Chapter 16 - Page One
I looked at Luca.
He did not defend himself.
That frightened me more than denial would have.
“How old were you?”
I asked.
“Twenty-nine.”
“When my father died?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know him?”
“No.”
Angelo laughed from the floor.
“Ask the right question.”
Evelyn pulled him upright.
“Stop talking.”
“No.”
I said.
“Let him.”
Angelo looked delighted.
“Ask Luca where he was the night Daniel Dawson died.”
I turned.
Luca answered.
“At a warehouse near the river.”
“With?”
“My father.”
“Angelo?”
“No.”
“Salvatore?”
“No.”
Dominic stared.
“I was there.”
Everyone looked at him.
Dominic swallowed.
“Not inside.”
“I followed Anthony’s car.”
“Why?”
“Because Salvatore had told me Anthony killed my father.”
Luca closed his eyes.
So many people had spent years following one another because someone else whispered the right lie.
Dominic continued.
“Anthony met Luca.”
“They argued.”
“About what?”
Luca answered.
“My father wanted me to sign documents transferring three companies.”
“I refused.”
“Why?”
“I thought he was hiding money.”
“Was he?”
“Yes.”
“But not from taxes.”
“He was trying to isolate the companies containing the bribery accounts.”
My anger shifted.
“You knew?”
“I knew there were illegal payments.”
“Did you know about my father?”
“No.”
Angelo laughed again.
“He knew enough.”
Luca looked at him.
“You called me that night.”
I stared.
“What?”
Luca remembered.
“Angelo called me.”
“He said a state investigator was threatening my father.”
“What did you say?”
I asked.
Luca’s face hardened with shame.
“I said handle it.”
The cathedral went silent.
My chest tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“At the time?”
He looked at me.
“It meant get him away from my father.”
Angelo smiled.
“No.”
“It meant exactly what people in your world always meant.”
Luca ignored him.
“I never asked his name.”
“I never asked what happened.”
“And the next morning?”
“I heard there had been a crash.”
“Did you know it was the investigator?”
“No.”
“When did you learn?”
“Tonight.”
I wanted to believe him.
That scared me.
Because belief had ruined everyone in this story.
Trust the evidence.
My father’s words.
“Where is the Black Book?”
I asked Angelo.
He smiled.
“I don’t know.”
Teresa interrupted.
“I do.”
We turned.
She was crying.
“Daniel’s flash drive contained an encrypted directory I couldn’t open.”
“The folder name was BB.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I thought it meant backup.”
Evelyn immediately contacted the digital team.
The uploaded drive was searched.
Directory found.
Encrypted.
Password required.
I remembered my father’s letter.
Numbers.
Patterns.
He loved puzzles.
But this password was different.
A hint appeared.
THE FIRST THING I EVER TAUGHT YOU.
I stared.
“What did he teach you?”
Luca asked.
I almost laughed.
“Not accounting.”
I closed my eyes.
My father teaching me to ride a bike.
Tie my shoes.
Make pancakes.
Then I remembered sitting beside him at age five while he showed me how to read the old wall clock.
“Time.”
I whispered.
Password rejected.
“Maybe a specific time.”
I thought of our house.
Every afternoon my father came home at 5:40.
Except Fridays.
Fridays he took me for ice cream at 4:20.
4:20.
The exact time Vanessa entered the linen room.
I stared.
No.
Coincidence.
I typed 1620.
Rejected.
Then 420.
Accepted.
The Black Book opened.
A scanned notebook.
First page.
Date.
Eight years ago.
DANIEL DAWSON.
Below it were names.
ANTHONY MORETTI - OBSERVE ONLY.
ANGELO FERRARO - INTERCEPT.
L.A.M. - AUTHORIZATION.
My chest went cold.
Luca Anthony Moretti.
L.A.M.
Angelo smiled.
“Told you.”
But something was wrong.
My father used full names everywhere else.
Why initials only for Luca?
I zoomed in.
The ink shade differed.
Teresa saw it.
“That line was added later.”
Evelyn called for forensic review.
Seconds became minutes.
Then the digital analyst confirmed.
The L.A.M. line was written with a different pen.
Different pressure.
Likely different date.
Forgery.
Angelo stopped smiling.
I looked at him.
“You added Luca.”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Angelo’s expression changed.
He looked toward Salvatore.
We all did.
Salvatore did not flinch.
“It wasn’t me.”
Dominic said, “Who else had the book?”
Salvatore answered.
“Anthony.”
Judge Hayes.
Angelo.
Then one more person.
His voice dropped.
“Isabella.”
Luca’s mother.
The dead woman who had returned to Chicago.
The witness who disappeared.
The woman everyone thought had been murdered.
Evelyn’s phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression shifted from confusion to disbelief.
“What?”
She listened.
Then stared at Luca.
“What happened?”
he asked.
Evelyn slowly lowered the phone.
“They ran Isabella Moretti’s death identification again.”
Luca stopped breathing.
Evelyn continued.
“The body in Wisconsin wasn’t your mother.”
Silence.
“The DNA test used to identify her was falsified.”
Luca whispered, “Then where is she?”
Evelyn looked toward the cathedral doors.
“I think she’s about to tell us.”
A woman stood in the entrance.
Late sixties.
Silver-streaked dark hair.
Black coat.
A sapphire ring on her hand.
Luca’s knees almost gave way.
The woman looked at him.
May you like
Tears filled her eyes.
“Hello, Luca.”
