Chapter 3 - THE FATHER’S SHADOW
Vincent did not respond.
For several seconds the only sound in the bedroom was Dominic’s breathing through the phone.
Their father had been dead for eight years.
Unlike Gabriel Rizzo, Salvatore Corvino’s death had never been ambiguous.
Vincent had been there.
He had held his father’s hand at Northwestern Memorial while pancreatic cancer reduced a man feared across three states to eighty-seven pounds and a whisper.
Salvatore had died looking directly at Vincent.
His last coherent words had been simple.
Protect your brother.
Vincent had failed the instruction in several ways over the years.
But never had he imagined that a dead Salvatore would be accused of shooting at Dominic through a restaurant window.
“Dom.”
“I know how it sounds.”
“Where are you?”
“Kitchen.”
“Stay there.”
“Police are coming.”
“Marco’s people will arrive first.”
Vincent glanced at Marco.
Marco was already moving.
“Tessa.”
She turned.
“Lock this room after Marco leaves.”
Marco looked back at him.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“I want the car.”
“You can barely transfer without assistance.”
“Then assist me.”
“Whoever did this wants chaos.”
Vincent pointed at the bedroom.
“They already brought chaos into my bed.”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
Vincent continued.
“My brother was just shot at.”
“And sending you into an unsecured location doubles the target count.”
Tessa interrupted.
“He’s right.”
Vincent glared at her.
She did not flinch.
“I don’t care how much you hate hearing it.”
she said.
“You’re safer here until we know what happened.”
“I am not hiding upstairs while someone hunts Dominic.”
Tessa stepped closer.
“No.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand that being unable to walk is making you confuse danger with usefulness.”
Vincent’s face went cold.
Marco glanced toward her as if she had just stepped onto train tracks.
Tessa kept going.
“You think if you aren’t physically there, you aren’t protecting him.”
Vincent said nothing.
“You’re wrong.”
She pointed toward his phone.
“Call him.”
Vincent’s jaw flexed.
“Get information.”
She continued.
“Use the people you have.”
Her voice softened.
“Your legs aren’t the only way you can reach him.”
Something about the sentence hit harder than he expected.
Vincent looked away.
Marco took the silence as permission.
“I’m going.”
Vincent nodded once.
“Bring Dominic here.”
Marco left.
Tessa locked the door.
Vincent called Dominic again.
This time the connection was clearer.
“Tell me exactly what you saw.”
Dominic hesitated.
“Old man.”
“How old?”
“Sixties maybe.”
“Our father would be sixty-seven.”
“I know.”
“Hair?”
“Gray.”
“Dad was bald at the end.”
“Before he got sick.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“What else?”
“His nose.”
“What about it?”
“Crooked.”
Salvatore’s nose had been broken twice.
Once in a boxing match at nineteen.
Once by Gabriel Rizzo in a warehouse fight neither man ever fully explained.
“Height?”
“About six feet.”
“That could be half of Chicago.”
“He looked like him.”
“Looking like him and being him are different.”
“I know Dad is dead.”
Dominic’s voice sharpened.
“I held the coffin handle too.”
Vincent stopped.
Something about the wording bothered him.
Held the coffin handle.
Not saw the body.
Vincent had seen their father’s body at the hospital.
But the funeral home had kept the casket mostly closed because illness had dramatically changed Salvatore’s appearance.
Dominic had arrived late to the hospital.
Too late.
“Dom.”
“What?”
“Did you ever see Dad after he died?”
Silence.
Vincent sat straighter.
“Dominic.”
“No.”
Tessa looked toward him.
Vincent felt the room become colder.
He remembered the final hours.
Marco outside the hospital room.
Lauren had not known him then.
Gabriel was supposedly dead.
Salvatore’s lawyer had handled the funeral arrangements.
That lawyer had retired to Florida two months later and died in a boating accident the following year.
Vincent had never questioned any of it.
Why would he?
Dead men were supposed to stay dead.
Until that morning.
“Vincent?”
Dominic said.
“Yes.”
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“The man didn’t just look like Dad.”
Vincent waited.
“He was wearing Dad’s ring.”
Vincent stared at his own right hand.
His father’s gold signet ring had disappeared the night Salvatore died.
Vincent had searched the hospital room.
So had Marco.
They assumed a nurse, orderly, or mortuary worker had stolen it.
Salvatore’s initials were engraved beneath the crest.
S.C.
“You’re sure?”
Vincent asked.
“Yes.”
“You saw it through a window?”
“He raised the rifle.”
Dominic swallowed.
“His hand was under the light.”
Vincent’s mind began rearranging eight years of assumptions.
Tessa whispered, “What ring?”
Vincent held up a finger.
“Dom, who knew about the ring?”
“Everybody.”
“No.”
Vincent shook his head.
“Who knew it disappeared?”
“You.”
“Marco.”
“Me.”
“Maybe Dad’s attorney.”
A thought hit him.
“And Mother.”
Dominic went quiet.
Their mother, Isabella, had died three years after Salvatore.
Stroke.
Sudden.
She had spent her last years refusing to discuss her husband’s business.
Vincent had mistaken grief for avoidance.
Now he wondered whether it had been fear.
Dominic’s voice changed.
“Vince.”
“What?”
“There’s something I never told you.”
Vincent felt anger rise immediately.
“Today seems popular for that sentence.”
