Chapter 8 - THE UNCLE WHO SOLD THE FAMILY
“Anthony?”
Roman stared at the photograph.
His uncle had died six years earlier from complications of a stroke.
For much of Roman's childhood, Anthony had been the funny uncle who brought expensive gifts and taught him to fish.
Roman couldn't reconcile that memory with the man standing beside the Mercedes.
Teresa sat down.
“I prayed you'd never have to know.”
Roman turned.
“Know what?”
“Anthony was deeply in debt.”
Patrick leaned against his desk.
“He owed money to several people. Hartwell offered him a way out.”
Roman studied his aunt.
“You knew he was involved?”
“I knew he delivered the car. I didn't know what happened afterward.”
“You never asked?”
Teresa's voice broke.
“I asked him at your father's funeral. He swore he'd done nothing wrong.”
Roman looked at the photograph again.
“And you believed him?”
“He was my brother.”
“So was my father.”
Teresa flinched.
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Then Roman placed the photograph on the desk.
“What did Hartwell want?”
Patrick answered.
“Control of the company's maintenance contracts and access to its shipping accounts. Your father was preparing to terminate the arrangement.”
“And Anthony helped them?”
“He delivered the Mercedes for an unscheduled inspection.”
Roman's jaw tightened.
“Who authorized it?”
“Anthony claimed your father requested the inspection. The records were altered afterward.”
Patrick opened a second folder.
Inside was a copy of the garage work order.
It carried Anthony's signature.
But the authorization signature beneath it was different.
Roman recognized his father's handwriting.
Then Michael examined the page.
“The signature has been mechanically reproduced. Look at the broken line in the R.”
Roman leaned closer.
The signature matched an older contract exactly.
Somebody had copied it.
Patrick nodded.
“That's what your father discovered too late.”
Roman looked up.
“Why are you telling me now?”
Patrick's expression darkened.
“Because Hartwell has stopped paying me.”
Roman stared.
“You expect sympathy?”
“No. I expect you to understand why he's dangerous.”
Patrick explained that he had spent years hiding fraudulent transfers for Hartwell.
He had believed the arrangement would remain financial.
Then he learned that Elizabeth had survived.
“Your mother recognized one of the men at the garage,” he said.
Roman stepped forward.
“Who?”
Patrick shook his head.
“She wouldn't tell me.”
“Why not?”
“Because she wanted proof before accusing anyone.”
Roman looked toward Michael.
“We need to find her.”
Patrick hesitated.
Then he removed a small notebook from his desk.
Its cover was brown leather.
Inside were dates and locations.
“The night I collected Elizabeth, I drove her to a private residence in Princeton.”
“Address?”
Patrick gave it to him.
Roman reached for the notebook.
Patrick held it back.
“One condition.”
Roman's face hardened.
“You don't get conditions.”
“I know I've committed crimes. I'll cooperate with investigators. But there's something you need to understand before you go there.”
He opened the notebook.
A page contained Elizabeth's handwriting.
I cannot return until I know what happened to Margaret Dawson's son.
I felt my heart stop.
“Daniel?”
Patrick looked at me.
“Your brother's accident wasn't random.”
I gripped the chair.
Eleanor had said the fire was deliberate.
Now Patrick was saying Daniel had been part of something larger.
“What happened?” I whispered.
Patrick lowered his head.
“The fire destroyed a storage room containing medical records from the crash.”
Roman looked at him.
“Who started it?”
“I don't know who physically started it. But I know who approved the payment.”
He pointed toward a ledger entry.
The approving initials were A.B.
Anthony Bellandi.
Teresa began crying silently.
Roman stared at the page.
His uncle had delivered the car.
His uncle had approved the payment connected to the hospital fire.
And a little boy had spent eleven years paying for those decisions.
I thought about Daniel learning to walk again after his latest surgery.
About my mother counting pills at the kitchen table.
About the seven dollars Vanessa had scattered before eighty guests.
My hands began to shake.
Roman noticed.
“Emma, sit down.”
“No.”
I looked at Patrick.
“Where is Elizabeth Bellandi?”
Patrick gave me the address.
Then he said something unexpected.
“She asked about your mother before she agreed to leave the residence.”
“Why?”
“Because Margaret was the only person she trusted.”
I looked at Roman.
For the first time, I understood that Elizabeth's disappearance and my mother's silence were not separate stories.
They were the same terrible story.
Roman called Michael over.
“We go to Princeton. Now.”
But Patrick stopped him.
“Roman, there's one more thing.”
Roman turned.
Patrick opened the back of the notebook.
A small photograph had been tucked inside.
It showed Elizabeth Bellandi standing beside a garden gate.
She was holding the hand of a young girl.
Roman frowned.
“Who is that?”
Patrick looked troubled.
“That's what Elizabeth wanted to tell you.”
Roman examined the photograph more closely.
The child wore a familiar silver necklace.
A necklace Roman's late wife had given Mia when she was born.
But the photograph was dated seven years ago.
Three years before Mia received that necklace.
Roman turned it over.
May you like
On the back, in Elizabeth's handwriting, were four words.
THIS CHILD KNOWS ANTHONY'S SECRET.
