Chapter 4 - THE NAME OF A DEAD MAN
Sofia refused to leave the theater until she saw what had happened inside.
Adrian objected.
“The building may be unsafe.”
She folded her arms.
Then let a qualified inspector tell me that. Not Marcus.
Lily translated.
Adrian started to answer, then stopped himself.
“You're right.”
Instead of forcing the door, he contacted the theater's longtime maintenance supervisor, Martin Cruz.
Martin arrived twenty minutes later with his own key.
He was sixty-three, broad-shouldered, and visibly nervous.
“Mr. Moretti,” he said, “I was told not to let anyone inside.”
“By whom?”
“Mr. Marcus.”
Sofia stepped forward.
Martin saw her.
His expression changed.
“Miss Sofia.”
She signed a greeting.
Martin knew enough sign language to answer awkwardly.
He had worked at the theater since Sofia was fourteen.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't know they were keeping you out.”
Inside, the Marigold smelled of dust and damp wood.
Heavy curtains hung motionless above an empty stage.
Rows of burgundy seats disappeared into darkness.
Sofia stood in the aisle, taking everything in.
Then she looked toward the balcony.
Several decorative panels had been removed.
A temporary barrier blocked access to the upper level.
Adrian examined a construction invoice attached to the wall.
“Four hundred twenty thousand dollars for structural reinforcement?”
Martin shook his head.
“That's what the paperwork says.”
“Was the work done?”
“Some temporary bracing. Not the reinforcement they billed for.”
Sofia hurried toward the backstage corridor.
Her mother's old office remained at the end.
A framed photograph hung beside the door.
Rosa Moretti stood smiling outside the theater on opening night.
She wore a midnight-blue coat and a small silver watch.
Beside her stood a much younger Adrian, holding Sofia's hand.
Sofia touched the photograph.
For a moment, the investigation disappeared.
She was simply a daughter missing her mother.
Lily remained beside her without speaking.
Eventually, Sofia signed.
She taught me that a building should welcome people before it impresses them.
Lily translated softly.
Adrian looked away.
He remembered his mother saying almost the same thing.
Inside the office, Sofia opened a drawer containing old programs, photographs, and commemorative tickets.
She found a gold-colored opening-night ticket marked B12.
Her mother had saved it.
On the back, in faded handwriting, were four words:
EVERY SEAT BELONGS TO SOMEONE.
Sofia smiled through tears.
Then Martin returned carrying a folder.
“These were left in the maintenance cabinet. I thought you should see them.”
The folder contained contractor schedules, inspection reports, and payment authorizations.
Lily helped Sofia arrange them across the desk.
A roofing contractor had been paid for work that Martin said never happened.
An accessibility review had supposedly approved removing the theater's original ramp.
And a witness certification claimed that the project changes had been explained to everyone affected.
Sofia pointed at the certification.
I never attended that meeting.
Martin frowned.
“There wasn't a meeting. They sent us the paperwork afterward.”
Adrian studied the signature.
“Who witnessed this?”
Lily leaned closer.
Then everything inside her seemed to stop.
The witness's name was familiar.
Too familiar.
Thomas Carter.
Her father.
Below his name appeared his old professional designation:
Stage Carpenter and Accessibility Consultant.
The signature looked remarkably similar to the one he used on birthday cards.
Lily's fingers went cold.
Adrian noticed.
“Lily?”
She couldn't answer.
Sofia touched her arm.
Lily pointed at the date.
April 14.
Then she reached into her handbag and removed a small folded photograph.
It showed her father in a hospital bed, smiling weakly beside her.
On the back, Lily had written the date she wanted to remember.
January 9.
The day before he died.
Her father had been buried fourteen months earlier.
The certification had supposedly been signed only six months ago.
Lily stared at the document.
Then she spoke so quietly Adrian almost didn't hear.
“My father couldn't have witnessed this.”
Sofia looked between the photograph and the paperwork.
May you like
Lily's voice broke.
“Because by the time someone signed his name, my father had been dead for eight months.”
