Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH|
Lorenzo read the note until the paper trembled between his fingers.
His brother had not acted alone.
For three years, Lorenzo had imagined Matteo cutting the brakes, arranging the accident, and then using Vanessa to isolate him. The possibility that another person had participated opened an entirely new set of questions.
Abigail placed the photograph beneath a desk lamp.
“Could your father have written this before he died?”
“The handwriting is his. But I don't know when he wrote it.”
“Who else had access to his papers?”
“My father's solicitor. His personal assistant. Matteo. Me.”
“And Vanessa?”
“She met my father twice before his death.”
“Would he have trusted her?”
“No.”
Lorenzo studied the chapel in the photograph. The building stood on the western edge of the estate, beyond an overgrown garden and a row of old cypress trees. His father had restored it after his wife died, insisting that some places should remain untouched by the family's business.
Beneath the chapel lay a narrow archive built during Prohibition. Lorenzo remembered playing there as a child, searching dusty shelves for old maps while his father pretended not to notice.
“That's where the original will is hidden,” he said.
“Then we should go there.”
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because if Matteo discovers that we have the key, he'll know we're looking for the archive.”
Abigail nodded. “Then we need to understand who else might be involved.”
Rosa arrived with a preliminary report. Dr. Whitaker had received substantial payments from a consulting company registered in Delaware. The company had no visible employees, no public office, and no business history apart from transfers connected to Northstar Maritime.
“Can you identify the owner?” Lorenzo asked.
“Not yet. The company uses a nominee director.”
Abigail looked at the screen.
“Northstar was the shipping business you refused to give Vanessa access to.”
“Correct.”
“Why would a doctor receive money connected to a shipping company?”
“That is what we're going to find out.”
Rosa warned them that the financial records were incomplete and could have innocent explanations. She would not risk an accusation until the payments were traced.
That evening, Lorenzo asked Abigail to accompany him to a private dinner in the estate's smaller dining room. He wanted a quiet meal away from the staff, and she had spent the day helping him arrange his independent medical evaluation.
She almost declined.
Then she realized he was asking, not ordering.
“I'll stay for dinner,” she said. “But only if you stop pretending you don't need help reaching the water glass.”
He looked at the glass beside his hand.
“I was considering moving the entire table closer.”
“That would be an impressive waste of energy.”
For the first time, his laughter came easily.
They spoke for nearly an hour. Lorenzo told her about his mother, who had believed that kindness was a form of courage. Abigail told him how her mother used to sing while cooking, even when the bills piled up on the counter.
Their conversation drifted into silence, but it was no longer an uncomfortable silence.
When Abigail rose to leave, Lorenzo caught himself reaching for her hand.
He stopped before touching her.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For wanting something from you when you already have enough to worry about.”
Abigail looked at him.
“You can want something without demanding it.”
His eyes searched hers.
“And if I want you to stay?”
“Then ask me again when you're no longer afraid that everyone who comes near you has an agenda.”
She left him with that answer.
At midnight, Rosa called Abigail to the security office.
A woman had arrived at the estate's outer gate, claiming to possess information about the accident. She refused to give her name to the guards but had asked specifically for Lorenzo.
Rosa displayed the gate camera footage.
The woman stood beneath a streetlamp, her face partly hidden by a hood.
Lorenzo entered the room and stared at the screen.
He recognized her immediately.
“That's Claire Donovan,” he whispered.
Abigail looked at him.
“Who is she?”
“My father's former personal assistant.”
“Didn't she leave the family years ago?”
“She disappeared three weeks before my father died.”
Rosa opened the gate microphone.
The woman looked directly into the camera.
“Tell Lorenzo I know who ordered the accident,” she said. “And tell him the woman he plans to marry is not the person he should fear most.”
May you like
Then she lifted her face.
“I should know. I helped her do it.”
