Chapter 2 - THE NIGHT HIS BROTHER BEGGED HIM NOT TO OPEN THE CABINET
“Daniel, if you touch one more thing in that house, I swear you'll regret it!”
Luca Moretti's voice shook the walls of his study.
His younger brother went silent on the other end of the neighbor's telephone.
Then came a sound I would never forget.
An elderly man crying out.
“Please! Don't hurt me!”
Luca's expression changed instantly.
“Daniel. Who was that?”
The connection went dead.
Margaret grabbed the edge of the desk.
“That's Arthur Finch,” she whispered. “He's lived beside my farmhouse for forty years.”
Luca was already reaching for his coat.
“Marco!”
His head of security appeared immediately.
“Get the vehicles ready. Call the county sheriff. Nobody enters that property without permission.”
I stepped forward.
“Mr. Moretti, your aunt shouldn't be alone tonight.”
Luca looked at me.
For the first time since I'd started working for him, I saw something other than authority in his face.
Fear.
“Will you stay with her, Natalie?”
“Of course.”
Margaret clutched her little brass key.
“I'm coming with you.”
“Aunt Margaret, it's dangerous.”
“So was standing outside your house for four hours in a snowstorm, sweetheart.”
Her voice was gentle.
But there was steel underneath it.
“I've spent twenty-nine years being afraid of that house. I'm not spending another night wondering what happened inside it.”
Luca didn't argue.
As we crossed the ballroom, Vanessa hurried toward us.
“Darling, where are you going? The photographer is waiting.”
“My aunt's house has been broken into.”
Vanessa blinked.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“How awful. But surely your security people can handle it.”
Luca stopped.
“Someone forged my signature to steal her property, Vanessa.”
Her smile disappeared.
“You can't seriously believe my father would do something like that.”
“I haven't accused your father yet.”
The word yet hung between them.
Vanessa glanced at Margaret.
Then at the faded blue coat.
And for one brief second, I saw something that looked like recognition.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Before I could say anything, Luca guided his aunt outside.
The drive to the farmhouse took nearly ninety minutes.
Snow covered the highway.
Margaret sat beside me in the back seat, rubbing the little brass key between her fingers.
“Your mother must worry about you working so late,” she said.
I smiled sadly.
“She does. But she's used to it.”
“Does she live nearby?”
“In Chicago. A small apartment. My father died six years ago, so it's just the two of us.”
Margaret squeezed my hand.
“Then you understand why a home means so much to someone who has already lost so much.”
I looked at her.
“Yes, ma'am. I do.”
She stared through the snowy window.
“Sofia understood that too.”
“Sofia?”
“Luca's mother.”
Her voice trembled.
“She used to say a house wasn't worth anything unless the people inside felt safe.”
I wanted to ask more.
But just then, Luca spoke from the front seat.
“We're here.”
Two sheriff's vehicles were parked outside the farmhouse.
The front door stood open.
Footprints covered the snow.
And Daniel Moretti stood on the porch with his hands raised.
He was thirty-seven, handsome like his brother, but thinner, with tired eyes and an expensive overcoat hanging crookedly from his shoulders.
Two men in work jackets stood behind him.
A deputy was questioning them.
Luca climbed out.
“Where's Mr. Finch?”
Daniel swallowed.
“He's fine.”
“That's not what I asked.”
“He fell when he tried to stop us. I helped him up.”
Inside, Arthur Finch sat beside the fireplace with an ice pack against his shoulder.
He looked embarrassed.
“I'm all right, Luca. Just slipped on the porch.”
Luca knelt beside him.
“I'm sorry this happened.”
Arthur looked toward Daniel.
“Your brother wasn't the one who pushed me.”
One of the hired men lowered his eyes.
The deputy took the man's statement.
Then Luca turned to Daniel.
“Start explaining.”
Daniel glanced at Margaret.
“Aunt Maggie, you shouldn't have come back.”
“It's my house, Daniel.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then help me understand.”
Daniel's hands began shaking.
“Edwin Sinclair told me there were papers in the cabinet. Papers that could ruin the family.”
Luca stepped closer.
“You forged my signature?”
Daniel looked away.
“Edwin said you'd approve once the development was completed.”
“Did you forge it?”
“Yes.”
The admission seemed to break something between the brothers.
Luca stared at him.
“Twelve years, Daniel. I trusted you with our family properties for twelve years.”
“I know.”
“You knew Margaret had a lifetime right to this house.”
Daniel's voice cracked.
“Edwin said the agreement could be settled afterward.”
Margaret looked at him with heartbreaking disappointment.
“You were eight years old when I taught you to make pancakes in that kitchen.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“I remember.”
“And now you came here to take away my home?”
He couldn't answer.
The sheriff instructed everyone to remain while the scene was documented.
Inside the kitchen, the cabinet beneath the stairs had been pulled halfway from its frame.
Its wooden doors were broken.
A drawer lay on the floor.
But the small brass lock remained intact.
Margaret knelt beside it.
“Your mother made me promise never to force this open.”
She inserted the key.
It turned smoothly.
Inside was a narrow compartment lined with faded green felt.
Luca lifted out an old silver wristwatch.
Its glass was cracked.
Its hands had stopped at 11:42.
Beneath it lay a photograph.
Sofia Moretti stood outside a brick industrial building, smiling beside eleven-year-old Luca and eight-year-old Daniel.
Behind them, painted above the entrance, were the words:
RIDGEWAY MILL.
Daniel made a terrible sound.
“No.”
Luca turned.
“What?”
“Put that photograph away.”
Margaret covered her mouth.
“Daniel…”
But Daniel was already backing toward the kitchen wall.
“Dad said those pictures were destroyed.”
Luca examined the photograph.
On its back, written in Sofia's handwriting, were seven words.
My boys deserve to know what happened.
Under the photograph lay a tiny red wool mitten.
Its fingertips were blackened by fire.
Daniel stared at it.
His breathing became ragged.
Luca stepped toward him.
“Daniel, what happened at Ridgeway Mill?”
His brother looked at the old photograph.
Then at the wristwatch.
And suddenly the successful businessman disappeared.
Standing before us was a frightened little boy who had apparently been carrying the same nightmare for twenty-nine years.
“I didn't mean to do it,” Daniel whispered.
Luca's voice softened.
“Do what?”
Daniel began crying.
“Dad told me never to tell you.”
Margaret shook her head.
“Daniel, sweetheart, don't.”
But he could no longer stop.
“I opened the mill gate that night.”
Luca frowned.
“What gate?”
Daniel lifted his tear-filled eyes.
“The gate that let those men inside.”
The kitchen went completely silent.
Then Daniel spoke the words that made Margaret drop the brass key.
“Luca, Dad told me I started the fire.”
May you like
He swallowed.
“And that Mom died because of me.”
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