Chapter 11 - THE SIN OF VINCENT’S FATHER
Z
Vincent left the Bellandi clinic without speaking.
Claire followed him into the courtyard.
“Vincent.”
He kept walking.
“Vincent.”
He stopped beside the SUV.
Daniel remained several yards away.
Claire approached carefully.
“You don’t believe him.”
Vincent stared toward the street.
“I don’t know what I believe.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
His jaw flexed.
“My father hated Marino.”
“I know.”
“He hated Patrick.”
“Did he?”
Vincent looked at her.
The question hurt.
Claire regretted the wording immediately.
But she did not apologize.
Not this time.
“He could have known something without being part of it,” she said.
Vincent laughed once.
“That’s supposed to comfort me?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He looked back toward the clinic.
“My father taught me that silence makes a man responsible for what he allows.”
Claire felt the irony.
“So if he knew…”
“He violated the one rule he taught me never to violate.”
Claire touched his arm.
Vincent looked down at her hand.
“I need proof.”
“Then we get proof.”
They returned inside.
Alessandro was still waiting.
Vincent stood across from him.
“Show me.”
The old man nodded.
Matteo produced another folder.
Inside was a letter written by Anthony Caruso, Vincent’s father.
The date was September 2001.
Claire watched Vincent read.
His face hardened line by line.
Anthony acknowledged receiving information from Margaret.
He confirmed Salvatore’s financial relationship with Patrick.
He wrote that confronting Patrick would destabilize several port agreements and create a war with Marino.
His final instruction was devastating.
Do not intervene. Mrs. Callahan’s domestic concerns are not ours.
Vincent read the sentence twice.
Then placed the letter down.
Claire’s heart broke for him.
“Domestic concerns,” Vincent said quietly.
His father had reduced a woman being poisoned by her husband to domestic concerns.
Just as Patrick had reduced Claire to merchandise.
Men found elegant words for ugly things.
Vincent looked at Alessandro.
“How did you get this?”
“Your father sent it to my cousin, who was trying to arrange Margaret’s escape.”
Vincent’s face changed.
“He knew she was dying.”
“Yes.”
“And he still refused.”
“Yes.”
Claire stepped closer to Vincent.
He did not look at her.
Alessandro continued.
“Anthony was not part of Patrick’s scheme.”
Vincent finally raised his eyes.
“But?”
“But he feared another war.”
“So he let her die.”
Alessandro said nothing.
Vincent turned away.
Claire followed him to a side room.
He shut the door.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Vincent put both hands on the table.
“I built everything on his rules.”
Claire waited.
“He taught me loyalty. Discipline. That family power means responsibility.”
“He may have believed those things.”
Vincent turned.
“He watched your mother ask for help and decided protecting business was more important.”
“Yes.”
“So what exactly did he believe?”
Claire looked at him.
Vincent almost never needed anyone to explain pain to him.
This was different.
“Maybe he believed his rules until following them cost him something.”
Vincent went still.
Claire continued.
“People are often principled when principles are convenient.”
“That’s generous.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
His mouth tightened.
Claire took another step.
“My father taught me I was weak.”
Vincent looked at her.
“He was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“But it took me years to understand that being wrong about me didn’t mean he was wrong about everything.”
Vincent listened.
“Patrick taught me numbers. He taught me to read contracts. He taught me that people hide intentions in language.”
Vincent’s expression softened slightly.
“I hate that some useful parts of me came from him.”
“You’re saying I can keep what my father taught me without keeping the lie about who he was.”
“Yes.”
Vincent looked down.
“That sounds infuriatingly healthy.”
“I’ve been working on myself.”
“I noticed.”
Claire smiled faintly.
Then the door opened.
Daniel.
“You need to see this.”
They returned to the main office.
Alessandro had spread an old map across the table.
Ports along Sicily, Boston, New Jersey and Nova Scotia were marked.
“Margaret discovered a network,” he said.
“What network?” Claire asked.
“Money and cargo moved through legitimate shipping companies.”
Vincent studied the map.
“Marino.”
“Partly.”
Alessandro tapped several marked ports.
“Patrick handled American bookkeeping. Salvatore provided access. Marino supplied enforcement.”
“And you?”
Vincent asked.
Alessandro smiled.
“My family controlled routes they wanted.”
“So this was a territorial war.”
“Initially.”
Claire pointed toward Nova Scotia.
“What’s there?”
Matteo answered.
“Callahan Holdings purchased land there in 1999.”
Claire frowned.
“I’ve never seen that company.”
“It was held in your mother’s name.”
Claire looked up.
“What?”
Daniel moved closer.
“That matters.”
Alessandro nodded.
“Margaret discovered Patrick had used her identity to acquire property and move money.”
Claire looked at the map.
“Like he later did with me.”
“Yes.”
The pattern had started with Margaret.
Then continued with Claire.
Women Patrick believed would be easy to blame.
Claire whispered, “What happened to the property?”
“Transferred after Margaret’s death.”
“To who?”
Matteo slid over a deed.
Claire read the name.
Claire Margaret Callahan Trust.
She stared.
“That’s me.”
Vincent looked sharply at Daniel.
Daniel took the document.
“Claire owns it?”
“Technically.”
Claire laughed in disbelief.
“I was eleven.”
Alessandro nodded.
“Patrick used a trust in your name because nobody questioned assets belonging to a child.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Who controls it now?”
Matteo answered.
“According to this, Patrick did until Claire turned twenty-five.”
Claire felt cold.
“I turned twenty-five last year.”
“Yes.”
“Then it should have transferred to me.”
“Yes.”
“But it didn’t.”
Vincent looked at Daniel.
“Find out why.”
Daniel was already calling someone.
Claire stared at the deed.
“What’s on that land?”
Alessandro’s expression darkened.
“A private harbor.”
“For what?”
“We never knew.”
Daniel ended his call after several minutes.
His face changed.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“The trust transferred automatically when you turned twenty-five.”
“So I own it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why have I never heard of it?”
“Because somebody filed an amended management authorization using your signature.”
Claire knew before he said it.
“My father.”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
Claire frowned.
“Then who?”
Daniel turned the document.
The signature authorizing continued management of the trust after Claire’s twenty-fifth birthday belonged to another person.
Abigail Callahan.
Claire’s oldest sister.
For several seconds Claire did not breathe.
“No.”
Vincent looked at her.
Claire stared at the signature.
“My sister wouldn’t.”
Daniel remained careful.
“It appears she did.”
Claire shook her head.
“Abigail hated my father’s business.”
“Maybe.”
“No. She barely wanted anything to do with me.”
Alessandro spoke quietly.
“That does not mean she wanted nothing to do with your money.”
Claire looked at him sharply.
Vincent stepped between them.
“Enough.”
But Claire was already thinking.
Abigail’s expensive apartment in Boston.
Trips Patrick claimed he paid for.
A consulting company Claire never understood.
All the years Abigail had told Claire to stop asking questions.
Claire whispered, “Where is she now?”
Daniel checked his phone.
“New York.”
“What is she doing?”
He looked up.
“Boarding a flight.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“To where?”
Daniel’s expression answered before his words did.
“Palermo.”
Claire turned toward the window.
May you like
Her sister was coming to Sicily.
And she had left Boston less than an hour after Claire landed.
