Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Never Resigned
Luca did not interrupt me.
That somehow made it worse.
I had expected questions.
Accusations.
Maybe anger.
Instead, he sat behind the desk and waited.
So I told him everything.
“Teresa came over at eleven forty.”
I remembered the rain that night.
The sound of her knocking hard enough to wake the woman across the hall.
“She looked terrified.”
“What did she say?”
“That she’d found something wrong with the wedding accounts.”
Luca frowned.
“What accounts?”
“Vendor payments.”
“Which vendors?”
“I don’t know.”
“She was an accountant.”
“Yes.”
“Why come to you?”
That was the question I had asked myself for three weeks.
“Because I wasn’t connected to anybody.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“She said everyone in your office belonged to somebody.”
“Explain.”
“Some people were hired by you.”
I swallowed.
“Some were recommended by Dominic.”
His expression tightened.
“Some had family ties to Angelo.”
I continued.
“And Vanessa had brought in three people after the engagement.”
“And you?”
“I answered an online housekeeping ad.”
Luca stared.
“She trusted you because you were random.”
“That’s what she said.”
“What did she give you?”
“Nothing.”
He leaned back.
“Nothing?”
“She almost did.”
I remembered Teresa sitting at my small kitchen table.
Her hands shaking around coffee she never drank.
“She had a padded envelope.”
“What was inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“She opened her purse twice.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“Then she changed her mind.”
“Why?”
“She said if I had it, they could make me part of it.”
Luca’s expression darkened.
“Part of what?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
Instead, Teresa had stood.
Walked to my apartment door.
Then turned back.
“She told me if anything happened to her, I should pay attention to places people ignore.”
“What places?”
“Laundry rooms.”
“Closets.”
“Service elevators.”
“Staff hallways.”
Luca looked toward the door.
“The invisible parts of a house.”
I nodded.
“Two days later, the office told us Teresa had resigned.”
“But you didn’t believe it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she left her coffee mug.”
Luca stared.
I almost laughed at how small that sounded.
“She drank from the same ugly yellow mug every morning.”
“She took it everywhere.”
“Even meetings.”
I shrugged.
“You don’t disappear voluntarily and leave the thing you carry more often than your phone.”
Luca said nothing.
“And she had a cat.”
“Meaning?”
“She asked me to feed him once when she stayed overnight for an audit.”
“My friend works at the animal clinic near her apartment.”
“I asked if Teresa had transferred the cat’s records.”
“She hadn’t.”
Luca stood again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The question stung.
“Because I work downstairs.”
He looked at me.
“I don’t get invited into offices to report missing accountants.”
“You could have gone to security.”
“The note says I was right not to.”
That silenced him.
His phone buzzed.
A message.
He read it.
Then another.
His face tightened.
“What?”
Luca turned the screen toward me.
Security records.
Teresa Walsh’s employee access card had been used yesterday.
Inside Luca’s house.
I stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“Apparently not.”
“Where?”
He scrolled.
BASEMENT SERVICE CORRIDOR.
6:12 P.M.
WINE STORAGE.
6:14 P.M.
PRIVATE ELEVATOR.
6:29 P.M.
Then nothing.
My stomach twisted.
“Was she here?”
“I don’t know.”
Luca called security again.
This time he asked for a man named Peter instead of Angelo.
“Pull yesterday’s basement footage.”
He waited.
Peter said something.
Luca’s expression changed.
“What do you mean deleted?”
He listened.
“By whom?”
Another silence.
“Of course.”
He ended the call.
“Angelo?”
“Yes.”
We looked at each other.
The house no longer felt large.
It felt sealed.
Luca walked to a wall panel and entered a code.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside were two phones.
A pistol.
Several folders.
He took one phone.
I tried not to stare at the weapon.
He noticed anyway.
“You don’t like guns.”
“That surprises you?”
“No.”
He placed the pistol back inside.
Then closed the compartment.
“We’re checking the basement.”
“We?”
“You’re the only person in this house who knew Teresa was afraid.”
“I’m also the maid with two injured fingers.”
“Which makes you less suspicious than everyone else.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Twenty minutes later, we were descending a private staircase instead of using the elevator.
Luca had changed into a black sweater and removed his jacket.
I had changed out of my uniform.
The borrowed gray sweatshirt the housekeeper gave me was too big.
My left hand throbbed.
We passed the kitchen.
Laundry room.
Boiler room.
Then the temperature dropped.
The wine cellar occupied nearly half the basement.
Rows of dark bottles sat behind glass.
At the end was a narrow service door.
Luca entered a code.
Wrong.
He tried again.
Still wrong.
“My code has been changed.”
That was the first time I saw genuine surprise on his face.
“Who can change it?”
“Angelo.”
“Dominic.”
“And me.”
He called Peter.
“Override wine storage.”
A click followed.
The lock opened.
Inside, nothing looked unusual.
Wine racks.
Wooden crates.
A tasting table.
Then I noticed dust on the floor.
Or rather, the absence of it.
One section of the stone wall had a clean crescent near the base.
“Luca.”
He followed my gaze.
We moved two wine racks.
Behind them was a narrow metal door.
No handle.
Only a keypad.
“What is that?”
I asked.
Luca didn’t answer.
Which told me he hadn’t known it existed.
Peter gave us the emergency override.
The door opened.
A stale smell drifted out.
The room beyond was small.
Windowless.
A folding chair stood in the center.
There were zip ties on the floor.
An empty water bottle.
A phone charger.
And one women’s shoe.
I recognized it.
Teresa wore the same black flats every day.
My stomach dropped.
“She was here.”
Luca crouched beside the shoe.
Something lay underneath.
A phone.
The screen was cracked.
Dead.
He plugged it into the charger.
Nothing happened for nearly a minute.
Then the screen lit.
No password prompt appeared.
Only one photograph.
It showed a passport.
American.
Blue.
Open to the identification page.
I stepped closer.
The photograph inside was mine.
The name underneath was also mine.
CLAIRE DAWSON.
But the passport number was not.
Neither was the date of birth.
Luca looked at me.
“I’ve never seen that.”
He swiped.
Second photograph.
Another passport.
Another photograph of me.
Different name.
EMILY PARKER.
Third photograph.
A one-way airline itinerary.
Chicago to Montreal.
Montreal to Lisbon.
Departure date.
Friday.
The morning after Luca’s wedding.
I felt sick.
Then Luca swiped one more time.
The final photograph showed a printed newspaper article.
A headline had already been prepared.
MORETTI HOUSEMAID MISSING AFTER ALLEGED THEFT.
Underneath it was my employee photograph.
May you like
And beneath that, written by hand:
IF THE CARD SURFACES, SHE TAKES THE FALL.
