Chapter 3 - THE LETTER WITH MY GRANDMOTHER'S NAME
“That's impossible.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
My grandmother had been dead for six years.
To me, Rose Carter was Sunday pancakes, peppermint candies, and an old record player that sometimes skipped during the best parts of a song.
She taught children ballroom dancing in a rented studio.
She wore sensible shoes.
And every Christmas, she gave me a handmade ornament.
Nothing about her belonged inside the private secrets of Chicago's most powerful family.
Antonio lowered himself onto the piano bench.
“Your grandmother saved Giovanni Moretti's life once.”
Luca turned toward him.
“When?”
“December 1986.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Antonio continued.
“Giovanni had arranged a charity performance here. Rose brought her dance students. During rehearsal, she overheard two men discussing a plan to sabotage one of his business deals.”
“What men?” Luca asked.
Antonio glanced toward the hallway.
“One was Richard Bellini.”
I felt the room shift around me.
“Vanessa's father?”
Antonio nodded.
“Richard was young then. Ambitious. He worked with Giovanni on several property acquisitions.”
Luca folded his arms.
“And the other man?”
Antonio hesitated.
“Your father's chief accountant. Samuel Price.”
Luca frowned.
“Price died years ago.”
“Yes. But the trouble he caused didn't die with him.”
Margaret reached for the envelope again.
This time, I opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of cream-colored paper.
The handwriting was careful and slightly slanted.
Rose,
If Margaret cannot make them listen, find someone with the courage to do what you did.
The truth is not in the music.
It is in what was taken from the music.
Protect the child.
G.M.
I read the final sentence twice.
“Protect what child?”
Luca took the letter.
His expression changed.
“Me?”
Antonio shook his head.
“Giovanni wrote that several years after your birth. He could have meant you, but I don't know.”
Margaret touched the child's blue ribbon.
Her lips moved.
“Anna.”
Antonio went still.
Luca leaned closer.
“Mom? Who's Anna?”
She tried again.
“A... Anna.”
Then her shoulders collapsed with exhaustion.
I moved beside her.
“That's enough for now. She's tired.”
Luca immediately stopped questioning her.
He took a blanket from the nearby chair and covered her knees.
It was such an ordinary gesture that I almost forgot the danger surrounding us.
Downstairs, raised voices echoed through the hall.
Daniel appeared at the doorway.
“Sir, the police are here. Mr. Bellini's attorney is also asking to speak with you.”
Luca looked at the letter.
“Tell the detective I'll be down.”
Daniel remained where he was.
“There's something else.”
“What?”
“We checked the recording device's file dates. It wasn't installed three weeks ago.”
My stomach tightened.
“How long?”
“Almost nine months.”
Luca looked at Vanessa's photograph on the mantel.
They had announced their engagement eight months earlier.
Daniel continued.
“And the most recent recording includes a conversation about Emily.”
I felt suddenly cold.
“Me?”
Daniel's expression was grim.
“Your employment. Your mother's illness. And a plan to make you leave the house.”
Luca stared at him.
“Play it.”
Daniel used his phone to open the copied audio file.
At first, there was only the sound of footsteps.
Then Vanessa's voice.
“She's becoming too close to Margaret.”
Richard answered.
“Then dismiss her.”
“I can't. Luca likes how his mother responds to her.”
“Make the girl afraid of losing her paycheck. People with sick relatives are easy to control.”
My throat closed.
Vanessa spoke again.
“She's not stupid, Dad. She notices things.”
Richard laughed.
“Then remind her she's replaceable.”
The recording ended.
I could barely breathe.
My mother's hospital bills had always felt like a private burden.
Hearing strangers discuss them as a weapon made me feel exposed.
Luca turned toward me.
“Emily, I'm sorry.”
I shook my head.
“You didn't say those things.”
“No. But they happened in my house.”
He looked at Daniel.
“I want a complete review of how the Bellinis obtained information about my staff.”
Then he faced me again.
“Your job is secure. Vanessa had no authority to terminate you.”
I wanted to thank him.
Instead, I asked the question that had been growing inside me.
“How did they know about my mother?”
Daniel didn't answer immediately.
“Someone accessed the employee emergency-contact files.”
My hands began shaking.
Only a few people had access to those files.
The house administrator.
The payroll accountant.
And the woman who managed Margaret's private medical appointments.
Vanessa.
Luca looked toward the letter again.
“Antonio, how much did Rose know about my father?”
The pianist sighed.
“Enough to frighten him.”
He explained that Giovanni had begun collecting rare instruments decades earlier, partly because he loved music and partly because performances allowed him to support community programs without publicity.
Rose helped organize those events.
But when questionable financial transactions appeared in the music foundation's records, Giovanni had asked her to witness an inventory.
“She found instruments listed as sold that were still sitting in this house,” Antonio explained.
“Why would someone do that?” I asked.
“To move money,” Luca answered quietly. “Or to make it look as though assets belonged to someone else.”
Antonio nodded.
“Giovanni suspected someone was using the collection to conceal financial dealings.”
Margaret suddenly gripped my sleeve.
She pointed toward the silver watch.
Then toward the piano.
Antonio opened the watch.
A tiny paper strip slipped from behind the photograph.
Four musical notes were written on it.
B. E. A. D.
I stared.
“That's not a melody.”
Antonio examined the strip.
“No,” he said. “It isn't.”
Luca looked at the grand piano.
“Then what is it?”
I remembered something my grandmother used to say.
“When you can't understand the music, sweetheart, count the spaces.”
I looked at the letters.
B. E. A. D.
“Those can also be notes on a piano,” I said.
Antonio nodded.
“Yes.”
Margaret clapped twice.
I approached the keyboard.
My grandmother had taught me enough piano to play simple songs at Christmas.
I pressed B.
Then E.
Then A.
Then D.
Nothing happened.
Vanessa appeared in the doorway behind Daniel.
Her mascara had run.
“Luca, please. The detective wants everyone downstairs.”
But Margaret shook her head violently.
I looked at the keyboard again.
“Grandma said count the spaces.”
I pressed the four keys in reverse order.
D.
A.
E.
B.
A soft mechanical click came from beneath the piano.
Antonio dropped to his knees.
A narrow wooden panel had shifted beside the pedal assembly.
Inside lay a small black ledger.
Luca opened it.
The first page contained dates, instrument descriptions, and handwritten initials.
The second page listed payments.
The third carried a photograph.
A younger Richard Bellini stood beside Giovanni Moretti and a woman holding a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket.
I recognized the woman instantly.
She had my grandmother's eyes.
But she wasn't Rose.
She was my mother.
Luca studied the photograph.
“Emily...”
I couldn't speak.
He turned it over.
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Across the back, Giovanni had written:
ANNA CARTER AND HER DAUGHTER, EMILY. THE REASON I CANNOT LET RICHARD WIN.
