Chapter 3 - THE WATCH THAT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO EXIST
"Take your hand off that watch."
I barely recognized my own voice.
Dominic Marino looked at me as though I'd forgotten my manners.
"Excuse me?"
"That watch belonged to Adam Hartwell."
He glanced at my mother.
Margaret stood perfectly still.
Vincent moved beside me.
"Answer her, Uncle."
Dominic sighed.
"Adam gave it to me years ago."
"When?" I demanded.
"A week before the accident."
I stared at him.
"That's impossible."
"Young lady, I knew your father very well."
"So did I."
My voice broke.
"He wore that watch every day. He wore it to my fifteenth birthday dinner, three days before he died."
Dominic's expression tightened.
Vincent held out his palm.
"Let me see it."
For a moment, I thought his uncle would refuse.
Then Dominic placed the watch in Vincent's hand.
Vincent opened the back cover.
Inside was a tiny inscription.
For my brave girl, Evie. Love, Dad.
I couldn't breathe.
My father had called me Evie.
Nobody else had.
Not even my mother.
I reached for the watch.
Vincent handed it over without hesitation.
The metal was warm from Dominic's pocket.
I remembered Dad standing in our kitchen, showing me how the watch opened.
I remembered his rough fingers guiding mine.
I remembered him saying, "A watch can't give you more time, sweetheart. It can only remind you to use the time you've got."
For fifteen years, I'd believed the watch was at the bottom of a river.
Now it was sitting in my palm.
"Why did you have it?" I whispered.
Dominic adjusted his cuffs.
"Your father owed me money."
Margaret made a small sound.
I turned.
"Mom?"
She looked at Dominic.
"Adam didn't owe you anything."
His pleasant expression hardened.
"Margaret, I wouldn't discuss private financial matters in front of the children."
Vincent laughed once.
"The children?"
He stepped forward.
"I'm thirty-eight years old. I've been running this family for fifteen years."
"With my assistance," Dominic reminded him.
"Apparently, that's a subject we need to discuss."
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
I had read enough about the Marino family to know Vincent controlled dangerous men and enormous sums of money.
But Dominic had the unsettling confidence of someone who had taught him everything.
The older man turned toward Sofia.
"Perhaps you should take Evelyn upstairs. Vincent and I need a word."
"No," I said.
All four of them looked at me.
"I am finished being escorted out of conversations about my own family."
For the first time, Vincent smiled.
"She stays."
Dominic stared at us.
Then he straightened his jacket.
"Your mothers have become sentimental. That's the trouble with anniversaries."
"Anniversaries?" I asked.
"The company is marking fifteen years since Enzo took over the Pier Nine charitable foundation."
Vincent frowned.
"My father never took over that foundation."
Dominic hesitated.
"An administrative detail."
Before anyone could challenge him, an older woman entered carrying a tray of folded dinner programs.
She wore the hotel's burgundy banquet uniform and sensible black shoes.
"Mr. Marino," she said, "the commemorative photographs are ready."
Dominic looked irritated.
"Thank you, June."
The woman noticed the watch in my hand.
Her entire expression changed.
"Where did you find that?"
I swallowed.
"It was my father's."
She looked at Dominic.
Then at Sofia.
"After all these years," she murmured.
Dominic stepped toward her.
"June, we don't need another family history lesson."
But she wasn't looking at him anymore.
She was looking at me.
"Your name is Evelyn?"
I nodded.
"I'm June Bell. I used to run the night dispatch desk at Pier Nine."
My heart began pounding.
"Did you know my father?"
Her eyes filled.
"He always brought me coffee when I worked the late shift."
I couldn't speak.
June lowered her tray.
"I took a photograph of him the night he died."
Dominic's jaw tightened.
"June."
She ignored him.
"Your father and Mr. Enzo were standing outside the warehouse. They looked worried, but they weren't arguing."
"Do you still have it?" I asked.
She nodded.
"There's a copy in tonight's memorial display."
Dominic moved toward the door.
"I think that's enough."
Vincent caught his arm.
"Not another step."
For a long moment, neither man moved.
Then Dominic slowly withdrew.
Vincent turned to June.
"Show us."
Ten minutes later, we stood before a wall of black-and-white photographs in the ballroom's quiet western corridor.
June removed one framed picture.
There were my father and Enzo Marino.
Standing together.
Alive.
Smiling faintly beneath the lights of Pier Nine.
My father was wearing his watch.
June pointed toward the large warehouse clock visible behind them.
The hands showed six minutes past eleven.
I frowned.
"That can't be right."
June looked at me.
"The police report said the crash happened at ten-forty."
"Yes."
She swallowed.
"Miss Hartwell, I took this photograph at eleven-oh-six."
My knees weakened.
"Maybe the clock was wrong."
June shook her head.
"I checked that clock every night against the time cards. I still have the dispatch record."
Vincent stared at the photograph.
May you like
Then June whispered the words that changed everything.
"Your fathers were photographed alive twenty-six minutes after the police said they were dead."
