Chapter 8 - MY FATHER’S JACKET
Mom reached Vincent before Lorenzo did.
“Where is Daniel?”
No greeting.
No surprise that he was alive.
Only that.
Vincent held Dad’s brown jacket in both hands.
“I can take you to him.”
My knees weakened.
Mom gripped the stair rail.
“You know where he is?”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
Vincent looked at me.
Then Mom.
“Yes.”
For eighteen months, that word had not existed in our house.
Alive.
I wanted to believe it.
I was terrified to.
Lorenzo stepped between Vincent and the stairs.
“What happened at the river?”
“Salvatore’s men found me.”
“You escaped?”
“Barely.”
“The blood?”
“Mine.”
“Why stage the car?”
“To make them think I went into the river.”
Lorenzo looked at the jacket.
“And Daniel?”
Vincent exhaled.
“Daniel has been living under another name near Traverse City.”
Mom stared.
“Why?”
“Because Salvatore told him that if he came home, he’d kill you first.”
The words landed brutally.
Vincent continued quickly.
“Daniel didn’t believe him until Salvatore sent a photograph.”
“What photograph?” Mom asked.
“Emily walking home from school.”
My stomach turned.
“At twelve?” I whispered.
“Last year. You were eleven.”
Mom covered her mouth.
Lorenzo’s face became stone.
“Why didn’t Daniel contact me?”
“He tried.”
“When?”
“Three times.”
“I never got anything.”
“Because Salvatore still controlled two people in your office.”
Lorenzo looked away.
That hurt him.
Maybe more than he wanted us to know.
Vincent pointed toward the ledger.
“Elena found one. I found the other.”
“Who?”
“Not yet.”
Lorenzo’s eyes sharpened.
Vincent shook his head.
“Because Sarah and the kids come first.”
For once, Lorenzo did not argue.
We left within the hour.
Mom held Dad’s jacket in her lap the entire drive north.
She kept touching the worn cuff.
There was a small grease stain near the pocket.
She smiled at it once.
Then cried silently.
I pretended to sleep because I thought she deserved privacy.
Traverse City was colder than Detroit.
Vincent took us to a small cabin outside town near an orchard stripped bare for winter.
No guards.
No black cars.
Just a porch light.
Mom stopped at the bottom of the steps.
I stood beside her holding Noah.
The door opened.
Dad stepped out.
He was thinner.
His hair had gone gray at the temples.
There was a scar along his chin I had never seen.
For one second, he looked exactly like the man in my angry imagination.
The man who had left us.
Then his eyes found me.
“Em.”
That was all he said.
My body moved before my mind did.
I ran.
I hit him so hard with my shoulder he stumbled backward.
Then I started hitting his chest with my fists.
“You left!”
He wrapped his arms around me.
“I know.”
“You left us!”
“I know.”
“We had no food!”
His face broke.
That was the sentence that destroyed him.
He looked over my shoulder at Mom.
“I didn’t know.”
She stood frozen.
Noah in her arms now.
Dad stared at the little boy.
His son.
One year old.
A child who did not know him.
“Sarah…”
Mom walked up the steps.
I expected her to hug him.
She did not.
She put Noah into my arms.
Then she looked at Dad.
“You don’t get to come back with one apology.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“You don’t get to tell me you stayed away for us and expect that to erase what it did to us.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
He swallowed.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
He looked at all of us.
Then he gave it.
Salvatore had discovered Daniel and Elena were collecting evidence.
Vincent helped Daniel escape Detroit.
Elena took the original ledger to Chicago.
Daniel planned to return home after two days.
Then Salvatore sent photographs.
Me.
Mom.
Our house.
A message followed.
If Daniel came back or contacted Lorenzo, Sarah would die first.
“So you believed him?” Mom asked.
“I knew what he’d already done.”
“What had he done?”
Dad looked at Lorenzo.
“Your father didn’t die from a heart attack.”
Lorenzo went completely still.
Dad continued.
“Antonio was sick, yes. But he was improving.”
“No,” Lorenzo said.
