Chapter 5 - The Woman Who Knew Her Mother|
Clara didn't open the envelope immediately.
Her mother's handwriting was unmistakable. The capital C leaned slightly to the left, and the final letters in each word grew smaller, as if Evelyn Bennett had always been in a hurry to finish writing.
Clara had kept dozens of her letters in a shoebox beneath her bed. Birthday notes, reminders about school, a recipe for chicken soup, and one last card written during the hospital stay that had preceded Evelyn's death.
None of them contained a warning.
“Where is the woman?” Clara asked.
“The lobby,” the waiter replied. “She said she wouldn't wait long.”
Dante glanced at his security chief.
“Take two men downstairs. Keep her in sight, but don't frighten her. I want to know whether she came alone.”
Clara stepped forward.
“I'm coming.”
“You should remain here,” Dante said.
“No.”
He studied her.
“Your knee is injured.”
“My mother is dead, a stranger is using her name, and someone just threatened me. I'm not sitting in a ballroom while other people decide what I'm allowed to know.”
For a moment, the faintest hint of approval crossed Dante's face.
“All right. But you stay beside me.”
They crossed the hotel lobby together.
The woman waiting near the revolving doors was in her late sixties, wearing a gray coat and carrying a leather handbag with a broken clasp. Her silver hair was tucked beneath a plain hat. She looked like someone who might have spent thirty years working in a public library.
When she saw Clara, her eyes filled with tears.
“You have Evelyn's face.”
Clara stopped several feet away.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Margaret Ellis. I worked with your mother at a legal services office in Lower Manhattan.”
“Why did you tell the receptionist your name was Evelyn?”
“I didn't. I told her I was looking for Evelyn's daughter. Someone must have misunderstood.”
Dante's security chief approached.
“She came alone, sir. No suspicious vehicle identified so far.”
Margaret looked at Dante and stiffened.
“Michael's nephew.”
“Margaret Ellis,” he replied. “I remember your name from an old file.”
“You shouldn't.”
“Why?”
“Because the people who wanted that file buried are still alive.”
Clara's throat tightened.
“What did my mother do?”
Margaret looked at her for a long moment.
“Your mother found proof that someone was stealing from the Moretti shipping companies and using charitable foundations to hide the money. She made copies because the original records were disappearing.”
“Who was responsible?”
“I never saw the person move the money. I saw the records. I saw the instructions. And I saw a name that appeared in places it shouldn't have.”
“Whose name?”
Margaret opened her handbag and removed a small photograph.
It showed a younger Evelyn standing outside a brick office building with two men. One was a dark-haired man Clara didn't recognize. The other was older, wearing an expensive suit and a silver tie pin shaped like a compass.
Dante took the photograph.
His expression changed instantly.
“Richard Vale.”
“Who is he?” Clara asked.
“Former financial adviser to my uncle. He left the company years ago and built his own investment firm.”
Margaret nodded.
“He was the one who insisted the records were incomplete. Your mother refused to sign a statement blaming Michael Moretti. After that, people began following her.”
Clara felt the lobby tilt around her.
“Why didn't she go to the police?”
“She did. But the evidence was scattered, and someone warned her that you could be taken away from her. She was a single mother, and she believed that keeping you out of the case was the only way to keep you safe.”
“Then why did she keep the copies?”
“Because she thought one day someone would be brave enough to use them.”
Margaret reached into her bag again and produced a brass key.
“Your mother gave me this two months before she died. She told me to keep it until I was certain the people involved had started looking for you.”
Clara stared at the key.
“Where does it go?”
“To a storage unit in Queens. The rent has been paid through a trust account for twenty years.”
Dante held out his hand.
Margaret didn't give him the key.
“No,” she said. “Not to you.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“You believe I'm part of the problem?”
“I believe the Moretti name has protected men who should have been exposed. If I hand you everything, how do I know the evidence won't vanish again?”
Clara looked at the key.
“Give it to me.”
Margaret studied her face, then placed the brass key in Clara's palm.
“Your mother said you would understand why it mattered.”
A sudden crash came from outside.
One of the security officers shouted for everyone to get down.
A dark sedan had mounted the curb, its headlights glaring through the glass doors. It reversed sharply and disappeared into traffic.
On the floor beside the entrance lay a small package.
Dante's men approached it cautiously.
Clara opened her fingers and looked down at the brass key.
Tied around it was a strip of paper she hadn't noticed before.
May you like
Four words were written on it.
The storage unit is empty.
