Chapter 14 - Beneath the White Roses
Nobody slept that night.
My father had the garden secured and contacted the investigators handling the larger case.
He didn't allow anyone to disturb the white rosebush until the area had been examined and documented.
That surprised me.
A few years earlier, he might have ordered half a dozen men outside with shovels and weapons.
Now he stood beside the kitchen window and waited for the people responsible for collecting evidence.
I watched him quietly.
He caught my eye.
"What?"
"Nothing."
He gave me a tired smile.
"You think I'm getting soft."
I shook my head.
"I think you're getting smarter."
For the first time in days, he laughed.
A real laugh.
Brief.
Exhausted.
But real.
Then his expression changed.
"Emily, I need you to promise me something."
I looked at him.
"If we find what your mother hid, don't let my past decide what you do with it."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"I've spent years believing I could protect this family by keeping secrets."
He looked toward the garden.
"Your mother believed the truth had to come out eventually."
I waited.
"I think she was right."
I took his hand.
"Then we'll do it her way."
He nodded.
For a moment, we sat together in silence.
Then my phone vibrated.
A new message.
From Ryan.
I hadn't spoken to him since the hospital.
Elena had advised me not to engage with him directly while the investigation and protective-order proceedings were underway.
But the messages kept coming.
Some were apologetic.
Some were angry.
Some blamed Linda.
Some claimed I had misunderstood everything.
This one was different.
Emily, please listen. My mother has been lying to both of us.
I stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
I can explain February twelfth.
Then a third.
You need to understand that Greco didn't choose you because of your money.
My heart hammered.
I showed Elena, who had come to the house early.
She read the messages.
Then looked at me.
"Do you want these preserved for the investigation?"
"Yes."
She nodded.
"Don't reply without discussing it with Detective Ortega."
Another message appeared.
Your mother left something in that garden. If your father opens it, he'll destroy everything she was trying to protect.
I went cold.
How did Ryan know about the garden?
Nobody had told him.
At least, nobody in our family.
I looked at Dad.
He was reading over Elena's shoulder.
His face darkened.
"He's watching us."
Marco entered moments later.
He confirmed that someone had tried to access a service road near the property.
The security team had reported the vehicle to police.
A black sedan.
Illinois plates.
The registered owner was a company connected to Arthur Voss.
I felt trapped all over again.
Even inside my father's home, Ryan seemed close enough to reach me.
But then something unexpected happened.
I didn't hide.
I stood.
"I want to see the roses."
Dad immediately shook his head.
"Emily, not while people are working out there."
"I'm not going alone."
"You need rest."
"I know."
I looked at him.
"But Mom left that message for me. If there's something there, I want to understand it."
He studied my face.
Then nodded reluctantly.
"All right. We'll ask the investigators when the area is safe."
By midmorning, the garden had been examined.
The responding officers documented signs of attempted digging near the white rosebush.
With my permission and after coordinating with the investigators, the family arranged for the area around the plant to be carefully excavated without destroying the roots.
I stood a short distance away, wearing a warm coat.
Dad was beside me.
Elena stood nearby.
Rosa watched from the patio.
The first few inches revealed only soil.
Then stones.
Then tangled roots.
One of the investigators stopped.
His tool had struck something solid.
My heart jumped.
He moved the dirt carefully.
A rectangular metal container appeared beneath the roots.
Small.
Weatherproof.
Covered in years of compacted earth.
The investigator photographed its position before lifting it free.
I couldn't breathe.
Dad took my hand.
The container was transferred for examination.
Several hours later, investigators permitted us to view photographs of its contents.
Inside was a sealed packet containing old documents and a small storage device.
There was also a letter.
Addressed to me.
In my mother's handwriting.
To My Emily, When You Are Old Enough to Understand.
I began crying before anyone opened it.
Elena sat beside me.
"Do you want me to read it?"
I shook my head.
"No."
My hands trembled.
"I want to."
A copy of the letter was placed in front of me.
I recognized every curve of Mom's handwriting.
My darling Emily,
If you are reading this, then something has gone wrong.
I have spent years trying to build a future where you will never have to understand the terrible things people can do for money, power, or revenge.
But I have learned that hiding the truth does not always keep the people we love safe.
Sometimes it only gives dangerous people more time.
I paused.
Tears blurred the page.
Dad put his hand over mine.
I continued.
There are things in this packet that belong to people who deserve justice.
There are names of men who believed they could purchase silence.
There are records of women whose lives were taken apart because somebody wanted what they owned.
And there is evidence concerning the people who betrayed our family.
My throat tightened.
Emily, I pray you never have to carry the weight of these secrets.
But if you do, remember this.
You are not responsible for the crimes of the people who came before you.
You are responsible for the choices you make after you learn the truth.
I stopped.
I could almost hear her voice.
Warm.
