEN IT. ONE DEAD, ONE LIVING."
May you like
Matteo turned toward me. "My father left another key," he said quietly. "And Vincent wants me to find it."
I looked at the scarred photograph of Giuseppe on Ortiz's table. There were still doors his son had not opened. And Vincent had just proved he would use anyone to force him through them.
