Chapter 8 - THE LAST PAGE OF THE LEDGER
Vanessa didn't answer immediately.
Luca stood at the foot of the staircase, staring at her.
Giuseppe sat in his wheelchair beside the nurse.
The old man's eyes moved from his grandson to Vanessa.
For a moment, I wondered whether he'd understood every word.
Then Vanessa whispered, “Yes.”
Luca's expression changed.
“My father died twelve years ago.”
Vanessa nodded.
“I know.”
“Then how could he have witnessed something that happened eleven years ago?”
She took a shaky breath.
“Because the wrongdoing didn't begin eleven years ago.”
The room fell silent.
I felt my heart pounding.
Vanessa looked at the photograph in my hand.
“My father told me the medical fund had been mismanaged long before Anna was accused.”
Luca shook his head.
“That's not possible.”
“Your father discovered it.”
Luca stared at her.
“Then why didn't he tell Grandpa?”
Vanessa looked toward Giuseppe.
“I think he tried.”
The old man began tapping his wheelchair.
Three times.
Then once.
Edward, who had just entered the hallway, stopped.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Giuseppe pointed toward Luca.
Then whispered, “Michael.”
Luca's face tightened.
Michael Moretti.
His father.
Giuseppe began crying.
I stepped beside him.
“It's all right.”
He shook his head.
“Not... all right.”
I took his hand.
For the first time, I understood something important.
Giuseppe hadn't only been frightened for Helen.
He'd been carrying guilt for years.
And the missing ledger might explain why.
Luca crouched beside him.
“Grandpa, what did Dad discover?”
Giuseppe looked toward Edward.
Then pointed at his own watch.
“Before,” he whispered.
Edward's eyes widened.
“The original medical fund audit.”
Luca turned.
“What audit?”
Edward swallowed.
“Michael Moretti requested a private audit the year before he died.”
Luca stood.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because the report was never completed.”
“Why?”
Edward hesitated.
“Your father became ill.”
Luca stared at him.
His father had died after a long battle with pancreatic cancer.
Luca rarely spoke about those final months.
When he did, his voice became quieter.
“Dad was already sick when he ordered that audit.”
Edward nodded.
“He was concerned that money intended for employees' medical treatment was being used for unrelated investments.”
I looked toward Vanessa.
“Richard's investments?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
Luca began pacing.
“So this started before Anna was accused.”
“Long before,” Edward answered.
Giuseppe suddenly reached toward me.
“Claire.”
I knelt beside him.
“Yes?”
“Your... father.”
My chest tightened.
“Michael Bennett?”
He nodded.
“Good... man.”
I felt tears rise.
“I know.”
Giuseppe took my hand.
“Helped... Michael.”
I glanced toward Luca.
“Helped which Michael?”
Giuseppe pointed at Luca.
Then toward the watch on my wrist.
Two men named Michael.
My father.
Luca's father.
Both had been connected to the same secret.
I looked at Edward.
“Did my father work with Michael Moretti?”
Edward closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“My father was a mechanic.”
“He was,” Edward answered. “He maintained the Bellavista's elevators and emergency generators.”
I remembered my father's hands.
Always rough.
Always smelling faintly of motor oil.
He'd come home exhausted and still found time to build me wooden toys.
Edward continued.
“When Michael Moretti became suspicious of Richard's financial arrangements, your father helped him recover maintenance records that showed hotel expenses being billed twice.”
Luca frowned.
“Why maintenance records?”
“Because Richard used renovation and repair invoices to move money out of the medical fund.”
Vanessa covered her mouth.
“My father told me the expenses were legitimate.”
Edward shook his head.
“Some were. Many weren't.”
I felt sick.
My father had known.
He'd been trying to help.
And years later, he'd died in what everyone called an accident.
I heard myself ask, “Was my father's death connected to this?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Luca looked at me.
“Claire, we can't assume that.”
I knew he was right.
But fear doesn't disappear because someone tells you to be reasonable.
I looked at Edward.
“Was it?”
