Chapter 8 - BIANCA'S LAST BARGAIN
Bianca Valenti called Nora from a public telephone outside a downtown train station.
Nora did not answer the first time. On the second call she recognized the voice before Bianca said her name.
“Don't hang up,” Bianca said. “I know you're working with the police. I have evidence against my father.”
Nora stood in her temporary kitchen with a dish towel in her hand. She could hear traffic and station announcements behind Bianca's voice.
“Give it to the detective,” Nora said.
“I can't trust her. My father knows people everywhere.”
“Then call your attorney.”
“He'll call my father.”
Nora thought of the library, the ring striking her face, the glass breaking against her arm. For a moment she wanted to ask Bianca whether she remembered any of it, whether she understood that scars didn't vanish just because she put on a beautiful dress.
Instead, Nora said, “I'm not meeting you alone.”
“You're not the girl I met in the library.”
“I am. I'm just not afraid to say no anymore.”
Bianca's breathing quickened. “Tell Matteo that Vincent ordered the car work. Tell him I can prove it.”
“Tell the police yourself.”
Bianca hung up.
Nora immediately informed Helen and Detective Salazar, repeating the exchange as accurately as she could. She did not dramatize it or leave out her own responses. A detective was already looking into Bianca's whereabouts, and Salazar thanked Nora for refusing a private meeting.
“Sometimes the smartest thing a witness can do is stay out of danger,” Salazar said.
Nora was beginning to believe her.
Matteo's interview with prosecutors took most of that morning. His attorney remained beside him while he described the security-management agreement, false vendor invoices, and the times he had ignored warnings about irregular shipments. He provided access to company records, consented to an independent monitor for parts of the business, and agreed to give testimony when required.
In return, the prosecutors discussed a possible negotiated resolution to financial offenses. They did not promise that he would avoid prison. Claire made sure he understood that any agreement would depend on verified facts and court approval.
When Matteo left the building, reporters shouted his name from behind a barricade.
“Did your fiancée murder your father?”
“Did you know about the charity fraud?”
“Are you going to resign?”
Matteo stopped long enough to make one statement.
“People were harmed by transactions my company permitted. I've given investigators access to the records. I'm cooperating, and I won't comment on another person's guilt before a court determines it.”
He walked past the cameras and got into a modest car driven by Dante. There was no polished entourage, no show of power. Dante seemed almost uncomfortable with the change.
“I still have the old black sedan,” he said.
“Keep it. Sell it. I don't care.” Matteo looked through the window. “I'd rather arrive somewhere without everyone moving out of my way.”
That afternoon, the police forensic team completed its preliminary review of Giuseppe's vehicle. The wreck had been stored after the original insurance claim because Romano family attorneys had disputed parts of the valuation. Its preservation, once an irritating bureaucratic detail, now mattered enormously.
Investigators found indications that a brake component had been deliberately altered before the crash. The modification matched instructions on a work order obtained from the Harborline records. The person signing the work order used an alias, but handwriting and additional business records connected the job to Victor Mercer.
Julian Cross provided a separate accounting trail: a payment from a Valenti-controlled company to Briar Automotive, another to a private contractor, and reimbursements disguised as expenses for the foundation benefit. The original two-hundred-thousand-dollar transfer to Thomas had been one strand in the larger scheme, not the entire cost.
Dr. Voss explained his findings to Salazar. “The storm made the road dangerous. But the mechanical evidence suggests the vehicle's braking capacity was compromised before it entered that curve. I'm prepared to testify about the engineering. I won't speculate about anyone's intentions.”
“That's exactly what we need,” she answered.
The investigation was moving from suspicion toward a prosecutable account, but Salazar remained careful. Motive, opportunity, physical findings, records, and testimony had to fit together. A voice on a recorder alone could be challenged. A ledger alone could be misread. Together, properly authenticated, they could tell a story no one had been willing to hear.
Late that evening, police found Bianca in a hotel near Union Station. She had checked in under a friend's name and paid in cash. She did not resist when officers approached, but she demanded to speak to her lawyer before answering questions.
Salazar respected the request. Bianca was taken into custody on allegations connected to witness intimidation and evidence destruction, while prosecutors reviewed additional charges.
Vincent, meanwhile, was stopped before boarding his private aircraft. His lawyers insisted the trip was a long-planned business visit and challenged restrictions on his travel. Investigators sought a court order based on the developing financial case.
The news exploded across Chicago. Nora switched off her phone after a photographer followed Evelyn's clinic van for three blocks. Helen helped file another complaint about harassment, and the clinic moved Evelyn's appointments to an entrance away from the main road.
“I don't need to become famous,” Evelyn told Nora. “I only need to get better.”
“You will,” Nora said.