“Two weeks before your shooting, I got a call.”
“From?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did they say?”
Dominic hesitated.
“They asked whether I wanted what should have been mine.”
Vincent stared toward the windows.
“The company.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I hung up.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew what you’d think.”
“What would I think?”
“That I wanted your chair.”
Vincent looked down at his wheelchair.
Dominic realized the phrasing.
“Jesus.”
“I meant your position.”
“I know.”
Dominic continued.
“They called again.”
“How many times?”
“Three.”
“What did they want?”
“They said you had become an obstacle.”
“And that didn’t concern you enough to mention?”
“I thought Calder was trying to manipulate me.”
Vincent’s head turned.
“Calder?”
“He had approached me about the harbor project.”
“When?”
“A month before.”
“Without me?”
“Yes.”
Vincent felt a familiar anger.
Not because Dominic had taken a meeting.
Because he had concealed it.
“What did Calder offer?”
“Financing.”
“For what?”
“To buy you out.”
Tessa could see from Vincent’s expression that the answer was bad.
“Why would I sell?”
Vincent asked.
“He said after the shooting you might not have a choice.”
“Before the shooting he said this?”
Dominic went silent.
Vincent’s heartbeat became slow and heavy.
“Dominic.”
“Yes.”
“Arthur Calder discussed buying me out before anyone knew I was going to be disabled.”
Another silence.
“Vince, I didn’t connect it.”
“You should have.”
“I know.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
He wanted to rage.
To accuse.
But Tessa’s earlier warning returned.
Don’t decide what happened before you know what happened.
“Stay with Marco.”
“I will.”
“Don’t tell Calder anything.”
“He’s still in the dining room.”
“Let the police have him.”
Vincent ended the call.
Tessa stood quietly nearby.
“Say it.”
Vincent said.
“What?”
“You have a face.”
“I always have a face.”
“That one means judgment.”
She leaned against the dresser.
“I think secrets are multiplying faster than facts.”
Vincent looked toward her.
“Meaning?”
“Lauren hid fifty thousand dollars.”
“Dominic hid calls about replacing you.”
“A dead partner may be alive.”
“A dead father may have a twin for all I know.”
Tessa nodded.
“And somebody wants you suspicious of everyone at once.”
Vincent considered that.
“Divide and conquer.”
“Something like that.”
He looked toward the black listening device.
“Then whoever planted this wants to hear me unravel.”
Tessa’s eyes moved to it.
Vincent suddenly raised his voice.
“Get out.”
Tessa blinked.
His eyes signaled before she could respond.
She understood.
“Excuse me?”
she said loudly.
“You heard me.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Fine.”
Tessa grabbed the basin.
“Do your own exercises.”
She slammed the door.
Vincent smiled slightly.
A performance.
For the listener.
Thirty seconds later the connecting bathroom door opened silently.
Tessa slipped back inside.
Vincent mouthed, Good.
She rolled her eyes.
He sent her a text rather than speaking.
CHECK LAUREN’S VANITY.
Tessa raised an eyebrow.
Vincent typed again.
SHE HID SOMETHING HERE.
Tessa moved quietly across the carpet.
Lauren’s vanity looked immaculate.
Perfume.
Cosmetics.
Jewelry.
Wedding magazines.
Nothing obvious.
Tessa opened the first drawer.
Then the second.
Vincent watched.
The third was locked.
He pointed toward a silver hairpin.
Tessa took it.
“Seriously?”
she mouthed.
Vincent typed.
YOU’RE THE ONE WHO THINKS I’M A CRIMINAL.
She gave him a look.
Thirty seconds later the drawer opened.
Inside were six envelopes.
Cash.
A second phone.
And a passport.
Not Lauren’s American passport.
A Canadian passport.
The photograph was Lauren.
The name was not.
Tessa carried it over.
Vincent read the identity.
LAURA BENNETT HAYES.
“Hayes?”
Tessa whispered.
Vincent felt his blood turn cold.
He knew that surname.
Thomas Hayes had been Salvatore Corvino’s private accountant.
The man who had disappeared the same week Gabriel Rizzo supposedly died.
Vincent opened the passport.
It had been issued seven years earlier.
One year before he met Lauren.
Tessa looked at him.
“Who is Thomas Hayes?”
Vincent stared at Lauren’s photograph.
“A man my father spent six years trying to find.”
“Why?”
“Because Hayes stole something.”
“Money?”
Vincent shook his head.
“No.”
“What?”
Vincent remembered the night his father told him.
Not everything of value could be deposited in a bank.
Some things could destroy entire families.
“He stole a ledger.”
The bedroom door handle moved.
Both of them froze.
The door was locked.
Someone turned the handle again.
Then stopped.
Tessa slid the passport into her pocket.
Vincent reached beneath the side table for the pistol Marco had insisted he keep nearby.
A voice came through the door.
Lauren.
“Vince?”
Tessa looked at him.
Vincent signaled for her to hide.
She slipped into the bathroom.
Lauren knocked again.
“Vince, open the door.”
Vincent put the pistol beside his thigh.
“Why?”
“I forgot something.”
“What?”
“My passport.”
Vincent stared at the bathroom door.
Lauren continued.
“Vince?”
He wheeled toward the bedroom entrance.
“What passport?”
Silence.
Then Lauren said something that made his hand tighten around the pistol.
May you like
“The one Tessa just took out of my drawer.”
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