Chapter 4 - Dinner With a Killer
Victor Marchetti had always believed patience was the difference between a criminal and a king.
When I was seventeen, he taught me chess.
“Never attack because you're angry,” he used to say. “Make the other man believe you're calm until he moves exactly where you need him.”
Twenty-five years later, I opened my front door and welcomed him inside while imagining how easily I could put a bullet through his heart.
“Elias.”
Victor hugged me.
I let him.
That was harder than pulling a trigger.
“You look terrible,” he said.
“Good to see you too.”
His gaze moved around the foyer.
“Your security called about gunfire.”
Interesting.
My security had called nobody.
“I heard you had visitors.”
There it was.
I gestured toward the dining room.
“Have a drink.”
Victor handed his coat to a servant.
His six men remained near the entrance.
Reed's people watched them.
A room full of men pretending not to calculate shooting angles.
Victor poured bourbon.
“I worry about you.”
“I know.”
“Strangers show up at your gate. Then gunfire.”
He took a sip.
“People may think you're losing your edge.”
“People have thought that before.”
“They usually regret it.”
“Usually.”
He studied me.
For a moment, I wondered whether he could hear the difference in my voice.
Then Maisie walked into the room.
I had told Harper to keep her upstairs.
Children have never respected operational planning.
Victor froze.
Only for half a second.
But I saw it.
Maisie hugged Blue November against her chest.
“Mr. Elias, Harper said dinner is—”
She noticed Victor.
He smiled.
“Well. Who is this?”
“Maisie.”
He crouched slightly.
“Hello, Maisie.”
She didn't answer.
Her eyes moved over his face.
That same careful measurement.
Victor's gaze dropped to the fox.
Something flashed in his eyes.
Recognition.
“Cute toy.”
Maisie backed away.
Victor stood.
“Where did she come from?”
“Her sister needed help.”
“You run an orphanage now?”
“No.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
I smiled back.
“Why?”
“Because children make men sentimental.”
My hand nearly closed around the knife on the table.
Instead, I poured bourbon.
Harper appeared.
Her face was composed now.
She looked at Victor as though seeing him for the first time.
He looked at her.
Recognition again.
Stronger.
“You're Rebecca's daughter.”
Harper went pale.
I didn't move.
“How do you know Rebecca?”
Victor realized his mistake.
“Foundation events. Years ago.”
“Harper would have been a child.”
“I remember faces.”
“So do I.”
Our eyes met.
Chess.
He had moved one piece too far.
Dinner was the strangest meal served in my house since Isabella died.
Victor talked about business.
I answered.
Harper barely ate.
Maisie watched everyone.
Mrs. Doyle remained upstairs with the doctor.
Reed stood outside the dining room.
Halfway through the main course, Victor placed his fork down.
“Elias, a word?”
“Speak.”
“Privately.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“You've always been stubborn.”
“I learned from family.”
He leaned back.
“Fine. Rebecca Lane was involved with people she didn't understand.”
Harper's fork stopped.
Victor continued.
“Her younger daughter may be connected to Gabriel Rourke.”
I let surprise cross my face.
“Rourke is dead.”
“Maybe.”
I watched him carefully.
“You told me his death was confirmed.”
Victor lifted one shoulder.
“Information changes.”
“You were the source of that information.”
His eyes narrowed.
I had pushed too hard.
I changed direction.
“What does a dead lieutenant have to do with an eight-year-old?”
Victor looked at Maisie.
“She could be leverage.”
Maisie understood the word.
Children always understand more than adults want.
Harper put her hand over Maisie's.
“Against whom?”
Victor smiled politely.
“Your sister's father was not a good man.”
“You knew him?”
“I knew what he was capable of.”
Harper's voice hardened.
“Did you know my father too?”
Silence.
I felt Victor's attention sharpen.
“Your father?”
“Different fathers.”
Victor recovered.
“No. I don't believe I did.”
Harper looked down.
I could see the effort it took for her not to scream.
Victor finished his bourbon.
“You should send them away, Elias.”
“Why?”
“For their safety.”
“From Gabriel?”
“Among others.”
“Who?”
He smiled.
“If I knew, you wouldn't need security.”
That was when a servant entered carrying a cordless phone.
“Mr. Marchetti?”
I looked up.
“There is a call for Miss Lane.”
Harper frowned.
“Nobody knows I'm here.”
Victor's expression didn't change.
Mine did.
“Put it on speaker.”
The servant placed the phone down.
Harper answered.
“Hello?”
A distorted male voice spoke.
“Box 417.”
Harper looked at me.
Victor's glass paused halfway to his mouth.
The voice continued.
“If Elias opens it, the little girl dies.”
Maisie froze.
Harper shot to her feet.
“Who is this?”
The call ended.
Victor slowly lowered his glass.
I watched him.
He watched me.
Neither of us mentioned the box.
But now I knew.
He knew about it.
Not the location perhaps.
But enough.
Victor stood.
“I should go.”
“So soon?”
“Family business.”
“You are family.”
For the first time that night, his smile looked strained.
At the door he paused.
“Be careful, Elias.”
“With what?”
“Old ghosts.”
He glanced back.
“Sometimes we remember dead people better than they deserved.”
I waited until his vehicles disappeared beyond the gates.
Then I turned to Reed.
“Prepare the armored SUV.”
Harper stood.
“We're going to the bank?”
“No.”
“Rebecca said the evidence is there.”
“Which means Victor expects us to go.”
“Then what?”
I looked at the brass key.
“We make him believe we already did.”
Reed understood.
A false convoy left the estate thirty minutes later.
Victor's men followed it.
Meanwhile, Harper, Maisie, Reed, and I used the old tunnel beneath the west greenhouse—a passage built during Prohibition and known to fewer than five living people.
We reached a second vehicle outside the property.
Allegheny Private Trust opened a private entrance for me at 2:14 a.m.
Money makes bankers flexible.
Box 417 was larger than expected.
The brass key turned.
Inside sat two ledgers.
A flash drive.
A sealed letter with my name.
And a small digital recorder.
My hands shook when I picked it up.
Reed looked away.
I pressed play.
Static.
Then Isabella's voice.
I hadn't heard it in nine years.
“Elias, if Gabriel gives you this, something went wrong.”
My chest nearly collapsed.
Maisie slipped her small hand into mine.
I let her.
Isabella continued.
“I found out who has been using my foundation.”
I closed my eyes.
“I know you'll want revenge. Please don't let revenge be the only thing Luca remembers about his father.”
My throat burned.
Then another voice entered the recording.
Male.
Victor.
“You shouldn't have looked into this, Isabella.”
A door slammed.
Isabella said, “If Elias learns what you've done—”
“He won't.”
“You're his uncle.”
“I made him.”
Then Victor said the words that destroyed whatever doubt remained.
“Tomorrow, Gabriel will take the blame. And you will never tell Elias anything.”
A struggle.
The recording stopped.
Harper was crying.
I couldn't.
Not yet.
Then Reed opened the second ledger.
His face changed.
“Elias.”
“What?”
He turned the page toward me.
There were dozens of payments.
One was dated that morning.
Two hundred thousand dollars.
Recipient:
THOMAS REED.
My eyes lifted slowly.
Reed stared at the page.
May you like
Then at me.
And behind us, the vault door slammed shut.
