Chapter 2 - The Screen That Held My Father’s Name
I stepped away from the table.
My flat black shoes made no sound on the imported rugs.
Vanessa’s hand shot out to grab the red clutch.
She was fast.
But she was wearing an engagement ring the size of a marble and a tight silk gown.
I was wearing a uniform designed for work.
I reached the bag first.
“Don’t you dare touch my things,” Vanessa hissed.
Her voice trembled. Not with anger. With panic.
I picked up the red clutch.
I opened the gold clasp.
Inside was a compact, a lipstick, and a silver smartphone.
I pulled the phone out.
The screen was still illuminated.
Vanessa lunged.
She didn’t care about the thirty guests watching. She didn’t care about the crystal glasses or the white roses.
She grabbed my wrist, her nails digging into my skin.
“Give it to me!”
“Vanessa.”
Luca’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to.
It cracked through the dining room like a whip.
Marco, Luca’s head of security, stepped out from the shadows near the kitchen door. He didn’t draw a weapon. He just stood there.
Vanessa froze.
She slowly released my wrist.
I walked over and placed the phone in Luca’s outstretched hand.
He didn’t look at me. He looked at the screen.
The dining room was completely silent. You could hear the rain hitting the glass doors of the patio.
Luca stared at the phone for a long time.
His face didn’t change.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t throw the phone.
That was what made the room so terrifying.
When Luca Moretti got quiet, people disappeared.
Finally, he looked up at James Rinaldi.
“You saw a bank screen, James.”
Rinaldi swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Did you see the amount?”
“No. Just the routing numbers.”
Luca set the phone on the white tablecloth.
“It’s a wire transfer,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “For five hundred thousand dollars.”
A collective gasp rippled through the wealthy guests.
Vanessa gripped the back of her chair.
“Luca, let me explain—”
“The account,” Luca interrupted, “is an offshore holding company. Registered in the Cayman Islands.”
He looked at Vanessa.
“You’re draining my personal accounts to pay someone.”
“It was an investment!” she cried.
“It’s blackmail,” Luca corrected smoothly.
He tapped the screen.
“Because attached to the wire transfer is a message. Three words.”
Luca looked at me.
For the first time all night, his dark eyes showed something other than cold control.
It looked like shock.
“Emma,” he said quietly.
“Yes, sir?”
“What is your father’s name?”
My heart stopped.
My father.
The man who could barely use his right hand. The man who sat in a recliner watching old baseball games because his stroke had taken everything else.
“Thomas,” I whispered. “Thomas Reed.”
Luca turned the phone around so I could see the screen.
There, beneath a confirmed transfer of half a million dollars, was a short text message sent from an unknown number.
Payment received. Thomas Reed is taken care of.
The room spun.
Vanessa had paid half a million dollars to someone.
And the receipt was my father’s name.
I looked at Vanessa.
She wasn’t looking at Luca anymore. She was staring at me with pure, unadulterated hatred.
“What did you do to my father?” my voice shook.
Vanessa lifted her chin.
“I fixed a problem.”
Before I could move, Luca stood up.
“Marco,” Luca said. “Clear the room. Everyone leaves. Now.”
The guests didn’t argue. They stood up, abandoning their expensive desserts and champagne, rushing toward the coatroom.
James Rinaldi tried to speak. “Luca, I swear I didn’t know—”
“Get out, James,” Luca said without looking at him.
Within three minutes, the dining room was empty except for me, Luca, Vanessa, and two security guards.
Luca picked up the phone again.
He swiped the screen to the left.
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“And this?” Luca asked.
He turned the phone toward her.
I caught a glimpse of the screen.
It wasn’t a bank statement.
It was a photograph of a child’s drawing.
Crayon on cheap, lined paper. A house with a crooked chimney and a blue dog.
“Who drew this?” Luca asked.
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“You don’t recognize it? Look at the back of the paper.”
Luca swiped to the next photo.
His breath hitched.
I saw his broad shoulders tense beneath his tailored suit.
“Where did you get this?” Luca demanded, his voice suddenly thick with raw emotion.
“I found it in your private safe,” Vanessa sneered. “The one you thought I didn’t have the combination to.”
Luca looked at me.
“Emma. Get your coat.”
“Why?” I asked, panic rising in my throat. “Where is my father?”
Luca walked around the table and stopped right in front of me.
“I don’t know. But the signature on this drawing belongs to a six-year-old boy.”
He showed me the screen.
Written in clumsy, childish letters at the bottom of the page was a name.
Leo.
“My son,” Luca whispered. “The son I was told died six years ago.”
He looked back at Vanessa, his eyes burning with a dark, dangerous fire.
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“And he drew it on the back of an elevator maintenance log signed by Thomas Reed.”
TITLE: The Photograph Inside The Empty Wallet
