Chapter 5 - THE STATION LOCKER
The man in the suit took a step forward.
My instincts kicked in before my brain could process the fear. I grabbed the heavy ceramic lamp from my father’s nightstand and hurled it directly at the man’s chest.
It shattered against his shoulder. He stumbled backward with a curse.
I snatched the yellow ticket stub from my father’s hand.
“Run, Nat!” my father shouted.
I didn’t hesitate. I sprinted past the stunned man, out into the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway. I heard heavy footsteps behind me, but I knew this building better than he did. I ducked into the laundry service stairwell, bolted down three flights of stairs, and burst out the emergency exit into the freezing night air.
I locked myself in my car and sped away, my hands shaking violently against the steering wheel.
I couldn’t go to the police. If those documents incriminated the Venturi empire, I would be destroying the very family that kept me employed and paid for my father’s care.
I had to go to Luca.
I drove back to the mansion. The gates were locked, but my staff passcode let me in. The house was dark, except for the warm glow of the library windows.
I found Luca sitting in a leather wingback chair, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace. His engagement ring was sitting on the coffee table.
He looked up when I burst in, breathless and terrified.
“Natalie? Why are you back?”
I walked over and slapped the faded yellow ticket stub down next to the diamond ring.
“Claire didn’t just steal six million dollars,” I said, struggling to catch my breath. “She’s trying to destroy your entire family. And my father is the one who helped your father hide the truth nineteen years ago.”
Luca stood up, his brow furrowed. “Your father?”
“He worked for Arthur,” I said. “He has copies of the leverage Claire’s mother tried to use against him.”
Luca stared at the ticket. He didn’t ask for an explanation. He didn’t question my loyalty.
“Where is this locker?” he asked.
“30th Street Station.”
“Let’s go.”
We took his private SUV. The drive was silent, heavy with the weight of decades-old sins. When we arrived at the sprawling, echoing train station, it was past 1:00 AM. Only a few tired travelers dotted the benches.
We found row H. Locker 402.
Luca inserted the yellow ticket into the old mechanical slot. It clicked. He pulled the metal door open.
Inside rested a simple, brown manila envelope.
Luca pulled it out and unwound the string closure. He slid the contents into his hands.
I expected bank statements. I expected mafia hit orders.
Instead, Luca pulled out a tarnished gold pocket watch.
He froze. His breathing stopped.
“What is it?” I asked.
“This is my grandfather’s watch,” Luca whispered. “It was stolen the night he was murdered.”
He tipped the envelope upside down. A single piece of paper fluttered out.
It was a signed confession.
Luca read it, his face turning to ash.
“My father didn’t exile Claire’s mother because she was stealing,” Luca said, his voice breaking.
“Why did he exile her?” I asked.
Before Luca could answer, his phone rang. The screen flashed: Philadelphia General Hospital.
May you like
Luca answered it on speaker.
“Mr. Venturi,” a doctor’s voice echoed in the cavernous station. “Your mother collapsed in the foyer ten minutes ago. You need to get here immediately. We don’t think she’s going to make it through the night.”
