Chapter 6 - THE SEVEN MINUTES NOBODY EXPLAINED
"Then what was he doing?"
Rosa stood beside me as I examined the old garage receipt.
Her hands shook.
"Sofia believed somebody had tampered with her car."
I looked up.
"Before the accident?"
"Yes."
A terrible anger rose inside me.
"If she knew, why did she drive it?"
"She didn't think it was still unsafe. A mechanic inspected the car again the next morning and told her everything was fine."
"Who?"
"Martin Keene."
The name was familiar.
Martin had maintained my family's vehicles for almost thirty years.
A quiet man in his late sixties who rarely spoke unless someone asked him about engines.
He'd retired shortly after Sofia's death.
I'd sent him flowers.
I hadn't questioned why he'd left.
Another mistake.
I folded the receipt.
"Why did Sofia leave this here?"
Rosa touched the blue ribbon.
"She was afraid someone might search her purse. She wanted at least one person outside your organization to have a copy."
"But you didn't know what it meant."
"No."
She looked ashamed.
"I thought it was just another service receipt."
I placed the bracelet carefully back inside the box.
Then Rosa caught my sleeve.
"Alejandro, there's something else you should know."
I waited.
"After Sofia died, Rafael came here."
My jaw tightened.
"When?"
"Three days after the funeral."
"What did he want?"
"He asked whether Sofia had left anything behind. Photographs. Medical records. Personal belongings."
"Did you tell him about the babies?"
"No. I told him I didn't know anything."
"And he believed you?"
"I thought so."
She shook her head.
"Now I'm not sure."
I looked around the little house.
Four years of birthdays.
Four years of scraped knees and bedtime stories.
Four years of Rafael possibly waiting for the right moment to discover what Sofia had hidden.
"Why bring them to my house today?" I asked.
"Because a man began watching this street last week. Yesterday he photographed Nico outside the grocery store."
My blood chilled.
"Did you see his face?"
"No. But he drove a black SUV with a security emblem on the windshield."
The same emblem I'd seen outside my gates.
I took Rosa's hand.
"You won't spend another night here."
She looked frightened.
"Where would I go?"
"Somewhere Rafael doesn't control."
I arranged for Marcus to bring her to his sister's home, away from my properties.
Then I returned to the estate.
By evening, the house was full of unfamiliar sounds.
Small footsteps.
Running water.
Nico asking whether I owned a dog.
Luca insisting he wasn't sleepy.
Tomas wanting the green blanket instead of the blue one.
Elena looked exhausted.
And happier than I'd seen her in years.
I helped her settle the boys into bed.
Mateo sat beside me, holding his red toy car.
"Are you our daddy?"
The question came without warning.
I looked at his small face.
I could have said yes.
Every instinct inside me wanted to.
But these boys deserved more than a frightened man making promises he hadn't yet learned how to keep.
"I believe I am," I said gently. "And I'm going to make sure we know everything."
He considered that.
"Can daddies stay?"
I felt my throat close.
"Good ones try very hard."
He reached for my hand.
"Then you can practice."
I sat beside him until he fell asleep.
Downstairs, Marcus was waiting.
He'd found Martin Keene.
The retired mechanic lived outside Joliet, in a small house beside an abandoned repair shop.
Martin had been reluctant to speak.
But when Marcus mentioned Sofia's name, he'd agreed to meet us.
We drove there after midnight.
Martin opened his garage door wearing a faded Cubs sweatshirt.
He looked at me and immediately lowered his eyes.
"Mr. Moretti."
"Martin."
He stepped aside.
The garage smelled of old oil and sawdust.
A dismantled engine sat on the workbench.
Photographs of grandchildren covered the walls.
I placed the receipt in front of him.
"Tell me about this."
His face drained.
"Where did you find that?"
"Somewhere Rafael didn't."
Martin sat heavily.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he whispered, "I wondered when somebody would come asking."
Marcus leaned against the workbench.
"Tell us."
Martin rubbed his face.
"That night, somebody used the executive badge to enter the service bay. I wasn't scheduled to work."
"But you were there?"
"My grandson was sick. I came back for my wallet."
He looked at me.
"I saw Mr. De Santis standing beside Mrs. Moretti's car."
"Was he alone?"
"No. He had a younger man with him."
"Who?"
"I didn't recognize him."
"What were they doing?"
"One was beneath the front of the car. Rafael stood near the office door."
I felt my pulse pounding.
"Did you confront them?"
"No. Rafael said it was a private inspection."
Martin swallowed.
"I came back the next morning and noticed fluid beneath the vehicle. I replaced a damaged hose and tested the brakes."
"Did you tell Sofia?"
"I told her the car was safe."
"Did you tell her someone might have damaged it deliberately?"
He looked miserable.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because Rafael had already called my house."
I stepped closer.
"What did he say?"
Martin glanced toward the family photographs.
"He knew where my granddaughter went to school."
I understood.
A threat delivered without raising a voice.
Martin wiped his eyes.
"I should've gone to the police."
"Yes," I said quietly. "You should have."
He nodded.
"I know."
Then he reached beneath his workbench and removed a rusted metal tin.
Inside were old carbon-copy service records.
"I kept these because something never made sense."
He found one marked with Sofia's license plate.
"On the night of the accident, the police said her brakes failed."
I stared at him.
"But you repaired them."
"Exactly. I inspected that car myself that morning. The brakes were working when she left."
A cold thought settled over me.
Someone had damaged them again.
After Martin's inspection.
"Who had access to the car after she left?"
Martin pushed another record across the bench.
A dispatch authorization.
The vehicle had been directed to make a brief stop at the Moretti waterfront office before heading home.
The authorization used my private executive code.
But I hadn't issued it.
Marcus studied the paper.
Then he looked at me.
"Alejandro, there's a bigger problem."
"What?"
He placed his phone on the table, showing me a public county court filing.
Rafael had petitioned that afternoon for temporary protective custody of four unidentified minors allegedly being sheltered inside a dangerous criminal residence.
My residence.
My children.
And the hearing was scheduled for the following morning.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Rafael wasn't merely trying to hide what happened to Sofia.
He was preparing to take my sons away before I could prove they were mine.
