Chapter 3 - The Bracelet His Mother Never Took Off
Dante stopped six feet from the wheelchair.
For a moment, the guards, the concrete walls, and the entire garage seemed to disappear.
Only the woman remained.
Her hair was almost completely gray. Her cheeks were thinner. A faint scar crossed the corner of her mouth.
But he recognized her eyes.
He had seen them every morning of his childhood.
“Mom?”
The word escaped before he could stop it.
The woman pressed trembling fingers to her lips.
“Oh, Danny.”
He hadn't been called that in twenty-four years.
He looked at the silver bracelet.
Three small charms.
A heart.
A tiny baseball.
And a crooked letter D.
He had chosen them himself at a jewelry counter in Reno.
His father had laughed at how seriously he'd examined each charm.
“Where did you get that?” Dante asked.
The woman looked down.
“You gave it to me.”
He shook his head.
“That doesn't prove anything.”
She nodded slowly.
“No. It doesn't.”
Savannah stepped forward.
“Dante, you need to understand—”
“Don't.”
His voice silenced her.
Richard stood behind the wheelchair, his expensive suit wrinkled and his face pale.
Dante looked at him.
“Move away from her.”
Richard obeyed.
The woman lifted her head again.
“When you were little, you were afraid of thunderstorms,” she said.
Dante stared.
“You used to hide beneath the kitchen table. I'd sit on the floor with you until the rain stopped.”
His throat tightened.
“That wasn't a secret.”
“No.”
She managed a sad smile.
“But the night your dog died, you took his collar and buried it beneath the lemon tree. You told me not to tell your father because you thought he'd say you were being childish.”
Dante looked away.
He hadn't thought about that dog in thirty years.
The woman extended her hand.
He didn't take it.
“Why?” he whispered.
She closed her eyes.
“I wanted to come back.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“I know.”
He stepped closer.
“I buried you.”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“I know.”
“I watched them lower your coffin.”
“Danny—”
“Don't call me that.”
She lowered her hand.
Dante had imagined meeting his mother again thousands of times during his first years without her.
In those dreams, he ran into her arms.
Now he could barely breathe.
“Twenty-four years,” he said. “You were alive for twenty-four years.”
She nodded.
“And you let me believe you were dead.”
“I wasn't allowed to contact you.”
“Who stopped you?”
Her eyes moved toward Richard.
Dante turned.
Richard raised both hands.
“I didn't arrange what happened in 2002.”
“But you knew?”
Richard swallowed.
“I found out last year.”
Dante took one step toward him.
“Then you had a year to tell me.”
Savannah moved between them.
“Richard was trying to protect her.”
“From what?”
Neither answered.
Dante looked at his mother again.
“What are you afraid of?”
Elizabeth's eyes filled with fresh tears.
“Your father.”
Dante ordered everyone into the private medical wing.
He refused to let Elizabeth leave the property until a physician examined her.
Richard protested.
“She needs specialized treatment.”
“She'll get it,” Dante replied. “And this time, someone who doesn't work for you will provide it.”
Marcus arranged for a physician who had treated Dante for years.
Dr. Helen Ward examined Elizabeth privately.
When she returned, her expression was serious.
“She's physically fragile, but stable,” Ward said. “She has a history of neurological treatment and prolonged medication use.”
“Can she speak clearly?”
“Yes. But don't overwhelm her.”
Dante glanced toward the room.
“Do you believe she's my mother?”
Ward hesitated.
“Her records identify her as Elizabeth Bellini. The childhood details you described are compelling. But I can't independently establish her identity from this examination.”
Dante nodded.
He appreciated honesty.
Then Ward added something unexpected.
“She has old scars around both wrists.”
Dante looked up.
“From what?”
“I can't determine the cause.”
“Could someone have restrained her?”
“Possibly. But that's not a conclusion I can make from the scars alone.”
Dante felt anger rising.
He forced himself to remain still.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Emma was sitting in the medical lounge when Dante emerged.
Her sling rested against a pillow.
“You found her?” Emma asked.
He nodded.
“Someone I thought I'd lost.”
Emma didn't press him.
Instead, she moved her untouched cup of tea aside.
“My brother used to ask why our mother stopped visiting after she got sick,” she said softly.
Dante looked at her.
“She died when he was seven. He kept waiting because nobody had explained it properly.”
