Chapter 4 - THE MAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
~1,100 words
James wanted to call Vincent immediately.
I stopped him.
“No.”
He looked at me as if very few people used that word around him.
“We have Daniel’s note.”
“We have Daniel’s note and a ferry ticket.”
“Enough to ask questions.”
“And what happens when your cousin realizes we know?”
James went silent.
Leo was the one who answered.
“He starts preparing answers.”
“Exactly.”
James looked almost annoyed.
Not because I was wrong.
Because I wasn’t.
“What do you suggest?”
I stared at Daniel’s coat.
“I want to know what Daniel was trying to tell you before anyone knows we found this.”
James nodded slowly.
“Then we look at what was happening inside the company that week.”
It was nearly one in the morning.
Christmas morning.
Chloe was asleep.
I should have told them to leave.
Instead, twenty minutes later I was sitting at my tiny kitchen table while James and Leo worked through what they could remember from three years earlier.
No computers.
No dramatic hacking.
Just memory.
Names.
Projects.
Dates.
James remembered arguing with Vincent that December.
“About what?”
“Money.”
Leo gave him a warning look.
James ignored it.
“The construction division was losing contracts. Vincent wanted cheaper vendors.”
“And you agreed?”
“To some.”
“Did Daniel know?”
“Apparently.”
James rubbed his jaw.
“Daniel cornered me outside a meeting once. Said if I let accountants decide what held up a building, eventually the building would answer.”
I could hear my husband saying it.
That hurt more than I expected.
“Why didn’t you listen?”
“I told him to bring me proof.”
“And did he?”
James looked at the ferry ticket.
“I think he tried.”
At seven that morning, Chloe woke up smelling bacon.
I found James in my kitchen.
Again.
“You’re doing this twice?”
He glanced toward the pan.
“Your daughter informed me she likes crispy bacon.”
“You’re James Moretti.”
“So people keep telling me.”
Chloe walked in dragging his coat behind her.
“Mr. James?”
He turned.
“My daddy made pancakes shaped like bears.”
James stared at the frying pan.
“I have limitations.”
She giggled.
Then she handed him a piece of paper.
She had drawn three stick figures at a table.
Me.
Her.
James.
Above him was a black rectangle.
“Your coat,” she explained.
He took the drawing carefully.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t lose it.”
“I won’t.”
He folded it once and placed it inside his jacket.
Something about that small motion unsettled me.
Not in a bad way.
In a dangerous way.
I was starting to see a person where I wanted to see only a name.
At nine, James made a decision.
“We’re going to Vincent.”
My stomach tightened.
“You just agreed not to warn him.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“Because I remembered something.”
He pulled Daniel’s photograph from his pocket.
“Pier Seven wasn’t a construction site.”
“What was it?”
“A private storage yard Vincent controlled.”
Leo understood first.
“Steel deliveries.”
James nodded.
“The changed orders would have gone through there.”
An hour later, we were inside a Moretti office overlooking the harbor.
Vincent arrived alone.
He looked exactly like his newspaper photographs.
Silver at the temples.
Tailored navy overcoat.
The face of a man who donated libraries.
He smiled when he saw James.
The smile disappeared when he saw me.
That was all I needed.
“You know who I am.”
Vincent removed his gloves slowly.
“Grace Bennett.”
James’s voice became ice.
“You told me she moved to Maine.”
Vincent looked at him.
Then at the photograph on the table.
His shoulders dropped.
For one second, he seemed older.
“I wondered whether this day would come.”
My hands went cold.
James stepped forward.
“What happened to Daniel?”
Vincent didn’t answer.
James slammed the ferry ticket onto the desk.
“He was going to meet you at Pier Seven.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
The answer stunned even James.
“You admit it?”
“I met Daniel.”
“Why?”
“Because he was threatening to destroy the company.”
I stood.
“My husband didn’t threaten people.”
“He threatened to go to the city.”
“That’s called reporting a crime.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“It wasn’t that simple.”
“It’s always complicated when rich men explain why poor men had to suffer.”
He flinched.
Good.
James asked, “Did you change the steel supplier?”
“Yes.”
There it was.
The first truth.
Vincent went to a cabinet and removed an old folder.
He laid one page down.
Daniel’s resignation.
My husband’s signature sat at the bottom.
I stared.
It looked real.
James looked at me.
“Grace?”
I couldn’t breathe.
“That’s his signature.”
Vincent watched me carefully.
“Daniel resigned voluntarily.”
“No.”
“He accepted forty thousand dollars.”
“We never had forty thousand dollars.”
“He signed for it.”
“Then where is it?”
Vincent said nothing.
James moved closer.
“Where did the money go?”
Vincent’s composure finally cracked.
“That was not supposed to happen.”
“What?”
James demanded.
Vincent sat down.
“He signed the resignation. He did not take the money.”
My heart pounded.
“Why would Daniel sign?”
Vincent looked at me.
“Because I told him if he kept pushing, James would find out.”
I stared at James.
Vincent continued.
“Daniel knew exactly what James was capable of in those days.”
“Careful,” Leo said.
Vincent gave a tired laugh.
“You think I’m insulting him? I’m explaining why Daniel was scared.”
James didn’t deny it.
Vincent looked at me.
“Your husband thought keeping you and Chloe away from James Moretti was more important than keeping his job.”
I turned slowly toward James.
His face was unreadable.
“You told me Daniel trusted you.”
“I said he saved my life.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
James’s voice was quiet.
“It isn’t.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Daniel signed because he was protecting his family.”
Then he looked straight at me.
“But Grace…”
His eyes moved to James.
“He wasn’t protecting you from me.”
The silence became unbearable.
May you like
“He believed he was protecting you from James.”
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