Chapter 3 - THE WATCH THAT STOPPED AT 11:17
“What did Charles Sterling's father start?”
Vincent's voice echoed through the basement room.
Eleanor Vale looked at the photograph in his hand.
“Taking what never belonged to him.”
Victoria stepped forward.
“My grandfather was a respected businessman.”
Eleanor gave her a tired look.
“Respectability is often something wealthy men buy after they've finished stealing.”
Victoria flinched.
For the first time, I wondered how much of this she truly knew.
Vincent studied the photograph.
“Who was he?”
“Arthur Sterling,” Eleanor answered. “Your grandfather and Gabriel trusted him with their shipping accounts.”
Vincent looked at Margaret.
“Grandma?”
Margaret's eyes were wet.
“Arthur managed the waterfront business before your father took over.”
“Why have I never heard of him?”
“Because after Gabriel disappeared, your grandfather stopped speaking his name.”
Eleanor leaned forward.
“Gabriel didn't disappear. He was forced out.”
Vincent looked between the two women.
“Someone needs to start telling me the truth.”
Margaret lowered her gaze.
“Forty years ago, Joseph and Gabriel owned the original DeLuca shipping company together.”
Vincent frowned.
“My grandfather built the company alone.”
“That was the story your father wanted told.”
Eleanor nodded.
“Gabriel handled the contracts. Joseph handled the workers. They were brothers in every way until Arthur Sterling convinced Joseph that Gabriel was stealing.”
“And was he?” Vincent asked.
“No,” Eleanor said.
She pointed toward the pocket watch.
“Gabriel discovered Arthur was moving money through false invoices.”
Victoria shook her head.
“You have no evidence.”
Eleanor's expression changed.
“I had evidence. Your father came looking for it.”
Vincent closed the watch.
“Then we'll find it.”
But Eleanor caught his wrist.
“Don't trust everything you find in this house.”
An hour later, Eleanor had been examined by the family physician.
She was dehydrated and exhausted, but there was no obvious serious injury.
The doctor recommended hospital observation.
Vincent arranged for her transfer under Daniel's supervision.
Victoria stood in the hallway as the medical team prepared to leave.
I watched her approach Eleanor.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered.
Eleanor studied her.
“You brought me meals. You gave me blankets. And every evening, you locked the door.”
Victoria's eyes filled.
“My father told me you were dangerous.”
“Did you believe him?”
Victoria couldn't answer.
Eleanor reached for her hand.
“Then find out why you wanted to.”
Those words stayed with me.
It was easier to hate Victoria when she was insulting me in front of fifty-six guests.
It was harder when she looked like a frightened daughter who had spent her entire life trying to earn her father's approval.
But none of that erased what she'd done.
By midnight, the guests were gone.
Mr. Holloway stood in the kitchen, removing the birthday decorations.
He was sixty-eight, broad-shouldered, with a gray mustache and hands marked by decades of cooking.
When Vincent entered, the chef straightened.
“Mr. DeLuca.”
Vincent placed the silver wedding bell on the counter.
“Why did you hide this in my grandmother's cake?”
Henry looked at the bell.
His face crumpled.
“Mrs. DeLuca asked me to.”
Margaret entered behind us.
“Henry.”
He lowered his head.
“I'm sorry, ma'am.”
Vincent looked at his grandmother.
“You knew Eleanor was downstairs?”
Margaret shook her head.
“Not until three days ago.”
“How?”
Henry reached into his apron and removed a folded note.
“Eleanor passed this to me through the food hatch.”
Vincent unfolded it.
There were only seven words.
Margaret must remember where Joseph kept it.
“What does that mean?” Vincent asked.
Margaret closed her eyes.
“The ledger.”
Henry nodded.
“Your grandfather left instructions before he died.”
Vincent stared at him.
“My grandfather died eleven years ago. Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father was still alive.”
The kitchen fell silent.
Vincent's father, Anthony DeLuca, had died five years earlier.
Vincent had spent much of his adult life trying to escape Anthony's shadow.
Anthony had been ruthless, proud, and obsessed with maintaining the family empire.
But Vincent had never imagined his father might have hidden a betrayal inside the family itself.
Henry took a deep breath.
“Your grandfather told me that if the Sterlings ever came looking for Gabriel's records, I was to help Mrs. DeLuca.”
“Why the cake?” I asked.
Henry turned toward me.
“Because Joseph and Margaret celebrated every anniversary with a little silver wedding bell on their dessert.”
Margaret smiled through her tears.
“He always said I was the only person who could make him listen.”
Henry nodded.
“Joseph put the room key inside that bell years ago. I kept it after he passed.”
Vincent frowned.
“And the photograph?”
“Mrs. DeLuca kept that.”
Margaret looked at the old image.
“Joseph gave it to me the night he became ill.”
Vincent stared at her.
“You think someone hurt him?”
“I don't know anymore.”
I was wiping down the kitchen counter when Henry approached me.
“Grace, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you remember the first week you worked here?”
I nodded.
“You told me not to enter the west pantry after nine.”
He gave a faint smile.
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because someone used to leave messages there.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of messages?”
Henry reached beneath the counter and produced a small cardboard box.
Inside were several folded pieces of paper.
Each carried the same handwriting.
Don't let them move me.
Tell Margaret I'm here.
The watch is not enough.
I stared.
“Why didn't you show anyone?”
“I didn't know who I could trust.”
“You could have told Vincent.”
Henry looked toward the doorway.
“Mr. DeLuca has good intentions, Grace. But his house has too many people who answer to someone else.”
He handed me the box.
“If anything happens, give these to him.”
“Why me?”
“Because you defended Mrs. DeLuca when it cost you something.”
I didn't know what to say.
Then I noticed a small envelope beneath the notes.
My name was written across it.
GRACE MILLER.
My hands went cold.
“Mr. Holloway?”
He frowned.
“I've never seen that.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a copy of an old hospital invoice.
The patient was listed as Thomas Miller.
My father.
The date was fourteen years earlier.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
Treatment authorized by J. DeLuca.
I stared at the paper.
My father had never mentioned the DeLucas.
He had worked as a mechanic his entire life.
I had applied for this job through an employment agency.
At least, that was what I believed.
Henry leaned closer.
“Grace, what is it?”
Before I could answer, Vincent entered.
He saw the invoice.
Then the expression on my face.
“What's wrong?”
I handed him the paper.
He read it twice.
“Joseph DeLuca paid for your father's treatment?”
“I didn't know.”
Vincent looked toward Henry.
“Who put this here?”
Henry shook his head.
Vincent turned the invoice over.
There was another line written on the back.
Ask Thomas what happened at Pier Nine.
Vincent looked at me.
“Grace, where was your father working fourteen years ago?”
I swallowed.
“At a shipping warehouse in Bridgeport.”
“Which warehouse?”
I shook my head.
“I don't remember.”
Vincent studied the invoice again.
Then he said something that made my knees weak.
“Grace, Pier Nine belonged to my grandfather.”
May you like
He placed the paper on the counter.
“And according to my father's records, it burned down the same night your father was hospitalized.”
