Chapter 3 - THE MAN MY FATHER NEVER MENTIONED
“That isn't possible.”
Vincent took the payment authorization from Anthony.
His signature was unmistakable.
I'd seen it on staff notices, Christmas bonus letters, and the check he'd personally written when Helen donated money to a children's hospital.
But this signature was fifteen years old.
And it appeared above a payment to my father.
Vincent held the paper closer to the greenhouse light.
“I remember authorizing an emergency transfer after the fire.”
Anthony folded his arms.
“Then why are you acting surprised?”
“Because the money was supposed to help injured workers.”
“It did.”
“Then why is George Parker's name here?”
Anthony looked at me.
“Because Mr. Parker received the funds.”
“No,” I whispered.
He turned toward me.
“Emily, I understand this is upsetting.”
“You don't understand anything about my father.”
“I understand what the records say.”
“Then the records are wrong.”
Anthony's expression hardened.
“That's a serious accusation.”
“So is calling my father a thief.”
Helen suddenly gripped my hand.
“Emily, sweetheart, your father didn't steal that money.”
I turned toward her.
“You knew him?”
She nodded slowly.
“He used to bring fresh bread to the shipping office every Friday. His wife made it.”
My eyes filled.
“My mother.”
Helen smiled through her tears.
“She was a lovely woman.”
My mother had died when I was seventeen.
Hearing someone remember her so warmly nearly broke me.
“Why didn't you ever tell me?”
Helen lowered her eyes.
“I wasn't certain you were the same Emily Parker until I saw the photograph you kept beside your father's medical bills.”
I remembered the afternoon.
She'd found me crying in the staff kitchen after a caregiver invoice arrived.
She'd sat beside me and poured two cups of tea.
Three months later, she'd started asking me to help her every morning.
“You knew,” I whispered.
“I suspected.”
“And you said nothing.”
Her expression crumpled.
“I was afraid of opening something your father had spent years trying to forget.”
I gently released her hand.
For the first time since I'd met Helen Moretti, I felt angry with her.
Because she'd offered me kindness while keeping a secret about the worst years of my father's life.
Vincent noticed.
“Emily, you don't have to settle this tonight.”
I turned toward him.
“My father can't speak clearly since his stroke. Sometimes it takes him five minutes to finish one sentence.”
My voice shook.
“He spent fifteen years letting me believe he'd simply lost his job.”
Anthony looked uncomfortable.
“People make mistakes.”
I stared at him.
“Did my father?”
He didn't answer.
Vincent placed the payment authorization back in its envelope.
“I'm having the company's original records examined.”
Anthony shook his head.
“You won't find much. The fire destroyed most of the paperwork.”
“What about the second book?”
Anthony glanced toward the copper tin.
“Dad had a habit of making private copies.”
Vincent opened the little black ledger.
Several pages had been removed.
Not torn carelessly.
Cut neatly along the binding.
He examined the edges.
“These were removed recently.”
Vanessa spoke from behind us.
“Are you sure?”
Vincent looked up.
She stood near the greenhouse entrance, holding her burgundy gown away from the damp floor.
“I thought you'd gone inside,” he said.
“I couldn't just leave you all out here.”
Helen's face tightened.
Vanessa noticed.
For one moment, shame crossed her features.
Then she looked away.
Vincent held up the ledger.
“Who has been inside this greenhouse?”
Anthony answered immediately.
“Contractors.”
“Names.”
“I'll have the supervisor send them.”
“No. Tell me who authorized the work.”
“I did.”
“On what grounds?”
“The foundation has been settling.”
Vincent looked at the unbroken glass, the sturdy frames, and the neatly repaired hinges.
“Funny. The only thing that looks disturbed is the floor beneath this bench.”
Anthony didn't answer.
I noticed something else.
There was fresh dirt beneath the copper tin.
But the rest of the cavity was clean.
Someone had recently lifted it out.
And someone had put it back.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, “may I show you something?”
Vincent nodded.
I pointed to the dirt.
“The gardeners haven't worked inside here for years. But this soil is fresh.”
Anthony sighed.
“Emily, it's a greenhouse. There's supposed to be dirt.”
“Not underneath a sealed stone.”
Vincent crouched.
He touched the soil.
Then he looked at Anthony.
“Did you open this box?”
“No.”
