Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Knew About the Cabinet
The silence after Luca's question felt like the moment before a storm broke over Lake Michigan. I stood beside Emily, still feeling the imprint of Vanessa's fingers on my arm. Vanessa set her champagne down carefully, as if a delicate movement might restore the evening to what it had been. "It's an old cabinet," she said. "I was trying to help with the estate." Luca didn't raise his voice. "You told my daughter she had no right to her own house." She looked around the room, searching for an ally among the thirty guests. No one volunteered.
"Claire," Luca said, "take Emily to the sitting room. Ask the cook for something warm. And call Michael." His use of my name surprised me. So did the way he waited until Emily nodded before releasing her hand. Vanessa took a step toward us. "She's an employee. You can't put her in the middle of family business." "You already did," Luca answered.
In the sitting room, Emily held the tiny onesie in her lap. She told me she had driven from Madison after a routine appointment because she couldn't stand another week of silence. Michael had wanted to accompany her, but she insisted on coming alone. "I thought if he looked me in the eye, he'd remember I was his daughter," she whispered. I told her what I had heard at breakfast. Her expression broke open, relief and grief arriving together. "He was asking about me?" "Every week," I said. "I heard him more than once."
I called Michael from her phone. His first words were, "Is the baby okay?" When Emily said yes, he exhaled so loudly I heard it across the room. She told him the truth in pieces, and he promised to drive down immediately. I made tea, although neither of us drank much. Beyond the door, footsteps moved quickly. Someone was being escorted out. I assumed it was Vanessa until I heard her voice, cool and furious, giving orders to a man who didn't answer.
Luca appeared with a security chief named Marco. He had removed his tie, and the onesie was folded in his jacket pocket. "The engagement is over," he told Emily. "I'm sorry you had to learn about it this way." She touched his wrist. "I don't care about the dinner. I care about you." For the first time that night, I saw how tired he was. He sat beside her and asked about the ultrasound, her appetite, the doctor, and Michael's job. He listened as though each ordinary detail were precious.
Marco interrupted with a phone in his hand. The inspection company was registered to a shell corporation. Its listed manager had once worked for Vanessa's brother, Adrian Bellini. Luca asked if the house was secure. Marco said two men had been spotted on Maple Street less than an hour earlier. Luca rose immediately. Emily started to follow. "Not tonight," he said gently. "You and the baby stay here." She shook her head. "Mom left that cabinet for me." Their eyes met. I could see the argument building, but then Luca surprised us. "Tomorrow, in daylight. With you there. No one opens it without you."
He turned to me. "You stood up for her when I didn't know she needed someone. Thank you." I had no idea what to say. Gratitude from Luca Moretti was rarer than a quiet evening in his mansion. "I did what anyone should have done," I answered. "Not everyone did," he said.
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After midnight, I found a folded envelope beneath the sitting-room door. It had no address, only my name written in block letters. Inside was a photograph of the Maple Street house taken that afternoon. On the back, a warning had been written in blue ink: KEEP THE GIRL AWAY FROM THE BASEMENT. I carried it straight to Luca. He studied the handwriting, then looked at the photograph's lower corner. A small reflection showed the photographer in a parked car. Luca's face tightened. "I know that car," he said. "It belonged to my wife."
His wife had been dead for seven years. Someone had brought her car back to Maple Street. And whoever had taken that photograph knew I was the one person in the mansion who would not send Emily away.