“I'm sorry.”
Emma nodded.
“I told him she wasn't coming back. He was furious with me for months.”
Dante sat across from her.
“Did he forgive you?”
“Eventually.”
“How?”
“Because I kept showing up.”
The answer settled heavily between them.
Dante looked toward the hallway.
“My mother was alive all this time.”
Emma stared at him.
“Oh, my God.”
“I don't know whether to embrace her or demand every answer she's ever kept from me.”
“You can be hurt and still want her safe,” Emma said.
He studied her.
“You should hate everyone in this house after what happened tonight.”
Emma gave a tired smile.
“I don't hate everyone.”
Then she touched her sling.
“But I won't pretend it didn't happen.”
Dante nodded.
“You shouldn't.”
An hour later, Dante returned to Elizabeth's room.
She was sitting upright in bed.
The silver bracelet lay on the blanket.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
Her eyes lowered.
“Different places.”
“Names.”
“A residence near Carson City. A private clinic in Arizona. Then St. Catherine's.”
“Why so many?”
She hesitated.
“Because I kept asking to see you.”
Dante felt a sharp pain in his chest.
“Who moved you?”
“People who said they represented your father.”
“Did you ever speak to him?”
She nodded.
“Twice.”
“When?”
“Once in 2002. Once last year.”
Dante leaned forward.
“What happened last year?”
“He told me you were getting married.”
Dante went still.
Elizabeth looked miserable.
“He said you had finally built a life, and I shouldn't interfere.”
Dante's fingers curled against his knee.
“Did you believe him?”
“I wanted to.”
“Why?”
“Because the last time I tried to come home, someone died.”
Silence filled the room.
Dante leaned closer.
“Who?”
Elizabeth looked toward the window.
“Dr. Mercer.”
Dante remembered the name on both death certificates.
“He died?”
“Not in 2002,” she whispered. “Three years later.”
“What happened?”
“He tried to correct the records.”
Dante felt a chill.
“Who killed him?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“I never knew. They told me it was an accident.”
“Who told you?”
She began twisting the bracelet around her wrist.
“Vincent.”
Dante stood.
“My father.”
Elizabeth suddenly reached for him.
“Please don't confront him while you're angry.”
“Why not?”
“Because he knows something you don't.”
“What?”
She stared at the bracelet.
Then she carefully opened the tiny baseball charm.
A folded strip of yellowed paper slipped out.
Dante stared.
His mother placed it in his hand.
“Your father gave me this the night I disappeared.”
He unfolded it.
There were seven handwritten names.
Six had been crossed out.
Only one remained.
RICHARD PRESCOTT.
Dante looked up.
“Richard was a teenager in 2002.”
Elizabeth nodded.
“He was seventeen.”
“Then why is his name here?”
She swallowed.
“Because the list wasn't written in 2002.”
Dante examined the paper again.
“Then when?”
“Last March.”
He looked at her.
Elizabeth's voice trembled.
“Your father came to St. Catherine's and told me Richard had found out who I was. He said Richard was going to finish something his own father started.”
Dante felt his pulse quicken.
“Richard's father?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Charles Prescott.”
The name struck a memory.
Charles Prescott had been Vincent's closest business partner.
He had supposedly died of a heart attack in 2003.
Dante looked back at the paper.
“What did Charles do?”
Elizabeth stared at him for a long moment.
Then she asked a question he never expected.
“Danny, did your father ever tell you why we stopped visiting the lake house when you were seventeen?”
Dante frowned.
“No.”
Elizabeth's face went white.
“Then he never told you about the girl.”
“What girl?”
“The fourteen-year-old girl who disappeared the night Charles Prescott came to our house.”
Dante shook his head.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Elizabeth grabbed his hand.
“Her name was Rebecca.”
Before Dante could answer, the door opened.
Marcus stood there, holding a small evidence envelope.
“Boss, we finally opened the gold-ribbon seal.”
Dante turned.
Inside the envelope was a tiny photograph.
It showed Elizabeth Bellini standing beside a teenage girl.
On the back, someone had written:
REBECCA BROOKS — IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, FIND HER.
Dante looked toward the lounge where Emma was waiting.
Brooks.
Emma Brooks.
May you like
And suddenly, the bruised maid at the champagne reception was no longer simply a witness.
She might be the only person alive who knew what happened twenty-four years ago.
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