Chapter 8 - THE BOY WHO HELD THE GUN
“I didn't mean for him to fall.”
Detective Morales repeated my mother's words carefully.
“Mrs. Collins, are you certain?”
Mom nodded.
“I remember because it sounded strange.”
Matteo stood beside the hospital window.
His face had lost all color.
“Did Nathan say anything else?”
Mom closed her eyes.
“Victor told him to stop talking.”
She swallowed.
“He grabbed Nathan by the shoulders and said, ‘You did what you had to do.’”
I looked at Matteo.
He was staring at the floor.
The man who'd spent nineteen years believing his father's murderer had escaped justice was suddenly facing a possibility neither of us wanted to consider.
Nathan might have been there when Carlo died.
He might have handled the gun.
And he might have been responsible for the fatal shot.
But there was still something we didn't understand.
Why would a twenty-year-old man refuse money to hurt an elderly bank teller, help her escape, and then spend the rest of his life hiding what happened?
The following morning, investigators arranged a supervised meeting with Nathan.
He was being held in connection with the current investigation.
I wasn't required to attend.
Detective Morales made that clear.
But I wanted to hear him answer questions about my mother.
Matteo asked whether I was certain.
I nodded.
“I've spent six months listening to Nathan explain things for me.”
My hands shook.
“This time, I want to hear what he says when he can't control the conversation.”
Matteo studied me.
Then nodded.
“I'll respect whatever you decide.”
Nathan sat across a table in a plain interview room.
He looked exhausted.
His hair was uncombed.
The confident man who'd charmed charity boards and expensive restaurants seemed to have disappeared.
When he saw me, his face softened.
“Anna.”
I sat opposite him.
Matteo remained beside the wall.
An officer and Nathan's attorney were present.
Nobody pretended this was a private reconciliation.
Nathan looked at my hands.
“Are you all right?”
I almost laughed.
“You're asking me that?”
His eyes filled.
“I never wanted you hurt.”
I stared at him.
“You locked me in our bedroom.”
He lowered his head.
“You threatened my mother.”
“I know.”
“You let your father use my name to make me look responsible for what happened to Matteo.”
Nathan wiped his face.
“I know.”
I leaned forward.
“Then stop telling me what you didn't want.”
My voice broke.
“Tell me what you did.”
He looked at me.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he whispered, “My father told me if the old records came out, everything would collapse.”
“What would collapse?”
“The real estate company. The charitable foundation. The properties we still control.”
I stared at him.
“Because the money was stolen?”
He closed his eyes.
“Because some of the original transfers weren't legitimate.”
Matteo spoke from beside the wall.
“And your father knew that?”
Nathan nodded.
“So did mine,” Matteo said quietly.
Nathan looked at him.
“Your father was trying to get out.”
The room fell silent.
“What?” Matteo asked.
Nathan swallowed.
“Carlo discovered Victor had kept acquiring homes after their original partnership started falling apart.”
He looked toward the table.
“Your father wanted the records returned so he could determine what had been taken.”
Matteo stared.
“Then why did he threaten Eleanor?”
“Because he was afraid she'd expose his part in the earlier transactions before he could separate himself from Victor.”
Nathan looked ashamed.
“He wanted to correct the damage without admitting what he'd helped start.”
For a moment, Matteo looked as though he'd been struck.
I understood why.
His father hadn't been entirely innocent.
But he hadn't remained entirely indifferent either.
He'd wanted to repair something.
And he'd been too proud to face what that repair would cost him.
Then I asked Nathan the question I'd come to ask.
“Were you in the study when Carlo was shot?”
His expression changed.
“Anna.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“Did you hold the gun?”
Nathan looked toward his attorney.
The man spoke quietly to him.
Nathan listened.
Then he looked back at me.
“Yes.”
My heart began pounding.
Matteo didn't move.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Nathan whispered, “I was twenty. I thought I could stop them.”
“Stop what?” I asked.
“My father wanted the bank records destroyed. Carlo wanted them returned. Eleanor wouldn't give either man what he wanted.”
