Chapter 6 - WHAT HAPPENED TO DANIEL FLYNN
Moretti confessed before trial.
Not because conscience arrived.
Because federal prosecutors had enough to bury him.
Counterfeit pharmaceuticals.
Conspiracy.
Murder-for-hire.
Financial crimes.
Witness intimidation.
He wanted to bargain.
In return, he gave them Daniel Flynn’s killer.
A man named Curtis Vale.
Former dock contractor.
Still alive.
Living in Pennsylvania.
The hit-and-run had not been random.
Curtis followed Daniel from Red Hook.
Hit him once.
Backed up.
Then left.
Maggie heard this from Detective Ortiz in a private room.
Vincent sat outside.
Maggie asked him to.
Her choice.
He waited.
Forty-eight minutes.
When she came out, her face looked empty.
Vincent stood.
“You okay?”
“No.”
Good answer.
“What do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
Also good.
She sat on the courthouse bench.
Vincent stayed standing until she looked up.
“You can sit.”
He did.
Maggie stared at her hands.
“I thought knowing would make it different.”
“It does.”
“How?”
“Now you know.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Yes.”
She laughed once through tears.
“Very comforting.”
“I’m learning.”
She leaned back.
“Daniel saw the car.”
Vincent went still.
“Ortiz said he turned before impact.”
Maggie’s voice broke.
“He knew.”
Vincent had no useful sentence.
So he said nothing.
That was learning too.
Maggie continued.
“Moretti told Curtis to make it look accidental.”
“Yes.”
“He got three thousand dollars.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
A husband.
A father.
A life.
Three thousand.
Maggie whispered:
“I hated Daniel for months after he died.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because he left.”
Her eyes filled.
“Not rational.”
“No.”
“But I did.”
“I hated Isabella for dying.”
Maggie stared.
He had never said that aloud.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Years.”
“Why?”
“Because she left me with the mess.”
Maggie understood.
Grief allowed ugly thoughts.
That did not make love false.
She leaned forward.
“Ruby asked if Daniel was brave.”
“What did you say?”
“That he was scared.”
Vincent nodded.
“Good.”
“She said brave people aren’t supposed to be scared.”
“What did you say?”
“That maybe brave is what you do while scared.”
Vincent smiled faintly.
“Smart.”
“She gets it from me.”
“Clearly.”
Maggie finally smiled.
The investigations spread.
Salvatore turned himself in.
Before entering custody, he asked to meet Vincent.
They sat in the music room.
Windows open.
Dust covers removed.
The Steinway polished.
Ruby’s sheet music sat on the bench.
Salvatore noticed.
“Different.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward Isabella’s photograph.
“She would like it.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
Salvatore corrected himself.
“I think.”
Better.
Vincent sat.
“How long did Moretti pay you?”
Salvatore looked down.
“Six years.”
“After Isabella?”
“Two more.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Why?”
“Fear.”
“Money too.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Daniel.”
“What about him?”
“Seeing him refuse.”
Salvatore laughed bitterly.
“A longshoreman with a mortgage and a kid said no to more money than I had ever been offered.”
Vincent watched.
“And you?”
“I finally understood what I had become.”
“So you stopped taking payments.”
“Yes.”
“Then why not tell me?”
“Shame.”
“Not good enough.”
“I know.”
“Why lie about Anthony?”
“Because if Anthony came back, he would expose me too.”
There it was.
Not protection.
Self-protection.
Vincent almost appreciated the truth.
“You helped Anthony because you wanted Isabella avenged.”
“Yes.”
“And hidden because you wanted yourself protected.”
“Yes.”
Both.
Again.
People inconveniently mixed.
Salvatore’s eyes filled.
“I loved you like a son.”
Vincent said nothing.
“I know that sounds impossible.”
“It sounds irrelevant.”
Salvatore flinched.
“Love doesn’t erase what you did.”
“No.”
“Then don’t use it.”
Salvatore nodded.
“Fair.”
He stood.
“Will I ever see you again?”
Vincent considered.
“I don’t know.”
Not cruelty.
Truth.
Salvatore accepted it.
Anthony also faced consequences.
Obstruction.
False identification.
Evidence concealment.
He cooperated.
Received a shorter sentence.
Before reporting, he visited the estate.
Ruby stared.
“You’re going to jail?”
Anthony sighed.
“Yes.”
“For being dead?”
Vincent almost laughed.
“No.”
Anthony crouched.
“For lying to people and hiding things from police.”
Ruby considered.
“Were you scared?”
“Yes.”
“Did that make it okay?”
Anthony looked at Maggie.
Then Vincent.
“No.”
Ruby nodded.
“Okay.”
Children made morality uncomfortably efficient.
Anthony turned to Vincent.
“Take care of them.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
Maggie crossed her arms.
Anthony immediately corrected:
“Sorry.”
Good.
“I mean…”
He looked at Maggie.
“Let them take care of themselves and maybe stand nearby.”
Maggie smiled.
“Better.”
Anthony left.
The old organization began changing too.
Not overnight.
Vincent was still Vincent.
He did not suddenly become an accountant with a conscience.
But the counterfeit network had operated partly because criminal secrecy created corridors nobody questioned.
He shut several of them.
Sold interests.
Opened legitimate shipping books to auditors.
Removed three captains involved in protection schemes.
One man said:
“You’re weakening us.”
Vincent replied:
“I’m making fewer reasons for federal agents to visit breakfast.”
Frank approved.
Mostly.
He missed intimidation.
Ruby’s security became another battle.
Vincent wanted armed protection at school.
Maggie refused.
“No.”
“Someone photographed her.”
“They’re arrested.”
“Some.”
“Vincent.”
“Fine. Plainclothes.”
“No.”
“Driver.”
“Yes.”
“Trained driver.”
“Fine.”
“Background vehicle.”
“No.”
He sighed.
“You negotiate like hostage personnel.”
“I’ve had practice.”
Ruby began therapy.
She asked whether that meant she was “crazy.”
Maggie said no.
Vincent said:
“Everyone in this house needs therapy.”
Lucia threw a biscuit at him.
Eventually, Ruby stopped checking windows.
Stopped asking whether the crown people were coming.
Returned to piano lessons.
One afternoon, Vincent heard Moon River.
He stood outside the room.
Ruby looked up.
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Blocking.”
He moved.
She smiled.
Then patted the bench.
“Sit.”
“No.”
“You know one part.”
“Badly.”
“So?”
He sat.
One finger.
Then two.
Isabella had once taught him the opening.
He remembered.
His chest hurt.
But not like before.
Maggie appeared at the doorway carrying grocery bags.
She stopped.
Watched.
Vincent noticed.
Something passed between them.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Recognition.
Two people who had lost spouses.
Two people learning memory did not have to be a locked room.
Ruby finished.
Then asked:
“Did Isabella really say move too?”
Vincent smiled.
“Yes.”
“All the time?”
“Yes.”
Ruby looked pleased.
“Then maybe she put me here.”
Maggie immediately said:
“No spooky destiny.”
Ruby frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I have enough problems.”
Vincent laughed.
Ruby rolled her eyes.
Then played again.
May you like
The room no longer sounded dead.
That was enough.
