Chapter 5 - THE PHOTOGRAPH CARMINE NEVER WANTED ME TO SEE
“The truck was right behind us,” Maya insisted. “The red one with the white door.”
Faith stood frozen in the library doorway.
She'd heard her daughter's last sentence.
“Maya, sweetheart, are you sure?”
Maya nodded.
“It stopped when we turned into the driveway.”
I looked at Carmine.
“Check the entrance cameras. Now.”
He left without speaking.
Faith knelt beside her daughter.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I thought it was somebody bringing food.”
Her voice was small.
Faith pulled her close.
“You didn't do anything wrong.”
I watched her hold Maya.
There were things money couldn't buy.
A child's trust was one of them.
And somebody had followed that child to my home.
I would not allow it to happen again.
Carmine returned fifteen minutes later.
“The truck was there.”
Faith tightened her grip on Maya's shoulder.
“Where is it now?”
“Gone. It stayed outside the gates for four minutes.”
“Driver?”
“Couldn't see his face.”
He showed me the security footage on a tablet.
The vehicle was unmistakable.
Red body.
White driver's door.
A damaged rear bumper.
Its license plate was partly covered with dirt.
“Run the registration,” I said.
“Already tried. It's registered to a contractor that dissolved last year.”
I leaned closer.
“Then find the contractor's former owner.”
Carmine didn't answer.
“What's wrong?”
“Dominic, we need to move the girl somewhere safe.”
“She's safe here.”
“That's what we thought an hour ago.”
His words stung because they were true.
I turned toward Faith.
“Maya can stay in the interior guest suite tonight. Mrs. Gable will be with her. Carmine will put guards at the gates.”
Faith studied me.
“Guards you trust?”
The question silenced both men.
Finally, Carmine said, “I'll choose them myself.”
Faith nodded.
But she didn't look reassured.
Neither did I.
Later that evening, Faith entered my office carrying two cups of tea.
Maya was sleeping upstairs.
“Chamomile,” she said.
“I prefer whiskey.”
“I know.”
She handed me the tea anyway.
I took it.
That seemed to surprise her.
“You really think Adrian sent that truck?” she asked.
“I think somebody wants you frightened.”
“Then it's working.”
She sat across from me.
For the first time, I could see how tired she was.
Her eyes were red.
Her hands were rough from cleaning chemicals.
A small tear had opened along the seam of her sleeve.
“You should have told me about Maya sooner,” I said.
“Would that have changed anything?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I looked down.
“Because I wouldn't have thrown breakfast at her mother.”
Faith stared at me.
Then she laughed.
Not loudly.
Not for long.
But the sound changed something in the room.
I hadn't heard genuine laughter directed at me in six months.
“You're not very good at apologizing,” she said.
“I've had limited practice.”
“Clearly.”
I looked at the cracked watch around her neck.
“Faith, I need to ask something.”
She touched it instinctively.
“What?”
“Did your father leave anything else?”
“His work jacket. Some tools. A few photographs.”
“Where?”
“In storage. At least, I hope they're still there.”
The landlord had changed the locks.
Her belongings were now under his control.
I felt anger rise again.
“Give Carmine the address.”
“Dominic—”
“No intimidation. No threats. We'll use a locksmith and the proper paperwork if necessary.”
She looked surprised.
“You really are trying.”
“Don't spread that around. I have a reputation.”
Her smile faded as quickly as it had appeared.
“My father wore a blue wool coat when he worked nights. He kept everything in those pockets.”
“Then we need that coat.”
Faith lowered her eyes.
“There's something I haven't told you.”
I waited.
“When Dad died, Adrian Vale came to the funeral.”
My fingers tightened around the cup.
“He offered to pay for everything. The funeral. My rent. Maya's school expenses.”
“Did you accept?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted Dad's belongings.”
The room became very quiet.
“He said they were company property,” Faith continued. “His tools, his coat, even his watch.”
I looked at the silver watch.
“But you kept it.”
“My father gave it to Maya the night before the fire. He said it belonged to her now.”
“Did he explain why?”
Faith shook her head.
“He just told her to take good care of it.”
I leaned back.
Adrian had tried to collect Samuel's belongings before anyone could examine them.
That wasn't grief.
That was evidence control.
The next morning, Carmine accompanied Faith to the storage facility.
I insisted she take Mrs. Gable too.
Faith refused to leave Maya alone, so the little girl stayed with me in the library.
I wasn't prepared for an eight-year-old guest.
Maya apparently wasn't concerned.
She placed her stuffed rabbit on my desk.
“His name is Walter.”
“Why Walter?”
“Because he looks like a Walter.”
I considered the rabbit.
“Fair enough.”
She climbed into a chair and opened her homework.
For twenty minutes, I helped her with multiplication.
I was terrible at it.
She informed me of this repeatedly.
Then she looked at my wheelchair.
“Does your leg always hurt?”
“Not always.”
“Mom says pain makes people grumpy.”
“Your mom has strong opinions.”
Maya nodded.
“She's usually right.”
I couldn't argue.
A little later, she noticed the photograph of my parents on the bookshelf.
“Is that your mom?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“She died a long time ago.”
Maya studied my face.
“I miss Grandpa too.”
I swallowed.
“I'm sorry.”
She reached across the desk and patted my hand.
“It's okay to miss people.”
Then she went back to her homework.
And somehow, those six words gave me more comfort than all the sympathy I'd received since my accident.
Faith returned shortly after noon.
The storage company had cooperated after their attorney confirmed that the landlord had no claim to Samuel's personal possessions.
She carried a battered cardboard box.
Inside lay old screwdrivers, a mechanic's flashlight, several photographs, and a folded blue coat.
The coat smelled faintly of machine oil.
Faith held it against her chest.
For a moment, she looked younger.
Almost like a child herself.
“I used to wear this when I got cold,” she whispered.
I waited while she collected herself.
Then we examined the pockets.
A bus ticket.
A grocery receipt.
Two peppermint candies wrapped in yellow paper.
Nothing that explained the attack.
Faith turned the coat inside out.
“There's a repair in the lining,” she said.
She touched a neat row of stitching beneath the left arm.
“My father couldn't sew like this.”
Mrs. Gable had entered carrying lunch.
She stopped when she saw the coat.
Something passed over her face.
“Who repaired it?” I asked.
She put down the tray.
“I did.”
Faith looked up.
“You knew my father?”
Mrs. Gable closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then the older woman stepped closer.
“Samuel came here three days before Mr. Carter's accident. He wanted to speak to Dominic.”
My heart thudded.
“Why wasn't I told?”
“Adrian said you were away on business.”
“I was upstairs that night.”
Mrs. Gable nodded.
“I know that now.”
She reached toward the coat.
“Samuel asked me to keep something safe if anything happened to him.”
Faith's voice broke.
“What?”
Mrs. Gable carefully opened the repaired lining.
Inside was a small brass storage token stamped with the number 417.
And a folded photograph.
The picture showed the same red truck beside my private garage.
Its white door was clearly visible.
A man stood beside it.
Dark suit.
Broad shoulders.
Familiar face.
My hands turned cold.
It was Carmine.
I looked toward the doorway.
My security chief stood there, staring at the photograph.
He didn't deny it.
May you like
Instead, he said quietly:
“Dominic, before you decide I'm the traitor, you need to see who's standing on the other side of that truck.”