Gentle.
Certain.
I wiped my eyes.
Then continued.
There is one person I need you to watch carefully.
My heart began hammering.
Someone who smiles when others are watching.
Someone who speaks of family while destroying it.
Someone who has stood beside us for years.
I looked at Dad.
His face had gone pale.
I read the next line.
I once believed she loved you as much as I did.
My breath caught.
She.
Not Greco.
Not my father.
A woman.
I looked at Rosa.
Her eyes widened.
Then I returned to the letter.
I was wrong.
If I disappear, do not believe that Linda Bennett was merely following someone else's orders.
I stopped breathing.
Linda.
My mother had known Linda.
Long before I married Ryan.
I stared at the page.
"That can't be right."
Dad looked equally stunned.
"How could Sofia have known her?"
I kept reading.
Linda's name was different when we met. She worked with Vanessa Hale and helped manage the records that allowed Greco to move money through medical organizations.
When I discovered what she was doing, she begged me not to tell Vincent.
She said Greco would kill her son.
My mouth went dry.
Ryan.
My mother had known about Ryan.
Perhaps not as the man I would someday marry.
But as Linda's son.
I read faster.
I believed Linda was frightened.
I tried to help her.
Instead, she warned Greco that I had the ledger.
Dad turned away.
His shoulders began shaking.
I had never seen him cry without trying to hide it.
I looked down.
There was one final paragraph.
Emily, I don't know whether Linda will ever forgive me for refusing to surrender the evidence.
But I know she has made one thing clear.
She believes everything that happened to her family is my fault.
If she ever approaches you, please remember that a person who calls themselves a victim can still choose to hurt innocent people.
I covered my mouth.
Linda.
The woman who called me dramatic.
The woman who brought me tea.
The woman who watched her son hurt me and told him I deserved it.
She hadn't entered my life by accident.
She had been waiting.
Waiting for the day she could make Sofia Moretti's daughter pay.
Then Elena turned the final page.
At the bottom, beneath my mother's signature, was a postscript.
There is another truth I have been afraid to tell Vincent.
The evidence does not only concern Greco.
It concerns the fire that will be set in motion if he discovers I've copied his records.
I frowned.
The fire?
Mom died before the warehouse fire.
How could she know?
Elena leaned closer.
Dad stared at the line.
And suddenly, I understood.
My mother wasn't predicting the fire eleven years later.
She was describing a plan that had already begun.
A plan involving evidence, false deaths, and an organization built to survive the disappearance of its leaders.
I turned to Elena.
"Can you find out what's on the storage device?"
She nodded.
"The investigators will examine it."
"How soon?"
"I can't promise."
I looked at the letter again.
Something bothered me.
Mom had named Linda.
But the note about the fire seemed incomplete.
As if she had intended to explain something else.
Then I noticed a small symbol drawn beside her signature.
A rose.
Underneath it were three numbers.
317\.
The same number engraved on the bracelet.
I showed Dad.
He stared.
"Room 317."
I shook my head.
"I don't think it's just a room."
Elena looked up.
"Why?"
I thought about the jewelry box.
The bracelet.
The Ashcroft Club.
Westbridge.
Different places.
Different years.
The same number.
"What if it's an identifier?" I whispered.
Elena nodded slowly.
"An account. A file. A records index."
My father looked at the documents.
Then said:
"Or a person."
I stared at him.
"What?"
He swallowed.
"Greco assigned numbers to confidential sources and protected witnesses."
My stomach tightened.
"Three-one-seven was a person?"
"Possibly."
I looked at my mother's letter.
Then at the photograph of the bracelet.
And suddenly I remembered something Natalie had said.
Your mother left instructions for someone who might be targeted after her.
I turned to Elena.
"Find out who 317 was."
She nodded.
But before she could move, her phone rang.
It was Detective Ortega.
She answered.
Listened.
Her face changed.
"Are you sure?"
A pause.
Then she looked directly at me.
"Emily, they identified the voice on the call that came from Wisconsin."
My heart pounded.
"Natalie?"
Elena shook her head.
"Someone was monitoring the call."
I felt cold.
"Who?"
Elena swallowed.
"They traced a related communication to a phone associated with Linda Bennett."
I stared at her.
Linda had been listening.
She knew Natalie was alive.
And she knew Natalie had spoken to me.
Then Elena added one more detail.
"Detective Ortega says investigators have found evidence that Natalie may have been moved again."
My stomach sank.
"Moved where?"
Elena shook her head.
"They don't know yet."
I looked toward the garden.
The white roses swayed in the wind.
For twelve years, my mother had kept her secret beneath those roots.
And now that we'd uncovered it, the people who wanted it were beginning to move.
I felt my daughter kick.
I covered my belly.
May you like
Then whispered:
"Mom, please tell me you left us enough."