Evelyn smiled. “The doctor says I have to do the exercises, too. Apparently being stubborn isn't physical therapy.”
They laughed, and Nora felt a piece of her old life return.
The next day, Bianca asked through counsel to provide information about her father. Her lawyers proposed discussing a cooperation agreement, though no one promised she would receive one. Salazar arranged a formal interview with the appropriate prosecutors and a record of everything said.
Bianca arrived in a dark suit, her blonde hair pulled back without the elaborate styling Nora remembered. The lack of jewelry made her appear almost ordinary. Almost.
She claimed Vincent had directed the transfer scheme and the plan to disable Giuseppe's car. She claimed she had only repeated his threats because she was afraid of him. She claimed she had tried to destroy the briefcase to protect Matteo from learning how deeply his father was involved in the foundation fraud.
“Did you arrange for Nora Ellis to be assaulted?” a prosecutor asked.
“No. She fell when we argued.”
“Did you offer her money to change her account?”
“I was trying to resolve a misunderstanding.”
“Did you tell Victor Mercer to remove the briefcase?”
Bianca's face tightened. “I wanted the property cleared before the engagement dinner.”
Her version of events shifted each time a document was placed before her.
The prosecutor finally produced the recording of Bianca telling Giuseppe he didn't get to decide whether she'd marry Matteo. Bianca listened without blinking.
“That's my voice,” she conceded. “But I was angry. I didn't intend for him to die.”
The interview ended without an agreement.
Nora heard about it from Salazar, who called only to share information she was permitted to disclose.
“She still denies hurting you,” the detective said.
“I know what happened,” Nora answered.
“And the evidence corroborates you. Don't let her account change your memory.”
Matteo visited Evelyn's clinic later that week after Nora and her mother agreed. He brought the books Giuseppe had once recommended to Nora, three old novels with cracked spines and handwritten notes in the margins.
“Your father gave these to me to reshelve,” Nora told him. “He said he liked stories where the hero admitted he'd been wrong.”
Matteo ran a finger over the ink on a page. “He wasn't always good at taking his own advice.”
“Neither are most people,” Evelyn said from her chair.
Matteo smiled faintly and thanked her for preserving the evidence. Evelyn didn't accept the praise easily.
“I spent years being frightened,” she said. “Thank my daughter. She finally did what I couldn't.”
Nora shook her head. “You kept those records safe. We both did something.”
They shared a quiet meal from the clinic cafeteria. Nobody discussed wealth or power. Evelyn complained about tasteless tea; Matteo went to find her a better cup. Watching him walk away, Nora felt an affection she didn't entirely trust yet.
He returned with tea bags and a packet of cookies.
“Found a solution,” he said.
Evelyn eyed him over her glasses. “Can you solve the crossword clue too? Seven letters. Means 'person who learns slowly.'”
Matteo considered. “Student?”
“Stubborn,” Nora said.
“That's eight,” he replied.
For the first time since the dining room confession, they laughed without immediately remembering why laughter felt dangerous.
After dinner, Matteo walked Nora to the clinic garden. A path wound between bare rosebushes and a small fountain that had been turned off for winter.
“I got a letter from my father among Cross's files,” he said. “A second page. I didn't tell you before because I needed to tell the investigators first.”
“What did it say?”
“He called me the night before he died. He wanted me to go with him to meet a federal investigator. I sent his call to voicemail. We'd argued that week. I thought he was trying to interfere with my engagement.”
Nora saw the grief settle in his face.
“You couldn't have known what would happen.”
“I could have answered.”
“Yes,” she said. “You could have. And now you have to live with that. But the people who planned his death are responsible for killing him.”
He looked at her with an expression more open than she'd ever seen.
“I'm not asking you to forgive the man I was,” he said.
“Good. I don't think either of us knows him very well yet.”
He gave a small, sad laugh.
From inside the clinic came the chime of a clock. Nora thought about the missing call, the untouched books, and a father trying too late to correct what he'd built.
Matteo reached into his coat and held out the briefcase's brass nameplate, removed by forensic technicians after documenting it. GIUSEPPE ROMANO was engraved in small letters across the front.
“They said I could have this part back,” he explained. “I wanted you to see it.”
Nora touched the worn edge. “Keep it. But don't let it become another thing nobody's allowed to question.”
“I won't.”
His phone rang. Claire's name appeared.
He answered, listened, and went very still.
“The prosecutors are filing homicide-conspiracy charges against Victor Mercer,” he told Nora when the call ended. “And they've requested warrants related to Bianca and Vincent.”
The long wait was beginning to end.
May you like
Yet Matteo looked out over the dark garden with something like dread.
“Tomorrow they'll name the people they believe killed my father,” he said. “And after that, I'll have to tell a court what I did while they were doing it.”
