Chapter 3 - THE SECRET IN HER FATHER’S CASE|
Camille did not sleep.
She sat at her kitchen table until dawn with the photograph beneath the yellow light, turning it over as if another message might appear. Her father, Étienne Tibido, had been gone for sixteen years. The police had called it an accident. His car had been found near the river, the driver’s door open, his briefcase missing.
No body had ever been recovered.
Her mother had died two years later, leaving Camille with a small apartment, a box of family photographs, and a warning she had never understood.
Don't let anyone make you ashamed of what your father taught you.
At the time, Camille had thought her mother meant the languages. Étienne spoke French, English, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Latin, and a form of Genoese he had learned from an old shipwright. He had taught Camille to recognize handwriting, compare ink, and question any document that seemed too perfect.
He had never explained why those skills mattered.
At seven in the morning, she called Delphine.
The older woman answered on the fourth ring.
“Camille? What's wrong?”
“Do you remember my father?”
A pause.
“Of course I do.”
“Did he ever come to the Ashmore building?”
“Many times. Before you started working there.”
“Why?”
“I thought you knew. He used to consult for the old owners. He could read the shipping records in the basement.”
Camille gripped the phone.
“What shipping records?”
“Those old ledgers Rosalind keeps locked up. Your father was helping them sort out a collection. He stopped coming after that argument.”
“What argument?”
Delphine sighed.
“Baby, I wasn't there. But I remember him leaving one afternoon with a face like thunder. He told me if anybody asked, I hadn't seen him.”
Camille closed her eyes.
“Did he mention a man named Ferraro?”
Delphine went silent.
“Delphine?”
“Not on the phone.”
That answer frightened Camille more than any warning could have.
At nine, someone knocked on her door.
She looked through the peephole and saw Tobias Cain standing alone in the hallway.
She opened the door but kept the chain in place.
“You followed me.”
“I was asked to check that you arrived safely.”
“I arrived safely. You can go.”
“Mr. Ferraro would like to speak with you.”
“Tell him I’m not interested.”
Tobias glanced at the photograph visible on the table behind her.
His expression changed.
“Where did you get that?”
Camille's hand tightened around the door.
“You recognize it?”
“I recognize the case.”
“Then tell me what my father was doing with it.”
Tobias looked down the hallway before answering.
“Not here.”
“I'm tired of people telling me where I can ask questions.”
“I understand. But if that photograph came from the person I think it came from, you're already in danger.”
“From whom?”
He hesitated.
“Men who believe your father stole something from them.”
Camille laughed once, without humor.
“My father was a records consultant. He didn't steal anything.”
“That's what he wanted people to believe.”
She began to close the door.
Tobias placed one hand against the frame, not forcing it, only asking her to wait.
“Miss Tibido, your father discovered that a group of men had been using forged shipping documents to move stolen art through the port. He copied the records. Then he disappeared.”
Camille stared at him.
“Why would you know that?”
“Because Mr. Ferraro has spent sixteen years looking for those records.”
“Why?”
“Because the men responsible killed his older brother.”
The hallway seemed to tilt.
Camille looked at the photograph again.
Her father had been sitting beside a leather case. Behind him, barely visible through the kitchen doorway, was a second man.
A man with dark hair, a narrow scar near his temple, and one hand resting on the doorframe.
She had never noticed him before.
“Who is that?” she whispered.
Tobias followed her gaze.
His face went pale.
“That's not possible.”
“Who?”
May you like
He looked at her.
“Gideon Ferraro.”
