Chương 9
“We also have a development from last night.”
Luca’s attention sharpened.
“The video of the gala caused two tips to come in.”
Naomi said, “Credibility?”
“Unknown.”
“One of them claims to know Daniel Keefe,” Patel said.
Hannah looked at Luca.
Raines noticed.
“You know him?”
Luca let Naomi answer.
“My client knows of Mr. Keefe.”
Raines almost smiled.
“Counselor.”
“He previously worked in a security capacity around individuals known to Mr. Moretti.”
“Better.”
“I’m thrilled you approve.”
Patel continued.
“The caller said Keefe complained last year that Anthony Russo still owed him money.”
Luca frowned.
Naomi asked, “How much?”
“Caller didn’t know.”
Raines said, “The second tip came from a mechanic in Cicero who says Keefe brought in a dark gray Audi three days after the crash with front-quarter damage.”
Hannah’s hand tightened around her water bottle.
“Did the police see it?”
“We’re locating the vehicle.”
“Three days,” Luca said.
Naomi looked at him.
He stopped.
Raines nodded.
“Three days.”
“Why now?” Hannah asked.
“The mechanic saw you on television,” Patel said.
“I wasn’t on television.”
“Your face was in the gala clip.”
Hannah looked uncomfortable.
Patel added, “He remembered Keefe because the car was registered to a company that had used the shop before.”
“Which company?” Naomi asked.
Patel hesitated.
“Voss Strategic Consulting.”
No one moved.
Luca felt the room tilt.
“Martin’s old company.”
Raines nodded.
“The corporation is inactive, but the vehicle remained registered through a leasing arrangement.”
Naomi turned to Luca.
“You did not know that.”
It was not a question.
“No.”
Raines watched him carefully.
Hannah whispered, “Martin knew Keefe?”
Luca thought back.
Eleven years.
Fundraisers.
Security contracts.
Vendor meetings.
Charity construction projects.
People passing through offices.
Chicago was a city where everyone knew someone who knew everyone else, which was one reason coincidence had to be treated with suspicion instead of wonder.
“I don’t know.”
Raines said, “We’ll find out.”
They found out faster than Luca expected and slower than the internet demanded.
For three days, Chicago decided it understood the Moretti Foundation scandal.
It did not.
Commentators argued about whether Hannah had been silenced.
Former employees gave interviews about Martin’s management style.
A donor leaked a memo showing the foundation had indeed developed a “narrative containment strategy” after Sophia’s crash, language Elaine later admitted she had written and now wished she could physically eat.
Sophia’s walking video passed twelve million views.
Clare hated it.
“Everyone is calling it a miracle,” she said during therapy on Thursday. “It wasn’t a miracle. It was nine months of work and one reckless decision.”
Sophia, gripping parallel bars, said, “It was a little miracle.”
“No.”
“A medium one?”
“No.”
“Hannah?”
Hannah sat in the corner.
“I’m not getting involved.”
“Coward.”
“Correct.”
Luca watched through the glass.
Hannah had stopped working at the hotel temporarily after reporters began waiting near the employee entrance.
Luca offered to cover her lost wages.
She refused.
He offered security.
She refused.
Then a photographer followed her sister’s twelve-year-old son home from school, and Hannah called Luca.
She did not say hello.
“I hate you.”
“That’s fair.”
“I need one of your terrifying people.”
“Vincent is already outside.”
There was a pause.
“You sent him before I called?”
“Yes.”
“I hate you more.”
“That’s also fair.”
She accepted security.
Not money.
Never money.
The debt annoyed Luca until Naomi asked why.
They were sitting in her office reviewing foundation emails.
“Because she should let me fix it.”
Naomi looked over her glasses.
“Fix what?”
“The bill.”
“That isn’t what annoys you.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No.”
Luca stared at her.
Naomi drank tea.
She was sixty-one, divorced twice, and unimpressed by intimidation because, as she once told Luca, “I billed your enemies by the hour before you had gray hair.”
“You don’t like owing her,” she said.
“Anyone would dislike that.”
“You can’t repay what she did.”
“I know.”
“That makes you uncomfortable.”
“Yes.”
“So you keep trying to convert it into something payable.”
Luca looked back at the emails.
“I preferred my previous lawyer.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“No.”
By Friday, forensic analysts recovered the deleted contact summary from a foundation backup.
Elaine had written it exactly as she remembered.
HANNAH CARTER. CLAIMS CIVILIAN RESCUE. PROVIDES INCIDENT NUMBER. KNOWS NONPUBLIC CHILD PROPERTY DETAIL. POSSIBLE HIGH CREDIBILITY. REQUESTS NO MONEY. WANTS CONFIRMATION CHILD SURVIVED.
Martin had forwarded it to himself.
Twenty-two minutes later, he forwarded it to an address belonging to Daniel Keefe.
The subject line contained one word.
Problem.
Luca read the email once.
Then again.
Naomi watched him.
“Don’t break my desk.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You’re gripping it.”
He removed his hands.
The message to Keefe contained Hannah’s name.
Phone number.
Apartment address from her driver’s license copy.
And a sentence that made Luca’s vision narrow.
Find out exactly what she saw before this becomes an issue.
Naomi exhaled.
“That’s bad.”
“Yes.”
“It is not proof Martin ordered intimidation.”
“I know.”
“Or proof he knew about the crash beforehand.”
“I know.”
“Or proof Keefe caused it.”
“I know.”
“You sound like you want me to stop talking.”
“Yes.”
She pointed at him.
“That is why I’m continuing.”
He leaned back.
Naomi pulled up another email.
“This one is December thirty-first. Keefe to Martin.”
Luca read it.
Witness uncertain. No ID. Says possible contact but cannot swear. I told her public accusations can carry consequences. She backed down.
Luca’s hands closed.
Naomi said, “Desk.”
He stood instead.
Walked to the window.
Traffic crawled below.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m expressing.”
“Express differently.”
“He went to her apartment.”
“Yes.”
“He threatened her.”
“Yes.”
“With information Martin gave him.”
“Yes.”
“My employee.”
“Executive director.”
“My foundation.”
“Yes.”
Luca turned around.
Naomi’s expression had softened.
That made him angrier.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like this is my fault.”
“I’m not.”
“It is.”
She shook her head.
“Some of it.”
He stared at her.
“That’s harder, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Than all of it.”
He said nothing.
May you like
Naomi continued.
“You created an organization where people were rewarded for protecting your name. You hired people who understood that scandal cost money. You gave Martin enormous discretion. Those are your responsibilities.”
