Chương 8
“We found it in the glove compartment,” he said.
Victor did not turn.
Adrian stared at the brush.
Elena recognized the gold-painted handle. Lily had used it on his face, then placed it in the cup before Elena took the wet red brush from her.
“Daniel didn’t take the photograph,” Marco said. “Victor did.”
Victor picked up the whiskey and drank it.
No one tried to stop him.
Adrian’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Why?”
Victor set the empty glass down.
“Because they needed to see what I saw.”
“What did you see?”
“A man forgetting the cost of being feared.”
Adrian’s expression did not change.
Victor looked almost sad.
“Your father would have sent the woman away before dinner. He would have burned the dress, the brushes, the rug, and every memory of the moment. Not because he hated the child. Because he understood that affection is an open door.”
“My father died choking on steak while three men argued about who should touch him.”
“And people still lowered their voices at his funeral.”
Adrian walked toward him.
Marco’s hand moved near his jacket.
Elena expected violence. Victor expected it too; she saw him brace.
Adrian stopped inches away.
“Leave.”
Victor blinked.
“You’re removing me?”
“I’m telling you to leave my house.”
“After twenty-three years?”
“After you published a child’s location.”
“I didn’t post the school.”
“You sent the picture.”
“To one person.”
“Who?”
Victor looked away.
Adrian’s voice sharpened. “Who?”
“Sal Greco.”
Marco swore under his breath.
Elena knew the name. Greco ran hauling contracts on the western edge of the city and had been arrested twice for extortion without conviction.
Victor spread his hands. “He was supposed to circulate it privately. Pressure, nothing more. Remind people that succession isn’t settled.”
“My father has been dead nine years.”
“Succession is never settled.”
Adrian nodded slowly.
“And Lakeshore?”
Victor’s eyes returned to him. “What about it?”
“Did you kill Mateo Morales?”
Elena stopped breathing.
Victor glanced at her. Something in his face—not guilt exactly, but assessment—made the answer clear before he spoke.
“No.”
Adrian looked at Marco. “Take him to the guest room. No phone. Two men outside.”
Victor’s laugh was quiet and incredulous. “You’re holding me prisoner?”
“I’m protecting you from the decisions I’m considering.”
Marco stepped forward.
Victor did not move at first. Then he adjusted his cuff, covering the paint stain.
“This ends badly,” he told Adrian.
“It already did.”
Marco escorted him out.
The door closed.
Adrian stood with his back to Elena. The rain had weakened to a fine tapping. Somewhere upstairs, Lily laughed at something, the sound faint through layers of plaster and wood.
Elena reached for the evidence bag containing the brush.
Adrian turned. “Don’t.”
“It belongs to my daughter.”
“It may have fingerprints.”
“Victor admitted taking it.”
“He admitted sending the photograph. Not posting the address.”
She let her hand fall.
He returned to the desk and opened the bottom drawer with a key from his pocket. Inside were ledgers bound in black leather.
“Which one did you see?”
Elena stepped closer. “The green ledger.”
“There is no green ledger.”
“There was last Thursday.”
Adrian removed each book. Black. Brown. Red. Blue.
The drawer was otherwise empty.
He looked at the lock.
“No damage.”
“Victor said I photographed it because he knew what was inside.”
Adrian examined the drawer’s wooden base, then pressed along one side. A narrow false panel released with a click.
Behind it was a shallow space.
Empty.
Elena stared.
“Did you know that was there?”
“No.”
She believed him.
It frightened her more than if she had not.
Adrian lifted the drawer completely from the desk. A scrap of green leather had caught beneath one runner. He removed it between two fingers.
“Describe the ledger.”
“Small. About this wide.” She held her hands apart. “Names in the front, numbers in columns. Some pages had red marks.”
“Whose names?”
“I only had a few seconds.”
“Think.”
“I saw Grayson Waste. Lakeshore Freight. South Dock. Kennelly.”
“And?”
She looked toward the door.
“Victor Caruso.”
Adrian’s expression remained still.
“Was my name there?”
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t the same as no.”
“No.”
He replaced the drawer.
Elena’s fear had shifted shape. Victor had known she opened it. That meant someone had watched her, or the office had cameras she did not know about. More troubling, the ledger had been hidden inside Adrian’s own desk without his knowledge.
“Why would Victor keep it here?” she asked.
“Because no one searches my office.”
“You just accused me of searching it.”
“You didn’t know what you were searching for.”
“That makes me less dangerous?”
“It makes you predictable.”
She almost laughed. “You don’t know me.”
“No. But Victor does.”
Adrian picked up the fire report.
“Your husband’s laptop. We’re getting it tonight.”
“No.”
“He knew about the ledger. If the file points to it, he may already be looking for your apartment.”
“My neighbor is there.”
“Call her.”
“Why?”
“To see whether she answers.”
Elena pulled out her phone and called Mrs. Kopec upstairs.
The line rang five times.
Then a man answered.
“Hello?”
Elena ended the call.
Adrian was already moving. He opened the office door and called Marco’s name.
Within minutes, the mansion became loud in a controlled way. Men crossed halls. Phones rang. Instructions traveled in low voices. Adrian sent one team to Elena’s apartment and another to Saint Agnes, though the school was empty.
Elena ran upstairs.
Lily sat on the guest-room floor coloring a horse green.
“We’re going to another room,” Elena said.
“Why?”
“Because there might be a storm.”
Lily looked at the window. “The rain stopped.”
“A different kind.”
Mrs. Donnelly appeared with a small overnight bag and led them to an interior sitting room with no windows. The walls were pale blue. A television hung above a cabinet filled with old board games.
May you like
“You have a safe room?” Elena asked.
Mrs. Donnelly locked the door behind them. “Mr. Romano’s father believed enthusiasm for enemies was a form of poor planning.”
