Chapter 7 - THE LAST THING ISABELLA CARRIED
“YOU'RE NOT GOING TO GATE SIX ALONE.”
I hadn't meant to speak so sharply.
But Lorenzo had already reached for his coat.
He stopped and looked at me.
“Sarah, this isn't your responsibility.”
“Neither was being accused of stealing in front of ninety people.”
His expression softened.
“I know.”
“Then stop deciding what I'm allowed to care about.”
Mateo looked away, hiding the smallest smile.
Lorenzo studied me for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“Fair enough.”
We had less than six hours before Anton Varga's scheduled equipment replacement.
Raymond believed the original access records were stored in an older server cabinet beside the inspection office.
The problem was getting inside.
“Varga changed the authorization procedures after Isabella died,” he explained.
“Then we go through the terminal board,” Lorenzo said.
Vincent shook his head.
“Varga chairs the security committee. By the time they approve access, the records will be gone.”
I looked at the photographs spread across the desk.
“Does the terminal still employ the same cleaning contractor?”
Raymond blinked.
“Yes.”
“Then who's responsible for maintaining the inspection office?”
“Maintenance and housekeeping, mostly.”
I pointed at a photograph.
“There's a safety inspection sticker on that cabinet. Equipment scheduled for replacement has to be checked before it's removed, doesn't it?”
Raymond leaned forward.
“Yes. Especially electrical systems.”
“Who signs off?”
“The maintenance supervisor.”
“Can Varga override that?”
“He can request it. But he can't legally destroy records while a safety complaint is open.”
Lorenzo turned toward Vincent.
“You closed Raymond's complaints.”
Vincent nodded miserably.
“Then reopen them.”
Vincent hesitated.
“You want me to file a formal complaint against our own company?”
“Yes.”
“What if the investigators find other problems?”
Lorenzo looked at Isabella's photograph.
“Then they'll find them.”
That was the first moment I believed he might truly be willing to change.
For years, the DeLuca name had protected itself.
Tonight, Lorenzo was willing to let the truth damage it.
While Mateo arranged independent oversight, I went upstairs to check on Olivia.
She sat in bed wearing pink pajamas, with Mrs. Bennett reading beside her.
“Miss Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“Is Daddy okay?”
“He's upset about something important.”
“Because of Mommy?”
I sat beside her.
“Yes.”
Olivia looked down at her bracelet.
“I remember the night Mommy went away.”
My chest tightened.
“What do you remember?”
“She wore her cream coat. And she was carrying her blue notebook.”
I frowned.
“Blue?”
Olivia nodded.
“She kept saying she needed the blue one.”
Raymond's photographs showed a black notebook.
“Are you sure, sweetheart?”
“Yes. She put the blue one in her coat pocket.”
I remembered something from my own childhood.
My mother used to sew extra pockets inside our winter coats so we wouldn't lose bus money.
I wondered whether Isabella had done something similar.
“Olivia, do you know where your mother's coat is?”
She pointed toward the hallway.
“In the big boxes. Daddy never throws her things away.”
I asked Mrs. Bennett for permission to look.
She brought me to a storage room beside the upstairs bedrooms.
Several carefully labeled boxes stood against the wall.
Inside the third was Isabella's clothing.
At the bottom lay a cream-colored coat.
I recognized it from the photograph.
One of its buttons was missing.
The lining had been repaired with pale blue thread.
I ran my fingers along the seam.
There was a small interior pocket.
Inside was a folded paper envelope.
My hands began shaking.
It contained a photograph.
Not of Isabella.
Of six men standing beside a shipping container.
Anton Varga was among them.
So was Vincent.
On the back, Isabella had written:
The money isn't missing. It was moved. Find who benefited.
There was also a narrow blue notebook.
Its pages contained dates, company names, and amounts.
Some entries were circled in red.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Harbor Relief Services.
The organization supposedly distributed assistance payments to injured dockworkers and their families.
But beside the final entry, Isabella had written another sentence.
No recipient signatures. Ask for the original claim cards.
I hurried downstairs.
Lorenzo was reviewing security procedures when I placed the notebook in front of him.
“Your wife hid this in her coat.”
He looked up sharply.
“Where did you find it?”
“Olivia remembered.”
He opened the notebook.
As he turned the pages, his expression darkened.
“These transfers were approved through our corporate accounts.”
“By whom?” Mateo asked.
Lorenzo pointed to a handwritten notation.
“Someone using my authorization code.”
Vincent leaned closer.
“That's the same code used in the recording schedule.”
Mateo examined the figures.
“Harbor Relief Services received nearly four million dollars over three years.”
Raymond looked sick.
“Families were being denied assistance while somebody collected that money.”
Lorenzo closed the notebook.
“We need the original claims.”
Camille's voice came from the doorway.
“I know where they are.”
Everyone turned.
She had changed into a plain gray sweater.
Her makeup was gone.
She looked exhausted.
“Anton made me review copies last month,” she said. “He claimed there was a problem with the estate's charitable commitments.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
“Where are the originals?”
“Inside the terminal administration archive.”
“Who controls that archive?”
Camille swallowed.
“Anton.”
Then she reached into her pocket.
She removed a small brass key attached to a faded red ribbon.
“His assistant gave me this when I needed to collect paperwork.”
Lorenzo studied it.
“Why are you helping us?”
Camille looked toward the staircase where Olivia slept.
“Because I spent two years trying to become part of this family. And tonight I finally understood what I've become instead.”
She placed the key on the desk.
“I won't ask you to forgive me.”
Then Mateo opened the terminal access schedule.
He looked from the screen to Camille.
“There's a problem.”
“What?”
“The administration archive is being cleared before the equipment replacement.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“How early?”
Mateo turned the tablet toward him.
ARCHIVE COLLECTION — 4:30 A.M.
The contractor listed beneath the appointment was Harbor Relief Services.
The same organization that had received the missing money.
May you like
And the person scheduled to supervise the collection was someone we'd all trusted.
ANTON VARGA.
