Chapter 3
“Forty-eight thousand dollars?”
Luca's voice came from the bottom of the staircase.
Teresa immediately stopped talking.
He was standing beside Daniel, his black jacket unbuttoned, the tattoos across his hands visible beneath the chandelier.
He had heard us.
“Mom, what forty-eight thousand dollars?”
Teresa tightened her grip on the sewing tin.
For a moment, I thought she might tell him everything was fine.
That was what people sometimes did when they were afraid of becoming a burden.
Instead, she straightened her shoulders.
“The money your father and I saved for the neighborhood.”
Luca climbed the stairs.
“All of it?”
“Not all our savings, sweetheart. The money we set aside for helping people.”
“How much did you give Vanessa?”
“Forty-eight thousand.”
He stopped one step below us.
“And when?”
“August fourth.”
I watched his expression change.
Not because his mother had spent money without consulting him.
Because someone had taken advantage of her trust.
“Mom, why didn't you tell me?”
Teresa looked hurt.
“Would you have asked me that if I were fifty-eight?”
Luca went quiet.
She continued.
“Antonio and I started that account together. I know what I put into it. I know what I took out.”
He lowered his eyes.
“You're right.”
“I didn't want permission, Luca. I wanted help arranging deliveries.”
He climbed the remaining step and gently touched her shoulder.
“Then tell me what happened.”
We returned to the dining room.
The white tablecloth had been replaced. The champagne glasses were gone.
But I could still see the quarters bouncing across it.
Luca noticed me standing near the doorway.
“Hannah, sit down.”
“I'm all right, sir.”
“You've been standing all evening.”
I hesitated.
Then took the chair beside Teresa.
Mrs. Carter brought tea while Daniel placed a notebook on the table.
Teresa explained everything.
Twelve elderly neighbors.
Some widowed.
Some living on retirement checks that barely covered rent.
One woman whose arthritis made carrying groceries almost impossible.
Antonio had known every one of them.
After his death, Teresa continued sending food.
Usually, she arranged the shopping herself.
Then Vanessa suggested something easier.
A full year of scheduled deliveries through Bellini Family Market.
Four thousand dollars a month for twelve households.
Forty-eight thousand dollars paid in advance.
“She said the store could offer a better price if I paid for the year,” Teresa explained.
Luca looked toward Daniel.
“Bellini Family Market?”
Daniel nodded.
“Vanessa's family used to operate it.”
“Used to?”
“I'm checking its current status.”
Teresa looked confused.
“Vanessa told me it was doing wonderfully.”
I watched Luca's jaw tighten.
Then Teresa reached into her cardigan pocket.
She took out a small folded shopping list.
“Twelve names,” she said. “I wrote them myself.”
Her handwriting was neat.
Margaret Ellis was first.
Below her were eleven others.
Beside each name, Teresa had written the groceries they preferred.
Mrs. Doyle couldn't manage heavy bags.
Mr. Ortega liked coffee but never requested it.
Mrs. Whitcomb needed soft foods because of her teeth.
Luca read the list slowly.
Then looked up.
“You remembered all this?”
Teresa almost smiled.
“Your father remembered the coffee. I remembered everything else.”
For the first time that night, Luca laughed.
A brief, sad sound.
Then his expression darkened.
“Daniel, I want to know exactly what was purchased.”
Daniel nodded.
“I'll collect the household records and compare them with the supplier's records.”
Teresa looked at him.
“And please don't frighten the neighbors. They've done nothing wrong.”
“Yes, Mrs. Moretti.”
Something about the way Daniel answered her made me feel better.
He understood that this wasn't simply an investigation.
It involved real people.
People who might already be ashamed of needing help.
Mrs. Carter returned carrying a folder from the small office Vanessa had used to organize wedding arrangements.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Luca looked up.
“I found these in the household supply cabinet.”
She opened the folder.
Inside were monthly delivery summaries.
August.
September.
October.
Each page carried the Bellini Family Market name.
Each claimed the groceries had been delivered.
Teresa leaned forward.
“But Margaret said she never received them.”
Luca turned another page.
A section near the bottom caught his attention.
“What's this?”
Daniel moved closer.
“Service adjustments.”
There were twelve entries dated August nineteenth.
I watched Daniel read them.
Then stop.
“What is it?” Luca asked.
Daniel hesitated.
“According to this, all twelve households declined their scheduled deliveries.”
Teresa stared at him.
“All twelve?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“That isn't possible.”
Luca looked toward his mother.
“Why?”
“Because Margaret called me in September asking when the groceries would come.”
She touched the paper.
“And Helen Doyle doesn't even have a car anymore. Why would she refuse delivery?”
Daniel examined the dates.
“Someone apparently changed the delivery instructions.”
Luca's eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
Daniel turned the folder around.
A name appeared in the authorization field.
I couldn't read it from my chair.
But Mrs. Carter could.
And suddenly, she went very pale.
“Mr. Moretti,” she whispered, “there must be some mistake.”
Luca looked at her.
“What mistake?”
Mrs. Carter glanced at me.
My stomach tightened.
Daniel remained silent.
Then Luca picked up the page.
He read the name.
And slowly turned toward me.
“Hannah.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Did you ever authorize changes to my mother's grocery deliveries?”
I shook my head.
“No, sir.”
“Have you ever contacted Bellini Family Market on her behalf?”
“No.”
His expression changed.
He looked down again.
Then pushed the paper across the table.
I leaned forward.
Twelve cancellations.
Twelve elderly people.
And beside the authorization field, in neat printed letters, were two words.
H. Collins.
My name.
The same name Vanessa had tried to destroy at the engagement dinner.
I looked at Luca.
“Mr. Moretti, I never signed that.”
He didn't look away.
“I believe you.”
Then Daniel turned to the next page.
The September and October delivery reports identified the same person as the employee who had confirmed that the groceries were received.
Me.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Because Vanessa hadn't simply tried to make me look like a thief over seventy-three dollars.
She had placed my name on records involving forty-eight thousand dollars.
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And if those records were believed, I wasn't just the maid who had supposedly stolen from Teresa.
I was the woman responsible for twelve elderly people going without food.
