Chapter 7 - THE MEN WHO TRUSTED MY BROTHER
“They were going to fire me too.”
Matteo said it a second time.
As though repeating the words might make them less real.
Ray stood beside the cabinet, holding the employee transition schedule.
Nobody spoke.
Then Luca took the page.
He read the names carefully.
“Twenty-two employees,” he said.
Ray nodded.
“Some have worked here longer than Matteo's been alive.”
Teresa reached for the paper.
She adjusted her glasses.
Then pointed to a name halfway down.
“Frank Sullivan.”
Ray nodded.
“Thirty-one years.”
“His wife had surgery last spring.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And he has two grandchildren.”
“Three now.”
Teresa smiled faintly.
Then her expression saddened.
She continued reading.
She knew the families.
The birthdays.
Who had recently lost a parent.
Who was helping a child through college.
These weren't names on a spreadsheet to her.
They were people Antonio had brought into their lives.
Matteo leaned against the workbench.
“I told Enzo I wouldn't agree to anything that cost the employees their jobs.”
Ray looked at him.
“Did you get that promise in writing?”
Matteo closed his eyes.
“No.”
Ray sighed.
“I wish you had.”
Luca folded the schedule.
“Until we know the legal status, nobody from Bellini's redevelopment operation is authorized by us to enter this garage or begin work.”
He looked toward Daniel, who had accompanied us.
“Coordinate with the property advisers and local authorities. We need to establish exactly what access anyone has been granted.”
Daniel nodded.
Then Luca turned to Ray.
“I'm arranging independent structural inspection. Meanwhile, the employees affected by the closed bay will still be paid.”
Ray looked surprised.
“Mr. Moretti, that's a lot of money.”
“I know.”
“And the shop may be in worse trouble than Matteo realizes.”
“I know that too.”
Luca glanced toward the faded red sign outside.
“My father would've expected us to protect the people who work here.”
Matteo looked at him.
“But we can't pretend the business isn't losing money.”
“No,” Luca replied.
“We're going to find out why.”
For the next hour, we examined the repair invoices.
Ray brought out maintenance reports.
Matteo found the payment records he'd been relying on.
I helped Teresa organize the dates and amounts.
The more we compared them, the worse things looked.
Several invoices referred to work Ray said had never been completed.
Two listed equipment that had never arrived.
And one charged the garage for replacing a heating system that was still the original one Antonio had installed.
Matteo stared at the totals.
“I approved these.”
Luca nodded.
“You approved bills based on reports from a contractor you trusted.”
“I should have checked.”
“Yes.”
Matteo looked up, wounded.
Luca continued gently.
“But that doesn't give anyone permission to charge for work they didn't perform.”
Ray pointed toward the largest invoice.
“This company was recommended by Vanessa.”
Matteo nodded.
“She said her father knew reputable people.”
“Did you check whether he owned it?”
“No.”
Luca studied him.
“That's how they got close enough to control everything.”
Matteo said nothing.
Teresa placed her hand on his arm.
“You made mistakes, sweetheart.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
“Very serious mistakes.”
He nodded.
“But admitting them is how you begin making things right.”
For the first time that morning, Matteo looked directly at her.
“Are you angry with me?”
Teresa's chin trembled.
“Of course I'm angry.”
He looked down.
She gently lifted his face.
“But I am not going to stop being your mother because you're in trouble.”
Matteo's expression crumpled.
He covered his eyes with one hand.
Luca looked away, giving his brother a moment.
I pretended to organize the invoices.
Sometimes the kindest thing you can do for a grown man is let him cry without making it an event.
A few minutes later, Ray brought us an old brown cardboard box.
“These were your father's records.”
Teresa looked surprised.
“I thought Antonio kept everything at home.”
“Most things,” Ray replied.
“But he kept copies of the important employee arrangements here.”
Luca opened the box.
Inside were payroll books, service records, and the missing photograph.
The one Vanessa had borrowed.
Antonio stood in front of the garage with six mechanics.
All seven men were smiling.
Someone had written a date on the back.
October 14, 1981.
Teresa touched Antonio's face.
“There you are.”
Her voice was almost a whisper.
Ray looked at her.
“That picture was in the redevelopment folder when somebody dropped it off last week.”
Luca frowned.
“Why?”
Ray shrugged.
“I thought maybe they wanted it for a historical display.”
Matteo looked toward the garage window.
“No. Vanessa said the development would honor Dad's name.”
Luca stared at him.
“She promised that too?”
Matteo nodded.
“She said there'd be a plaque.”
Ray looked down at the photograph.
“A plaque?”
His voice was rough.
“Antonio didn't spend his life building a place so somebody could hang a plaque over the parking lot.”
Nobody answered.
Then I noticed a second sheet tucked behind the photograph.
It was a printed project schedule.
At the top was Enzo's company name.
Below were several internal preparation dates.
One entry caught my attention.
Family owner consent and reputational concerns — resolve before public announcement.
I pointed to it.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Luca leaned closer.
“What is it?”
I showed him the line.
He read it twice.
Matteo took the paper.
His face tightened.
“That meeting was scheduled for yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Luca repeated.
Matteo nodded.
“The day Vanessa and I went into Dad's study.”
I suddenly remembered the serving card.
Teresa's handwriting.
The special dietary exception.
The dish meant only for Luca.
And the way Vanessa had warned Teresa that she might embarrass her grown son.
I looked toward Luca.
“What if they didn't just need Mrs. Moretti to sign something?”
He turned toward me.
“What do you mean?”
I swallowed.
“What if they needed everyone to believe she couldn't make decisions anymore?”
Luca went still.
Teresa stared at me.
I continued carefully.
“If your mother had served food that made you seriously ill, perhaps they thought you'd stop trusting her judgment.”
Matteo looked sick.
“Vanessa wouldn't—”
He stopped.
Because all of us were remembering the dinner.
The clean blue pot.
The false story about burned sauce.
The dish falsely attributed to Teresa.
The ingredient Luca couldn't safely eat.
Ray slowly lowered the photograph.
Then he said something that made the whole room fall silent.
“There's a reason that would matter.”
Luca turned.
“What reason?”
Ray looked at Teresa.
“Mrs. Moretti, I don't think your sons know about the arrangement Antonio made when he transferred the property into your name.”
Teresa's expression changed.
Ray continued.
“Your signature isn't just needed to sell the garage.”
He looked toward Luca and Matteo.
“Your father made sure neither of you could pressure her into surrendering it.”
May you like
Then he opened the old payroll box and took out a worn green folder.
And Teresa whispered, “Oh, Antonio. You really did keep a copy.”
