Chapter 3 - THE BLUE BOX
Josiah did not take Mia home that night.
That decision shocked everyone.
Most of all Mia.
He rented the entire top floor of a nearby hotel owned by a man who knew better than to ask questions.
His security team swept every room.
Roman was not told where they were.
Vanessa was not contacted.
The house staff received one instruction:
Nobody touched anything in Mia’s room.
Willow expected her part in the evening to end at the restaurant.
It did not.
Mia refused to leave without her.
“I have work,” Willow said.
Mia crossed her arms.
“You’re done.”
Willow looked at Marcelo.
Marcelo nodded much too quickly.
“You are very done.”
Willow glared.
Josiah spoke.
“You’ll be paid.”
She looked at him.
“That’s not why I’m going.”
His expression changed slightly.
“Then why?”
Willow looked at Mia.
“Because she asked.”
Something in Josiah’s face softened.
Not much.
Enough.
At the hotel, Mia changed into an oversized T-shirt from the gift shop because she refused the spare clothes Josiah’s assistant sent.
“It has no scratchy neck.”
Willow approved.
Josiah did not argue.
That was progress.
Mia curled on one end of a massive sofa.
Willow sat on the floor.
Josiah stood near the window.
He looked wrong standing still.
Like a weapon someone had set down without unloading.
“Tell me about Roman,” he said.
Willow looked up.
Josiah noticed.
His jaw tightened.
“What?”
“You’re doing it again.”
“I asked one question.”
“You sound like a detective.”
“I need answers.”
Mia pulled her knees closer.
Willow softened her voice.
“Maybe start with something easier.”
Josiah looked genuinely irritated.
“What is easier than who has been entering my house?”
Willow pointed toward Mia.
“Why don’t you ask what she wants right now?”
Josiah looked at his daughter.
He seemed almost offended by the simplicity.
“What do you want?”
Mia whispered:
“Hot chocolate.”
Josiah stared.
Willow smiled.
“Congratulations. You survived.”
He gave her a look.
Ten minutes later, Mia held a mug with two hands.
No whipped cream.
No marshmallows.
Apparently those were “gross.”
Josiah sat across from her.
This time he waited.
Mia drank.
Then said:
“Roman comes on Tuesdays.”
Josiah remained still.
Willow watched him use every ounce of control not to interrupt.
“When you go downtown.”
He nodded once.
“He talks to Vanessa.”
Silence.
“She tells him when I’m asleep.”
Josiah’s eyes darkened.
“He goes in Mom’s room.”
Another pause.
“Sometimes your office.”
Josiah’s fingers tightened around the armrest.
“What does he look for?”
Mia shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
“What did he say about the box?”
“He asked Vanessa where I hid it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Josiah exhaled slowly.
Then Mia added:
“They think I can hear less than I can.”
Willow looked at her.
Children always did.
Adults dropped secrets around them like crumbs.
“What did you hear?”
Mia looked at Josiah.
“He said Mom kept proof.”
Josiah stopped breathing.
“Proof of what?”
“I don’t know.”
Mia’s face tightened.
“I’m not lying.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You looked like you thought I was.”
Josiah leaned back.
Willow watched the realization hit him.
Every time Mia failed to know something useful, he made it feel like a failure.
“I believe you.”
Mia stared.
He repeated:
“I believe you.”
Her shoulders lowered slightly.
Josiah stood.
“I need to make a call.”
Mia immediately tensed.
“Roman?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“Someone I trust.”
Mia laughed bitterly.
“You trust Roman.”
That stopped him.
Willow looked away.
Josiah absorbed it.
Then said:
“You’re right.”
Mia blinked.
People probably did not tell her that often.
Josiah took the call in the next room.
Willow stayed.
For several minutes, Mia said nothing.
Then:
“Are you scared of him?”
Willow looked up.
“Your dad?”
Mia nodded.
“Should I be?”
“Yes.”
“Are you?”
Willow thought.
“A little.”
Mia smiled faintly.
“Good.”
Willow laughed.
Then the child became serious.
“Everyone pretends.”
“Pretends what?”
“That he’s not scary.”
Willow looked toward the adjoining room.
“He knows.”
“No.”
Mia shook her head.
“He thinks people respect him.”
Willow nearly choked.
“You are very brave saying that.”
“He’s not here.”
“He’s twelve feet away.”
Mia shrugged.
Willow studied her.
“What are you scared of?”
Mia’s smile vanished.
“Lots.”
“Like?”
“Sleeping.”
“Why?”
Mia stared at the cocoa.
“My mom died when I was asleep.”
Willow’s chest tightened.
Mia continued.
“I woke up and everyone was running.”
Josiah had told no one at Marcelo’s the details.
But newspapers had.
Four years earlier, Isabel Vale died when an explosive device detonated under her car on a private road.
Mia had been in the second vehicle.
She had been six minutes behind.
She saw the smoke.
Heard the sirens.
Then every adult in her life became careful.
Too careful.
“She died because of Dad,” Mia whispered.
Willow stayed silent.
“That’s what Roman said.”
Willow’s eyes sharpened.
“When?”
“A long time ago.”
“What exactly?”
Mia twisted the hem of her shirt.
“He said bad people hate Dad, and Mom got hurt because she loved him.”
That was technically possible.
It was also a monstrous thing to plant in a four-year-old’s mind.
“What did your dad say?”
“I never told him.”
“Why?”
“Because then he gets that face.”
“What face?”
Mia pointed toward the other room.
“The dead face.”
Willow understood.
Grief frozen into stone.
“He stops talking.”
“So you stopped asking?”
Mia nodded.
Another locked door.
Willow leaned back against the sofa.
“My mom died too.”
Mia looked up.