“I don't know,” he said. “And I won't pretend I do.”
I appreciated that more than another terrible guess.
That night, Detective Whitcomb brought us an important development.
Thomas Reed had been located in Wisconsin.
He'd agreed to speak with investigators.
Evelyn Price had also been found.
And Daniel Foster had been living with his daughter outside Chicago.
All three had confirmed that they signed a statement years earlier alleging financial misconduct involving Richard Bellini.
But none knew where Helen was.
Then Whitcomb placed a photograph on the table.
It showed the white delivery van.
This time the registration number was visible.
“The vehicle belongs to a nonprofit medical transport service,” she explained.
I leaned forward.
“Who requested the transport?”
“A woman named Rebecca Lewis.”
I stared at her.
“Rebecca?”
The detective nodded.
“She arranged to move Helen from the Bellavista.”
For a moment, I could barely breathe.
“So she rescued her?”
“That's what Rebecca says.”
I looked at Luca.
“Where is Helen now?”
Whitcomb's expression was careful.
“Rebecca has agreed to take us to her.”
I almost cried with relief.
But the detective raised one hand.
“There's more.”
She opened her folder.
“Rebecca also told us where the original ledger is.”
Luca stood.
“Where?”
Whitcomb looked toward Giuseppe.
“Your grandfather gave it to her mother years ago.”
Edward frowned.
“Margaret Lewis?”
“Yes.”
“Then Rebecca has it?”
“Not exactly.”
Whitcomb took out a small photograph.
It showed an old wooden music box.
The lid was decorated with painted roses.
I recognized it instantly.
My mother kept one just like it on her bedroom dresser.
It had belonged to Helen.
Rebecca had photographed it years earlier.
I stared.
“That's my mother's music box.”
Whitcomb looked surprised.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
I remembered being five years old, sitting on my mother's bed while she wound the mechanism.
The music was soft and slightly off-key.
She never let me open the bottom.
I had assumed it was broken.
The detective looked at Luca.
“Rebecca says the ledger's final page was hidden inside that box.”
I felt my heart begin to race.
“My mother has had it for years.”
Luca turned toward me.
“Claire, we need to ask her.”
I shook my head.
“She's in the hospital.”
Whitcomb nodded.
“We'll arrange to examine it with her permission.”
Then Giuseppe suddenly began tapping the table.
Three times.
He pointed at the photograph.
Then whispered, “Not... bottom.”
I leaned closer.
“What?”
He touched his chest.
“Song.”
Edward's expression changed.
“The Bellavista had a staff song.”
Luca frowned.
“What does that have to do with the ledger?”
Edward looked at the music box.
“Giuseppe used to say that important things should be remembered, not merely written down.”
I stared at the painted roses.
Then remembered something my mother had told me when I was little.
When the song stops, listen for what comes next.
I had always thought it was a bedtime game.
Now I wasn't so sure.
Whitcomb looked at me.
“Claire, can you tell us what tune the box plays?”
I nodded.
Then quietly hummed the first few notes.
Edward's face went white.
“That's not the staff song.”
“What is it?”
He stared at me.
“It's the tune Michael Moretti commissioned for the hotel's fiftieth anniversary.”
Luca looked stunned.
“My father?”
Edward nodded.
“And he had the music box made with a special mechanical compartment.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What compartment?”
Edward swallowed.
“One that only opens when the melody finishes and the winding key is turned backward.”
Luca looked at me.
I looked toward Giuseppe.
The old man nodded.
Then whispered:
“LAST... PAGE.”
I suddenly understood.
The missing evidence had been sitting in my mother's bedroom for years.
And the man who designed the hiding place had been Luca's father.
But when Detective Whitcomb showed us a second photograph of the music box, my blood ran cold.
Someone had recently scratched a message into its wooden base.
ANNA KNOWS WHO SIGNED THE FIRST WITHDRAWAL.
Below it was a single initial.
G.
May you like
Luca slowly turned toward his grandfather.
“GRANDPA... WAS IT YOU?”