“Your uncle changed his medication.”
Lorenzo’s face drained.
Vincent looked down.
“You knew?” Lorenzo asked.
“Not then,” Vincent said. “Daniel found the pharmacy payments in the same records.”
Dad went inside and returned with a small amber prescription bottle.
The label had Antonio Moretti’s name.
The date was twelve years old.
“How did you get this?” Lorenzo whispered.
“Elena.”
Lorenzo sat on the porch step.
For the first time since I met him, he looked like a son instead of a boss.
Salvatore had not only stolen money.
He had removed the people who stood between him and control.
My grandfather.
Antonio.
Dad.
Elena.
Anyone who knew enough.
“Where is Elena?” I asked.
Dad looked at Vincent.
Vincent answered.
“Safe.”
“Why won’t anyone say where?”
“Because she’s the only person Salvatore still believes is dead.”
Mom stiffened.
“No fake death,” Dad said quickly. “He believes she died because one of his men reported the wrong woman after a car accident. Elena let him believe it.”
That was not comfort.
But it was different.
Dad looked at the ledger.
“The entry for Warehouse 12 means Salvatore is moving the last of the stolen money.”
“Three days from now,” Lorenzo said.
“Yes.”
“And ‘Daniel Carter — resolved’?”
Dad gave a humorless smile.
“He’s confident.”
Mom looked at him.
“You’ve been here all this time?”
“No.”
Dad had moved every few weeks.
Motels.
Church housing.
A farm outside Grand Rapids.
The cabin was recent.
“Why didn’t you at least send money?” I asked.
His face tightened.
“I did.”
Mom shook her head.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Every month.”
Silence.
“I sent cash to Lisa.”
Mom stared.
“She told me she was getting it to you.”
My heart dropped.
Sixty thousand dollars.
Lisa’s name in the ledger.
Not a payoff.
Maybe not.
Maybe the money was ours.
Mom sat down slowly.
“Lisa said nothing.”
Dad looked confused.
“She promised.”
Lorenzo’s voice went cold.
“Then either Lisa stole it…”
Vincent finished the thought.
“…or someone intercepted it.”
Mom looked at Dad.
“How much?”
“About sixty thousand total.”
Exactly the amount beside Lisa’s name.
The ledger had not listed a bribe.
It had listed money Salvatore knew about.
Our money.
The money that could have kept Noah fed.
Mom stood.
“We’re going home.”
Dad looked startled.
“Sarah—”
“You’re coming.”
“Salvatore—”
“I have spent eighteen months being afraid of a man I never even met.”
She looked toward Lorenzo.
“You want to end this?”
“Yes.”
“Then no more hiding.”
Lorenzo rose.
Mom pointed at the ledger.
“We use what we have. We protect the children. And Daniel comes home.”
Dad looked at me.
I wanted to hug him again.
I also wanted to stay angry.
Both were true.
On the drive back, Noah woke.
Dad sat beside his car seat.
Noah stared at him suspiciously.
Dad held out one finger.
Noah grabbed it.
Dad closed his eyes.
That was the first repair.
Small.
Real.
Halfway to Detroit, Vincent’s phone buzzed with an incoming security alert from the Moretti office.
He showed Lorenzo the screen.
Someone had entered Lorenzo’s private records room.
Using an authorized access card.
The employee name appeared beneath the timestamp.
LISA BENNETT.
Mom stared.
“She’s there now?”
Vincent nodded.
Lorenzo looked at the time.
Then at us.
“No.”
His voice became sharp.
“This is a setup.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because Lisa doesn’t have access to that room.”
Vincent checked again.
“She does tonight.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“Someone changed her permissions twelve minutes ago.”
Dad leaned forward.
“Who can do that?”
Lorenzo looked at him.
“Only two people.”
“Who?”
“Me.”
A pause.
“And Salvatore.”
Then the security camera feed appeared.
Lisa stood inside the records room.
She was holding something against her chest.
May you like
A small metal cashbox.
And behind her, reflected in the glass cabinet, stood Salvatore Moretti.