He closed his eyes.
“They were arguing. Everyone was frightened.”
“What happened?”
Nathan's voice broke.
“Carlo lost his temper.”
He stopped.
His attorney advised him not to continue without a formal statement and further discussion.
Nathan nodded.
For a moment, I thought he would retreat into silence again.
But then he looked at Matteo.
“I can provide a complete account through the investigators.”
Matteo stared at him.
“After nineteen years?”
Nathan swallowed.
“I should've done it then.”
“Why didn't you?”
Nathan looked down.
“Because my father convinced me that if anyone found out what had happened, I'd lose everything.”
I thought about how many people had been hurt because one family was terrified of losing what it owned.
My mother.
Matteo.
The homeowners.
Me.
I looked at Nathan.
“And you let him convince you that hurting other people was the price of keeping yourself safe.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
No excuses.
Not this time.
But the admission didn't erase anything.
Later that afternoon, Detective Morales met with us.
Nathan had agreed, after consulting his attorney, to provide a detailed statement.
Investigators were comparing that account with the old physical evidence, my mother's testimony, and the recovered financial records.
There were still discrepancies.
But the picture was becoming clearer.
The 2007 payments linked Carlo and Victor to the property scheme.
The withheld payment showed Carlo had attempted to use Nathan to silence Eleanor.
And the newer records connected Victor's companies to the disputed financing against my mother's house.
Salvatore brought us one more piece of information.
The property company had begun moving money between accounts after Victor learned investigators had recovered the old banking papers.
Matteo looked furious.
“He's trying to protect the assets.”
Salvatore nodded.
“Apparently.”
“Then everything needs to be preserved before more records disappear.”
Detective Morales agreed.
“The financial investigators are already working on that.”
I looked toward Mom.
She sat quietly in her wheelchair, holding Dad's navy coat across her knees.
For nineteen years, she'd believed the truth would destroy our lives.
Now telling it was the only thing giving us a chance to rebuild.
Matteo sat beside her.
“Mrs. Collins, there's one thing I need to ask.”
She looked at him.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
He hesitated.
“Did my father try to hurt you?”
Mom's eyes filled.
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
She reached for his hand.
“You didn't do it, Matteo.”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
“But you've been carrying his name as though it means you have to carry every mistake he made.”
Matteo looked at her.
She smiled sadly.
“You don't.”
For the first time since I'd met him, he began crying.
Quietly.
Without trying to hide it.
Then Detective Morales returned with an update from the formal interview.
Matteo stood.
“Did Nathan finish his account?”
“Yes.”
“Does it match the evidence?”
“Much of it. But there's one important question we still need to resolve.”
My stomach tightened.
“What question?”
She looked toward my mother.
“Nathan says Carlo was holding the gun first.”
Mom slowly nodded.
“He was.”
Matteo turned toward her.
“You remember?”
She closed her eyes.
“I remember him raising his hand. I remember Nathan stepping between us.”
Detective Morales continued.
“Nathan says he grabbed the weapon because he believed Carlo was about to fire.”
Matteo's face tightened.
“And then?”
The detective hesitated.
“The gun discharged during the struggle.”
Nobody spoke.
Then she looked at Matteo.
“Your father's death may have resulted from Nathan trying to protect Eleanor rather than from a planned killing.”
I covered my mouth.
Nathan hadn't come into that house intending to murder Carlo.
But Victor had turned the tragedy into a secret powerful enough to control him for nineteen years.
Then Detective Morales said something that changed the way I understood the entire night.
“There's one more thing. Victor's old account says he entered the study only after the shot.”
Matteo frowned.
“But Eleanor saw him holding the gun.”
“Yes.”
The detective looked toward me.
“And Nathan's statement explains why.”
She paused.
“Victor took the weapon from his son's hands and told him he would handle everything.”
My mother began trembling.
I reached for her.
May you like
Then Detective Morales looked directly at Matteo.
“Victor didn't just cover up the shooting. He used his son's fear of prosecution to keep control of him for the next nineteen years.”
