Chapter 5 - THE NAME ON THE LAST PAGE
“Nathan protected you?”
I looked at my mother.
The words didn't make sense.
The man who had locked me in our bedroom.
Who had taken my phone.
Who had borrowed against her house without permission.
That man had once saved her?
Mom nodded slowly.
“He was just a young man then.”
I shook my head.
“That doesn't change what he's done now.”
“No,” she whispered. “It doesn't.”
Matteo leaned against the edge of his father's desk.
“Mrs. Collins, can you tell us how Nathan helped you?”
Mom took a breath.
“After the gunshot, Victor grabbed my arm. He told me to stay quiet.”
She looked toward the doorway.
“Nathan pulled him away from me.”
I stared at her.
“He did?”
“He told his father to let me go.”
Her eyes filled.
“Then he led me through the back of the house and told me to run.”
Matteo listened carefully.
“Did Nathan say who'd fired the gun?”
“No.”
“Did he have a weapon?”
“I don't remember seeing one in his hands.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I was so frightened that I couldn't think clearly.”
The room fell silent.
Then I asked the question that mattered most to me.
“Mom, when you met Nathan six months ago, did you recognize him?”
Her face crumpled.
“Yes.”
I pulled my hand away.
“You knew?”
“Annie—”
“You knew who he was?”
She began crying.
“I hoped he was different from his father.”
I stood.
“Mom, you should've told me.”
“I know.”
“He was living with me!”
“I know, sweetheart.”
I turned away.
For months, Nathan had made me doubt my own judgment.
Now I was discovering my mother had been keeping part of the truth from me too.
Matteo stepped toward the doorway.
“Anna, would you like a moment with her?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
My voice broke.
“I need the truth more than another person trying to protect me from it.”
Mom nodded.
“You're right.”
It was the first thing anyone had said that made me feel less trapped.
She looked at me.
“I recognized Nathan when you brought him to Sunday dinner. I wanted to tell you, but he spoke to me privately before you arrived.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he say?”
“He told me Victor knew where you worked.”
I closed my eyes.
“He threatened you?”
“He said you could have a peaceful life if I let the past stay buried.”
Mom wiped her cheeks.
“I thought I was protecting you by keeping quiet.”
I sat down again.
“You were scared.”
“Yes.”
“But I needed to know.”
She nodded.
“I know that now.”
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then I reached for her hand.
I wasn't ready to forgive everything.
But I wasn't going to let Nathan and Victor turn us against each other.
The paramedics took Mom for medical evaluation, and I traveled with her.
Matteo followed after arranging for the original coat and study contents to remain secured for investigators.
At the hospital, Mom was examined for bruising, dehydration, and complications from being moved without her walker.
Thankfully, she hadn't suffered a new fracture.
But the doctors wanted to observe her overnight.
I sat beside her bed until she fell asleep.
Then Matteo approached.
“Anna, the police can accompany you to the apartment to retrieve the coat.”
I looked at him.
“Will you come?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated.
“Only if you want me there.”
I nodded.
“I do.”
For some reason, that simple choice mattered enormously.
Our apartment felt different when I opened the door.
Nathan's expensive shoes stood beside the entrance.
His jacket hung where he'd left it.
A coffee mug sat on the counter.
Everything looked ordinary.
And that made it worse.
Six months of memories had become evidence of how little I'd known him.
An officer accompanied us while I collected my personal belongings.
I walked into the bedroom.
Opened the closet.
And found the navy coat hanging behind two winter jackets.
It was still there.
I nearly cried with relief.
“This is it.”
Matteo didn't touch it.
He stepped aside while the officer documented where I'd found it.
The coat smelled faintly of cedar.
I remembered Dad wearing it to my school concerts.
Standing outside in the cold.
Waving when he saw me.
I touched the collar.
“Dad hated buying new clothes.”
Matteo smiled faintly.
“My father owned ten suits and complained about every one of them.”
I laughed through my tears.
Then I pointed toward the lower lining.
“That's where Mom said he sewed the pocket.”
The officer examined the stitching.
A section had been sewn with darker thread than the rest of the coat.
Carefully, the concealed compartment was documented and opened.
Inside was a thin oilcloth packet.
The paper had yellowed.
The edges were worn.
But it was still there.
Nineteen years of silence.
Hidden inside an ordinary man's winter coat.
The officer placed the contents on a clean surface so we could identify them without damaging anything.
There were bank transaction copies.
A list of addresses.
Several handwritten notes.
And a small page folded four times.
Matteo recognized the handwriting immediately.
“My father's.”
I looked at him.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“I know how he wrote his numbers. He used to make me copy them when I was a kid.”
The page contained names beside dollar amounts.
Several payments were marked relocation assistance.
Others were labeled property acquisition.
Then Matteo pointed toward the bottom.
“This is the program Victor and my father operated.”
I stared at the title.
Oak Street Home Assistance.
It sounded charitable.
Almost kind.
But many of the entries carried the same troubling notation.
Owner signature obtained through representative.
I looked at Matteo.
“What does that mean?”
“It depends on the transaction.”
His expression darkened.
“But if the owners didn't authorize it, we're looking at something serious.”
I turned another page.
Then stopped.
At the bottom was a handwritten approval.
The date was nineteen years old.
The amount was forty thousand dollars.
The recipient was listed as a consulting agent.
And beneath the entry was a signature.
I recognized the surname.
Whitmore.
But the first name wasn't Victor.
My hands went cold.
“Matteo?”
He leaned closer.
I pointed.
“That's Nathan.”
He read the entry twice.
Then looked at me.
“Nathan was receiving money from this program when he was twenty.”
I felt sick.
He hadn't simply inherited his father's secrets.
He'd been involved long before he met me.
Then Matteo noticed something written in the margin.
A date.
The same date Carlo Ricci had been murdered.
Beside it were three words.
Final payment withheld.
Matteo stared at the line.
And whispered, “Anna, this money wasn't payment for property.”
I looked at him.
“What was it?”
He turned the page toward me.
May you like
Underneath the transaction, Carlo had written a single sentence.
Nathan will not receive the balance until Eleanor Collins is dealt with.
