Chapter 3 - A DEAD MAN’S SIGNATURE
“That's impossible.”
Renata said it again, louder.
“My father has been dead for four years.”
Cesare took the certificate from her.
The signature was clean.
The date was recent.
The document included a commercial inspection number, a facility stamp, and a digital verification reference.
Nothing about it looked careless.
That frightened Renata more than a sloppy forgery would have.
Someone had taken considerable trouble to make her dead father appear alive.
“Are you sure it’s his signature?” Cesare asked.
“I watched him write his name for thirty years.”
“Could someone have copied it?”
“Obviously. But why?”
Cesare turned to the courier.
“Who handed you these papers?”
“A broker named Victor Kells.”
“Did you meet the assayer?”
“No.”
“Did you see the bars examined?”
“No.”
Cesare closed the folder.
“Then you transported twenty-two sealed bars you never verified, carrying certificates signed by a dead man.”
The courier lowered his eyes.
“I was told everything had been cleared.”
“By whom?”
“Mr. Matteo Morandi.”
Renata looked between them.
“Another Morandi?”
“My uncle,” Cesare answered.
“Of course he is.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“Listen, I make dental crowns. I don't investigate criminal empires. I was supposed to be eating steak with a civil engineer who likes rescue dogs.”
Something changed in Cesare's expression.
“Tell me about him.”
“His name is Kyle.”
“Where is he?”
“I assumed he was you.”
“Show me his messages.”
Renata hesitated.
Then she opened the dating app.
The conversation was gone.
Not archived.
Not hidden.
Gone.
She stared at the empty screen.
“That was here twenty minutes ago.”
Cesare looked toward the front desk.
“Who arranged your seating?”
“The hostess.”
He motioned to his security chief, a silver-haired man named Dominic.
“Bring her here, please. Politely.”
A minute later, the hostess approached, looking terrified.
Cesare spoke calmly.
“Did you have a reservation for Renata Sabo?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who made it?”
“I don't know. It was already in the system when my shift started.”
“May I see the entry?”
Dominic retrieved a tablet from the reception desk.
The reservation had been created three days earlier.
One guest.
Renata Sabo.
Back booth.
8:30 p.m.
Special instruction: Seat her with Mr. Morandi.
Renata stared at the screen.
“Someone arranged this?”
Cesare nodded slowly.
“And you knew nothing about it?”
“Nothing.”
“Then whoever created that reservation knew exactly where I would be sitting.”
A cold sensation moved through Renata's chest.
She remembered the dating profile.
The ordinary conversation.
The jokes about bad coffee.
The way Kyle had asked about her work.
Not just whether she liked it.
What kind of metal she handled.
Whether she could identify alloys without laboratory equipment.
Her mouth went dry.
“He asked me something strange yesterday.”
Cesare waited.
“He wanted to know if I could recognize fake gold.”
“Why?”
“He said he’d read about counterfeit wedding rings.”
Renata swallowed.
“I thought he was trying to make conversation.”
Cesare looked at the damaged bars.
Then at the forged certificate.
“You weren't sent here for a date.”
The realization hit her with humiliating force.
The sweater.
The nervous apology.
The hopeful twenty-minute conversation.
Someone had manufactured the entire evening.
And she had been grateful when a dangerous stranger treated her kindly.
“Was any of this real?” she asked quietly.
Cesare's expression softened.
“Our conversation was.”
She looked away.
“That doesn't help as much as you think.”
He accepted the criticism.
Then he said, “Someone used you to expose these bars. I intend to find out why.”
Renata shook her head.
“No. I intend to find out why.”
“Renata—”
“They used my father's name.”
Her voice trembled.
“They brought him into this, and he's not here to defend himself.”
Cesare studied her for several seconds.
Then he pushed the inspection folder toward her.
“Then we examine everything together.”
Renata glanced toward the door.
“What happens to those men?”
“The courier stays available for questioning. The armed escorts leave their weapons with security before anyone goes anywhere.”
“And me?”
“You are free to go.”
“Even after I destroyed your gold?”
A small smile appeared.
“You saved me from accepting twenty-two very expensive paperweights.”
Despite everything, Renata almost smiled back.
Then Dominic returned.
He had obtained the original delivery authorization from the restaurant's printer records.
“Mr. Morandi, you need to see this.”
Cesare scanned the page.
His expression hardened.
Renata leaned closer.
There, beneath the approval for the private delivery, was a familiar surname.
AUTHORIZED BY LUCIA MORANDI.
“Who is Lucia?” Renata asked.
Cesare's face had gone completely still.
“My sister.”
He read the authorization a second time.
May you like
Then he said something that frightened Renata more than the armed men had.
“Lucia is the only person in this family I believed would never lie to me.”
