Chapter 3 - THE ACCIDENT THAT WASN'T AN ACCIDENT
Dominic did not open the steel door.
But for one terrible moment, Helen believed he would.
He stared at Frank in the darkness.
“Was Anthony there?”
Frank lowered the gun.
“Yes.”
Helen felt the hidden room tilt beneath her.
“You told me Anthony was in Providence that night.”
“He was supposed to be.”
“Frank.”
“He changed plans.”
Dominic's voice became dangerously calm.
“Start talking.”
Outside the door, Sabrina said:
“Dominic, you deserve to hear this from someone who isn't protecting Anthony.”
Frank ignored her.
“Michael had spent six months working inside DeLuca Construction. He found payments going to shell companies. At first he thought Anthony knew.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
Frank looked at Helen.
“Anthony and I nearly killed each other arguing about it.”
Helen blinked.
“You never told me.”
“There were a lot of things we didn't bring home.”
Dominic gave a bitter laugh.
“That seems to be the family motto.”
Frank accepted that.
“Michael called Anthony the night he died. Said he had proof the payments weren't just theft. Somebody was using DeLuca companies to move money for people Anthony had refused to work with.”
“Who?”
“Michael wouldn't say on the phone.”
“So Anthony got in his car.”
“Yes.”
“With Michael.”
“Yes.”
“And someone drove them off the road.”
Frank's voice dropped.
“A truck hit them on Route 1 outside Walpole.”
Helen remembered that night.
Anthony had come home at four in the morning.
His ribs were cracked.
His right hand was bandaged.
He told her he'd slipped on a warehouse staircase.
She had believed him.
For thirty-nine years.
“Anthony survived,” Dominic said.
Frank nodded.
“Michael didn't.”
“Who was driving?”
“Michael.”
“Who hit them?”
“We never proved it.”
Sabrina spoke from the other side.
“That's not what Leonard says.”
Rebecca looked sharply at the door.
Frank's expression hardened.
“Leonard Walsh wasn't there.”
“But apparently he knows an awful lot,” Sabrina replied.
Dominic suddenly stepped toward the door.
“Why do you know any of this?”
Sabrina was silent.
He slammed his palm against the steel.
“Why?”
Her answer came quietly.
“Because my father spent thirty-nine years trying to prove Anthony DeLuca murdered his brother.”
Helen looked at Rebecca.
Frank whispered:
“Her father?”
Rebecca seemed to realize something.
“Cross isn't her birth name.”
Outside, Sabrina gave a small laugh.
“Finally.”
Dominic frowned.
“What is your birth name?”
“Walsh.”
Helen's blood went cold.
Sabrina Cross was Leonard Walsh's daughter.
Anthony's trusted attorney.
The man who supposedly had handled every major DeLuca legal matter for twenty-two years.
The man who had access to Helen's signatures.
The trusts.
The estate.
Everything.
Dominic closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Sabrina Cross is my mother's maiden name,” she said. “Leonard Walsh is my father.”
Frank cursed under his breath.
Rebecca moved quickly to the safe.
“That explains the estate documents.”
Helen looked at her.
“Leonard forged them?”
“He had access to every signature sample necessary.”
Sabrina heard.
“You're assuming they're forged.”
Helen stepped toward the door.
“I never surrendered my rights.”
“Maybe Anthony did it for you.”
“He couldn't.”
“You'd be surprised what Anthony did without telling you.”
That landed because Helen was beginning to understand how true it was.
Dominic said:
“Why didn't you tell me Leonard was your father?”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“After we were married.”
He stared at the steel door.
“You've been sleeping beside me for three years.”
“I love you.”
Frank scoffed.
Sabrina's voice sharpened.
“Stay out of this.”
Dominic's expression changed.
Not heartbreak yet.
Something before heartbreak.
The moment when a person still desperately wants the lie to have one piece of truth inside it.
“Did you know who Michael Moretti was when you met me?”
Sabrina did not answer immediately.
That was enough.
Dominic stepped back.
“Oh, God.”
“Dominic—”
“You knew.”
“I knew Anthony had taken a child after Michael died.”
“You knew that child was me?”
“Yes.”
Helen saw something collapse inside her son.
Sabrina continued quickly.
“But that isn't why I fell in love with you.”
Frank muttered:
“You came looking for him.”
“I came looking for answers.”
“Same difference.”
“No, it isn't.”
Dominic stared at the floor.
“You used me.”
“At first?”
Sabrina's voice shook.
“Yes.”
Helen had never heard Sabrina sound vulnerable.
“I wanted access to Anthony. My father spent my entire childhood telling me Anthony DeLuca destroyed our family. That Michael Moretti discovered what Anthony was doing, threatened to expose him, and ended up dead.”
Frank moved toward the door.
“Your father is lying.”
“Maybe.”
The single word surprised them all.
Sabrina continued.
“Because six months ago, I started finding things that didn't match his story.”
Dominic looked up.
“What things?”
“A payment from Leonard's old firm to the trucking company that owned the vehicle that hit Michael.”
Frank went still.
Rebecca stared at the door.
“When?”
“Three days before the crash.”
Rebecca said:
“Do you have proof?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Sabrina didn't answer.
Dominic stepped toward the door again.
“Where?”
“In my room.”
Frank quietly said:
“That's bait.”
Sabrina heard him.
“If I wanted Dominic dead, Frank, I wouldn't be standing outside a steel room asking him to come upstairs.”
Rebecca spoke.
