Chapter 10 - G7
Elena did not give Gabriel the key.
She also refused to wait.
“What does G7 mean?”
They returned to Lorenzo’s townhouse before dawn.
The key sat on the dining table.
Sofia slept upstairs under the care of Dr. Harris and two security professionals Matteo trusted completely.
Elena stared at the letters.
G7.
Garage seven.
Gate seven.
Locker G7.
Lorenzo paced.
Matteo searched property records.
Daniel’s apartment offered no obvious answer.
Then Elena remembered the story again.
The lion crossed a river.
Climbed seven steps.
Found three stars.
“What river did we cross?”
Lorenzo stopped.
“What?”
“The story.”
She closed her eyes.
“My mother made it sound like a fairy tale, but maybe every part was a location.”
Matteo brought up a map.
“Where did you live when she died?”
“Brooklyn.”
“Neighborhood?”
“Red Hook.”
Lorenzo looked at the map.
“Across the East River from Manhattan.”
“The lion crossed a river.”
Elena nodded.
“Maybe.”
“Seven steps?”
“I don’t know.”
“Three stars?”
Elena suddenly remembered a sign.
A blue wall.
Three white stars painted above a door.
She had been very small.
She used to count them whenever they visited somewhere with her mother.
“One.”
Two.
Three.
Her eyes opened.
“Grand Central.”
Matteo looked confused.
“There are more than three stars there.”
“No.”
Elena grabbed the tablet.
“Not Grand Central Terminal.”
She searched an old address.
“Grand Central Storage.”
The company had closed years ago.
A warehouse facility once located near the Brooklyn waterfront.
Lorenzo leaned over.
“Unit numbering?”
Matteo found an archived floor plan.
Rows A through H.
Unit G7.
Everyone became still.
The property had been converted into private artist studios twelve years ago.
But the original basement storage cages remained.
Thirty minutes later they stood before an old metal gate beneath the building.
The key fit.
Elena’s hands shook as she opened it.
Inside was almost nothing.
A wooden chair.
A rusted shelf.
Three cardboard boxes.
And an old red suitcase.
Elena recognized it.
“My mother’s.”
She had not seen it since childhood.
For several seconds she could not move.
Lorenzo stayed behind her.
He did not touch her.
Did not rush her.
Elena opened the suitcase.
Clothes.
Photographs.
Daniel’s old baseball glove.
A stuffed rabbit that had once belonged to Elena.
She pressed it to her chest.
Then Matteo noticed the false bottom.
Underneath were six accounting ledgers.
A cassette recorder.
Four envelopes.
And a photograph.
Lorenzo picked it up.
His father, Vittorio.
Gabriel Vale.
Anthony Serrano.
Maria Reyes.
And a much younger Lucia.
The photograph had been taken outside a warehouse.
On the back were handwritten words.
If anything happens to me, follow the money, not the men.
Maria.
Elena’s eyes filled.
Her mother had left them a map.
Not to revenge.
To truth.
Matteo opened the ledger.
His face changed.
“This is enough to destroy Vale Maritime.”
Lorenzo looked.
Payments routed through charitable foundations.
Ghost vendors.
False foster-care grants.
Offshore transfers.
Names of officials.
Corporate executives.
Private contractors.
But one column mattered most.
Horizon Family Services.
Elena’s foster agency.
Lorenzo’s voice became grim.
“Gabriel used the charity to wash money.”
Elena looked at the pages.
“He used children.”
Matteo nodded.
“And Maria found it.”
Another envelope contained copies of letters to regulators.
Never sent.
One was addressed to Vittorio Moretti.
Lorenzo opened it.
His father had known.
Or Maria had tried to tell him.
Before Lorenzo could read further, the basement lights flickered.
Matteo immediately looked toward the door.
“Move.”
A car engine sounded outside.
Then another.
Elena closed the suitcase.
“We were followed.”
“No,” Matteo said.
He checked his phone.
“The building manager triggered an emergency alert.”
“What does that mean?”
“Someone entered through the loading dock.”
Lorenzo took the suitcase.
“We leave through the river exit.”
“There’s a river exit?”
“Old warehouses usually have one.”
Matteo led them through a narrow corridor.
The situation was tense, but controlled.
No dramatic confrontation.
No reckless heroics.
They reached an exterior door opening onto a fenced service lane.
A black SUV waited.
Elena stopped.
Not theirs.
Lorenzo moved in front of her.
The driver’s door opened.
Anthony Serrano stepped out.
Gold watch.
Black stone ring.
Elena recognized him immediately.
Lorenzo stared.
“Anthony.”
The older man looked exhausted.
“I don’t have much time.”
Matteo moved protectively toward Elena.
Anthony raised empty hands.
“I came alone.”
“You took my daughter.”
Anthony’s face filled with shame.
“Yes.”
Elena watched Lorenzo struggle not to lose control.
“Why?”
“Because Gabriel ordered it.”
“You could have refused.”
“He would have used someone else.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
Anthony looked at Elena.
“I was supposed to take Sofia somewhere she would never be found.”
Elena tightened her jaw.
“But you left her in a dumpster.”
Anthony looked sick.
“I couldn’t finish what he wanted.”
“You left a six-month-old child in freezing weather.”
“I thought someone would find her within minutes.”
Elena stepped toward him.
“You thought?”
Anthony lowered his eyes.
“I watched the alley.”
Elena froze.
“You watched me find her.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you help?”
“Because Gabriel had men watching me.”
“Those men outside my apartment?”
“No.”
Anthony’s face changed.
“Those weren’t Gabriel’s.”
Lorenzo became still.
“Then whose were they?”
Anthony looked directly at him.
“That’s why I came.”
A car appeared at the far end of the lane.
Anthony glanced back.
Fear crossed his face.
“Gabriel isn’t the only one trying to find those ledgers.”
“Who else?”
Anthony took one step closer.
“Your board.”
Lorenzo stared.
“What are you talking about?”
Anthony looked at the suitcase.
“Lucia discovered Gabriel wasn’t stealing from the Moretti organization.”
He paused.
“He was feeding it.”
Elena frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Anthony’s answer changed everything.
“Gabriel wasn’t the architect.”
“He was the accountant.”
Lorenzo’s face went pale.
“Then who was above him?”
May you like
Anthony looked toward the approaching headlights.
“Your father.”