“When?”
“Last year.”
“How?”
“Cancer.”
“Did you see?”
Willow swallowed.
“Most of it.”
“Was she scared?”
“Yes.”
Mia seemed surprised by the answer.
Adults probably told her dying people were peaceful.
Brave.
Ready.
Sometimes they were scared.
“What did you do?”
“Badly.”
Mia frowned.
“What?”
“I cried in grocery stores.”
Mia almost smiled.
“I stopped answering calls.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone asked if I was okay.”
“That’s annoying.”
“Very.”
Mia moved closer to the edge of the sofa.
“Did people tell you to move on?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
Willow thought.
“I moved. I don’t know if it was on.”
Mia stared.
Then laughed.
Josiah stood in the doorway.
He had heard.
Willow looked up.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
Mia tensed again.
Josiah crossed the room.
He did not sit across from her.
He sat beside her.
Carefully.
Leaving space.
“Mia.”
She looked at him.
“Did Roman tell you your mother died because of me?”
Silence.
Then a nod.
Josiah closed his eyes.
The dead face.
Willow saw it happen.
Mia saw it too.
Her shoulders rose.
Then Josiah did something different.
He opened his eyes.
And stayed.
“Your mother died because someone chose to hurt her.”
His voice broke slightly.
“Not because she loved me.”
Mia looked at him.
“I made enemies.”
He swallowed.
“I will carry that guilt for the rest of my life.”
Willow watched Mia’s face.
“But Roman had no right to put it on you.”
Mia whispered:
“Is it true?”
“That my life put her in danger?”
Josiah’s expression twisted.
“Yes.”
Willow expected Mia to recoil.
Instead, she asked:
“Did Mom know?”
Josiah nodded.
“She knew who I was.”
“Did she hate you?”
“No.”
“Was she mad?”
“Constantly.”
Mia laughed through sudden tears.
Josiah did too.
A broken sound.
“Your mother could be furious with me before breakfast and still steal my coffee.”
Mia stared.
“You never tell me stuff like that.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Josiah looked at his hands.
“Because talking about her hurts.”
Mia’s eyes filled.
“So does not talking.”
The room went quiet.
Josiah nodded.
“You’re right.”
Then:
“Tell me about the blue box.”
Mia looked at Willow.
Willow gave the smallest nod.
Mia took a breath.
“Mom told me before she died that the box was for both of us.”
Josiah froze.
“Before?”
Mia nodded.
“She said if something happened, don’t give it to Roman.”
Josiah stood.
“What?”
Mia flinched.
He immediately sat again.
“Sorry.”
Willow was surprised.
So was Mia.
Josiah lowered his voice.
“When did she say that?”
“The day before the car.”
Josiah’s face went white.
“She knew something?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is the box?”
Mia looked toward the bedroom.
“I moved it.”
“From the house?”
She nodded.
“How?”
“I gave it to Luis.”
Josiah frowned.
“Our driver?”
“No. Restaurant Luis.”
Willow stared.
“Luis from Marcelo’s?”
Mia nodded.
Willow remembered.
Luis was sixty-three.
Busboy.
Quiet.
Had worked there forever.
“How do you know Luis?”
Mia looked embarrassed.
“He gives me bread.”
Josiah looked personally betrayed.
“You’ve been to Marcelo’s before?”
“With Roman.”
Silence.
That changed everything.
“When?”
“Tuesdays.”
Josiah stared.
Roman brought Mia to the restaurant while Josiah believed she was with tutors or staff.
“Why?”
“I had to wait upstairs.”
Marcelo’s had private rooms.
Very private rooms.
Willow’s stomach tightened.
“What did Roman do?”
Mia shrugged.
“Meet people.”
“And the box?”
“I brought it once.”
“Why?”
“Because Vanessa was looking.”
She swallowed.
“Luis saw me crying.”
“So you gave it to him?”
Mia nodded.
“He said he would hide it.”
Josiah stood.
This time Mia did not flinch.
Because his anger finally had the right direction.
“We’re going back to Marcelo’s.”
Willow checked the clock.
“It’s nearly midnight.”
Josiah looked at her.
“Then they’re still open.”
Willow could not argue with that.
Forty minutes later, Marcelo himself unlocked the basement wine-storage room.
Luis stood beside him.
The old man looked terrified when he saw Josiah.
Then Mia ran toward him.
“Did you keep it?”
Luis’s face softened.
“Yes, little one.”
He reached behind a stack of empty wine crates.
Pulled out a blue wooden box.
Mia grabbed it.
Held it to her chest.
Josiah stared.
Four years.
He had not seen it in four years.
Mia carried it to a table.
The lock was broken.
She opened it.
Photographs.
A silk scarf.
A tiny hospital bracelet.
Letters.
A small gold locket.
And underneath—
a black ledger.
Josiah went still.
Willow had no idea what it was.
But he did.
He touched the cover.
“Where did Isabel get this?”
Luis looked at him.
“She gave it to me three days before she died.”
Everyone turned.
Josiah’s voice became dangerous.
“You knew my wife?”
Luis’s face went pale.
“She came here often.”
“With Roman?”
Luis nodded.
“No.”
Then he added:
“To watch him.”
Josiah’s expression changed.
Luis pointed toward the ledger.
“Your wife believed Roman was stealing from you.”
Mia clutched the box.
Josiah opened the ledger.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
Locations.
Then one entry near the end.
A payment made two days before Isabel’s death.
To a man Josiah recognized.
A man convicted of building the bomb that killed her.
Josiah stared at the page.
Roman had not merely been searching for the box.
He had been searching for the one thing that could connect him to Isabel’s murder.
May you like
And Mia had been sleeping under the same roof as him for four years.
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