“You told Helen the estate was worth eight million dollars before the valuation had been disclosed.”
Sabrina was silent.
Helen's eyes narrowed.
Rebecca continued.
“You knew because Leonard told you.”
“Yes.”
“And you intended to have Helen declared incompetent.”
Another pause.
“I said something cruel.”
“You discussed legal action.”
“My father told me Helen had already signed away most of her rights.”
Helen said:
“And you believed him?”
“At the time.”
The words mattered.
At the time.
Helen stepped closer.
“What changed?”
Sabrina exhaled outside the door.
“Anthony.”
Nobody spoke.
“Three weeks ago,” Sabrina said, “Anthony asked me to visit him alone.”
Dominic looked confused.
“At the hospital?”
“No. His office.”
“He was already sick.”
“He knew he was dying.”
Helen's chest tightened.
“What did he say?”
“He put one document in front of me.”
Rebecca asked:
“What document?”
“A copy of Helen's asset waiver.”
Helen felt sick.
Sabrina continued.
“He asked whether I'd ever seen it.”
“What did you say?”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because the signature witness was my father.”
Rebecca looked at Frank.
There it was.
Proof Leonard was connected.
Sabrina continued.
“Anthony looked at me for a long time. Then he said, ‘You aren't stupid enough to believe your father's story anymore.’”
Dominic whispered:
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.”
“And?”
“He told me Michael Moretti's death wasn't what I thought.”
Frank stepped closer.
“What else?”
“He said my father had spent decades burying something.”
Rebecca asked:
“What?”
Sabrina replied:
“I don't know.”
Frank didn't believe her.
“You expect us to trust that?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“But I know where Anthony wanted me to look.”
Everyone waited.
“Locker 317.”
Rebecca grabbed the claim ticket.
Helen whispered:
“You knew.”
“I knew there was a locker. I didn't know Anthony left the ticket with you.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
“Why didn't you go?”
“Because Anthony said I would need something Frank had.”
Frank stiffened.
“What?”
Sabrina finally said:
“A key.”
Frank's hand unconsciously moved toward the chain beneath his shirt.
Helen saw it.
So did Rebecca.
Dominic looked at the old man.
“What key?”
Frank slowly pulled a thin silver chain from beneath his shirt.
A small black key hung from it.
He looked genuinely shaken.
“Michael gave me this the night he died.”
Rebecca stared.
“You've carried it for thirty-nine years?”
“Yes.”
“You never knew what it opened?”
“No.”
Outside, Sabrina said:
“Anthony did.”
Frank suddenly moved.
He unlocked the door.
Rebecca grabbed his arm.
“What are you doing?”
“If Sabrina wanted this key, she's had plenty of chances to take it.”
The door opened.
Paul stood ten feet away.
Sabrina stood beside him in a dark silk robe.
No weapon.
No smile.
For the first time since Helen had met her, Sabrina looked frightened.
Dominic stared at her.
She stared back.
Then he noticed Paul.
“Why is security down here?”
Sabrina glanced at the guard.
“I didn't call him.”
Paul's face changed.
Barely.
But Frank saw it.
His gun came up.
“Hands.”
Paul froze.
“Mr. Moretti—”
“Hands.”
Paul slowly raised them.
Sabrina backed away.
Dominic looked confused.
“What is happening?”
Frank approached Paul.
“Who told you they were in the cellar?”
“I heard voices.”
“Through two doors?”
Paul said nothing.
Frank searched him.
Inside Paul's jacket was a small electronic device.
Rebecca recognized it.
“A signal jammer.”
Dominic looked at Sabrina.
She shook her head.
“I didn't know.”
Frank removed Paul's phone.
The latest outgoing message had been sent four minutes earlier.
Only three words.
THEY FOUND IT.
No name.
Just a number.
Rebecca photographed the screen.
“Who's this?”
Paul remained silent.
Frank moved closer.
“Who?”
Paul stared at him.
Then smiled.
Helen felt immediate dread.
“You really think this started with Sabrina?”
Before anyone could react, every light in the wine cellar came back on.
Paul lunged.
Not at Frank.
At the safe.
Dominic tackled him before he reached it.
The two men crashed into a wine rack.
Bottles shattered.
Frank pulled Dominic back while Rebecca kicked the jammer away.
Paul struggled once.
Then stopped.
His lip was bleeding.
He laughed again.
“You're too late.”
Helen stepped forward.
“Too late for what?”
Paul looked directly at her.
“Locker 317.”
Rebecca's face changed.
“What about it?”
Paul's smile widened.
“The train station opens the locker automatically if the rental expires.”
“When?”
He looked at his watch.
“Six a.m.”
Helen checked the time.
2:46.
Dominic grabbed his coat.
“We're going.”
Frank nodded.
Rebecca looked at Sabrina.
“She stays.”
Sabrina shook her head.
“Anthony told me what you'll find.”
Dominic stopped.
“What?”
She looked at him.
“Proof your father didn't die in that accident because of Anthony.”
Frank's eyes narrowed.
Sabrina continued.
“He died because he discovered who had been stealing from the DeLucas.”
Helen asked:
“Leonard?”
Sabrina shook her head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Sabrina's expression went pale.
“Someone Anthony trusted even more.”
Before she could say the name, Paul's phone rang.
Everyone looked down.
One incoming caller.
Frank stared at the screen.
Helen whispered:
“Who is it?”
Frank turned the phone so they could see.
May you like
The caller ID read:
ANTHONY DELUCA.
