Chapter 4 - The Voice That Survived the Fire
The police sent officers to check on Mae while Norah gave a formal statement and supplied screenshots of the threats. She wanted the entire encounter documented. Dominic's family name made the desk sergeant cautious, but it did not erase the fact that somebody had threatened a civilian. An investigator arranged a safer time for Mae to bring the machine and tapes to the station. By evening, Mae was sitting beside Norah in an interview room, clutching a shopping bag that smelled faintly of lavender soap.
“Your grandmother never threw away a thing,” Mae said. “She kept birthday candles after the wax melted. I'm glad she was stubborn.”
Inside the bag was a yellowed answering machine and three cassettes. The oldest had a cracked plastic case and the date September 17 written in blue ink. The fire had occurred on September 18, twenty-one years earlier. Norah's stomach tightened. Dominic sat opposite her, hands folded so firmly the knuckles shone.
With their permission, the investigator arranged to make a recorded copy without altering the original. The first part was ordinary: a man asking Elena to call about a church fundraiser, somebody selling replacement windows, a child laughing and saying she'd forgotten her lunch. Then came a click and Sofia Moretti's voice.
“Elena? It's Sofia. Call me as soon as you hear this.”
A pause. Traffic in the background. She sounded breathless.
“I looked at the shipment. You were right about the labels. The expiration dates were changed. It's worse than I thought. Sal knows the business exists, but he says Matteo promised everything going out is safe. It's not. Peter has the delivery manifests. We're meeting at the pier tomorrow night. If something happens, tell Dominic I was trying to make it right.”
A car horn blared. Sofia lowered her voice. “Don't go to the family. Find somebody outside it. Please.”
The tape ended.
Dominic stared at the machine. He had heard his mother's voice in old home videos, laughing over birthdays and arguing about the heat. This was different. She was speaking toward a future in which she might never see him again.
“Play it once more,” he said.
The investigator explained that the recording's authenticity and context would need to be established. The tape by itself couldn't prove who set the fire. Dominic nodded. Then he covered his mouth while his mother's voice filled the room a second time.
Mae watched him. “She used to come over on Sundays,” she said. “My mother showed her which pharmacies were complaining about the medicine. Grandma worked in a clinic. She wasn't looking for trouble. Sick people kept coming back with packages that didn't look right.”
“Why didn't she tell me?” Dominic asked.
“She tried after the funeral. Your father said he'd have her arrested for stealing from the household. Then somebody smashed our front windows. Grandma went to a detective. I don't know what happened to her statement. She decided keeping us alive was the only thing she could still do.”
Norah remembered being five and sleeping beneath blankets on the living-room floor after a window had broken. Her grandmother told her it was a storm. For years she'd believed it.
“I wish you'd told me,” she said to Mae.
“I know.” Mae clasped her hand. “I wish a lot of things.”
Back at the estate, Salvatore listened to the copied recording under Dr. Shah's supervision. The old man's good hand curled inward when Sofia said his name. When the tape ended, his shoulders shook. Dominic stood behind his wheelchair but did not touch him.
Norah set out the board. “Did you know the medicine was unsafe before Sofia went to Pier 9?”
Salvatore stared at the page for a long time. Then YES.
“Did you tell her the truth?”
NO.
Dominic's face hardened. “So you let her go there thinking you were going to help.”
Salvatore pointed to YES, then shook his head frantically. He began selecting letters. The first word took two minutes: WENT. The next: TOO.
“You went too?” Norah asked.
YES.
“Were you there when the fire started?”
YES.
Dominic crouched in front of his father. “Then why did you tell me you were at home?”
Salvatore's finger traced the board again. SAW. DOOR. LOCKED.
Dominic stood so abruptly his chair struck the wall. “You saw my mother trapped?”
Salvatore buried his face in his hand.
Dr. Shah interrupted when his breathing became labored. She checked him and insisted they pause. Norah agreed, despite Dominic's protest. A stroke survivor was not a witness machine. They would come back to the account with a trained communication professional and independent legal advice, when Salvatore could participate safely.
That night Norah ate dinner with Mae in the guest suite. Her aunt had agreed to stay elsewhere temporarily with police guidance, but she wanted one moment alone with her niece before leaving. They shared takeout chicken and an apple pie neither of them touched.
“I don't like that young Moretti looking at you like you can save him,” Mae said.
“He hasn't asked me to.”
“He will.”
Norah pushed the pie across the table. “I'm not trying to save a Moretti. I'm trying to keep my patient alive and find out why someone threatened you.”
Mae nodded slowly. “Then remember that you're allowed to walk away.”
After Mae left, Dominic found Norah on the covered terrace. She was watching headlights travel beyond the stone wall. He had changed into a plain white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows.
“I had no idea the business was still connected to those shipments,” he said. “Our present-day logistics firms have clean audits. At least I thought they did.”
“Don't tell me what you thought. Find out what they did.”
He absorbed that. “My lawyer's arranging an outside forensic team. And I fired our general counsel from the Pier 9 review. He reports to Matteo.”
“Good.”
Dominic looked at her. “My mother trusted your grandmother.”
“My grandmother was kind. She was also scared. Both things can be true.”
He nodded. “My father was scared too.”
“Maybe. But he had power. She didn't.”
The distinction sat between them. Dominic didn't try to argue it away.
A phone rang inside. Frank answered, listened, then came onto the terrace carrying a sealed envelope. It had been delivered by a courier who refused to provide a name. Inside was a grainy photograph of Pier 9 taken the night of the fire. Sofia stood at a steel side door, banging against it. Beyond the loading ramp, a man's silhouette faced the photographer.
Written across the back were five words: ASK YOUR FATHER WHO LOCKED IT.
May you like
Dominic turned the photograph over. His eyes stopped on one detail: the figure on the ramp wore a distinctive signet ring, an oval black stone with a pale diagonal vein.
Matteo had worn that ring to breakfast.