It was a simple answer.
Too simple.
Vincent closed the tin.
“Then we can check the fountain camera.”
Anthony went very still.
Vanessa looked toward him.
And I understood that both of them knew something about that camera.
Back inside the mansion, Vincent led Helen into the small morning room beside the library.
He pulled a chair close to the fireplace and helped her sit.
Then he knelt and inspected her swollen ankles.
“Mom, has anyone examined these?”
“Emily made a doctor's appointment for Monday.”
I remembered the argument.
Vanessa had canceled the first appointment because a florist needed access to the grand entrance.
Vincent looked up.
“Canceled?”
Vanessa had followed us into the room.
“It was rescheduled.”
“Why?”
“We had wedding arrangements.”
Vincent stared at her.
“My mother needed a doctor.”
“It was an ordinary appointment.”
“Not to her.”
Vanessa looked away.
I saw something flicker behind her eyes.
Not anger.
Embarrassment.
But she didn't apologize.
Vincent asked the house manager to bring the family physician's number and arrange an appointment for the following morning.
Then he turned to me.
“Emily, there's something I need to ask.”
I nodded.
“Did you apply here through an employment agency?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which agency?”
“East River Domestic Staffing.”
Anthony suddenly began studying the fireplace.
Vincent noticed.
“Anthony?”
His brother shrugged.
“What?”
“Why did you approve Emily's hiring personally?”
I felt my stomach drop.
I'd never known Anthony had anything to do with my employment.
He'd barely spoken to me during my first six months.
“Because Helen wanted someone younger to help her,” he said.
Vincent looked at his mother.
“Mom?”
Helen shook her head.
“I didn't request Emily until after she started.”
A terrible realization began forming.
Vincent faced his brother.
“Why did you select her?”
Anthony rubbed his forehead.
“Her application mentioned her father's medical situation. I thought she'd appreciate steady employment.”
“Out of hundreds of applicants?”
“She had good references.”
I looked at him.
“You knew who my father was.”
Anthony remained silent.
“You knew before I came here.”
His expression tightened.
“Your surname wasn't difficult to recognize.”
“Then why hire me?”
He finally looked at me.
“Because I wanted to know whether George Parker still remembered what happened.”
The words settled heavily between us.
I'd spent thirteen months believing this job was the answer to my prayers.
I'd endured Vanessa's insults because the salary kept my father comfortable.
And now I discovered that the man who approved my hiring had wanted information about him.
“You used me,” I whispered.
Anthony looked genuinely troubled.
“That wasn't how it started.”
“You just said it was.”
“I was trying to protect this family.”
“From a man who can barely hold a coffee cup?”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Enough, Anthony.”
I looked at Vincent.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Can you prove that?”
He didn't pretend my question was unfair.
“No,” he said quietly. “Not tonight.”
For some reason, his honesty hurt less than reassurance would have.
Twenty minutes later, Vincent's security director, Samuel Reed, entered the library carrying a tablet.
He was a broad-shouldered man in his fifties who rarely spoke unless he had something important to say.
“The fountain camera still works, Mr. Moretti.”
Anthony looked up.
Vincent extended his hand.
“Show me.”
Samuel placed the tablet on the desk.
The recording showed the garden earlier that afternoon.
At 2:13 p.m., someone approached the greenhouse.
A woman.
She wore a black skirt, white blouse, and the gray cardigan issued to the female household staff.
My uniform.
My blood went cold.
“That isn't me.”
Vincent watched without speaking.
The woman unlocked the greenhouse and disappeared inside.
Seven minutes later, she emerged carrying something beneath her cardigan.
A rectangular object.
About the size of the copper tin.
Anthony immediately said, “Well, that settles it.”
Vincent didn't look away from the screen.
“Samuel, enlarge the image.”
The woman turned toward the fountain.
For one brief moment, her face came into view.
I stopped breathing.
Her dark hair was pinned beneath a plain white clip.
Her earrings were small diamonds.
And around her wrist was the narrow gold bracelet Vincent had given her for their engagement.
Vanessa.
Helen covered her mouth.
Anthony whispered something I couldn't hear.
Vincent looked up from the tablet.
May you like
His expression was colder than I'd ever seen it.
“Vanessa,” he said, “why were you dressed as my maid when you stole the evidence from my father's greenhouse?”
