Chapter 5 - THE LETTER THAT SHOULD NEVER HAVE ARRIVED
“Six weeks ago?”
I stared at the photograph Luca showed me on his phone.
He had arrived at the hospital shortly before midnight.
Adelaide was resting.
Dr. Harris had asked that visitors remain limited, but she made an exception for Luca.
He sat beside his mother's bed, holding the photograph of Mia's letter.
“Mia would be eighteen now,” he said.
“Maybe nineteen,” I answered.
He looked up.
“Then why does the letter say she's eleven?”
I examined the handwriting.
The date was written in different ink.
“It could be an old letter copied recently.”
“Why would someone do that?”
“I don't know.”
He turned the photograph toward his mother.
Adelaide opened her eyes.
She studied it.
Then reached for her notebook.
OLD LETTER. NEW DATE.
Luca leaned closer.
“Who changed it?”
She shook her head.
“Do you know?”
Another shake.
Then she pointed toward the blue prayer book I'd brought from her sitting room.
Mrs. Wilson had found it behind a stack of magazines.
It hadn't been discarded.
I opened it carefully.
Several folded letters were tucked between the pages.
All addressed to Adelaide.
Most were from children who had lived at the home over the years.
There were thank-you notes.
Birthday wishes.
One little boy had drawn a Christmas tree with seventy ornaments because he'd misunderstood Adelaide's age.
She smiled when she saw it.
Then I found a pale yellow envelope.
The return address belonged to Lakeshore Recovery Partners.
Inside was a letter from Mia.
The original letter.
Same handwriting.
Same drawing.
But its date was seven years earlier.
Someone had recently copied it and changed the date.
Luca looked troubled.
“Why plant a false recent letter?”
Adelaide wrote one word.
WARNING.
“Who was warning us?”
She pointed toward Patricia's original note.
My stomach tightened.
“Patricia?”
Adelaide nodded.
Suddenly, the altered date made sense.
Patricia had been investigating records that someone had deliberately manipulated.
She may have copied the old letter and marked it to draw attention to an ongoing problem.
But why hide it inside a cabinet?
Luca turned toward Daniel.
“Check whether Patricia had access to that office.”
Daniel looked at his phone.
“She entered the building three times in the last month. Security cameras show her meeting someone there.”
“Who?”
“We're still identifying the person.”
Adelaide began ringing her bell.
Four times.
I crouched beside her.
“What is it?”
She pointed toward the letters.
Then toward the rosary on her bedside table.
“Promise,” she whispered.
Luca took her hand.
“Promise what, Mom?”
She struggled.
“Children.”
His face softened.
“You promised them something?”
She nodded.
He remembered.
“I remember Christmas at the home. You always told the children that if they needed you, they could write.”
She squeezed his hand.
“And you promised you'd answer.”
Adelaide began crying.
I placed the letters beside her.
“Maybe that's what Patricia was trying to protect,” I said. “Not just medical records. The letters that showed someone had been asking for help.”
Luca stared at the page.
“Then we need to find the originals.”
The following morning, Evelyn invited us to the children's home.
Adelaide stayed at the hospital.
Dr. Harris was continuing her evaluation, and physical therapy would resume under medical supervision.
Luca insisted that I accompany him because I knew how Adelaide organized her belongings.
I wasn't sure that was the whole reason.
At breakfast, he'd apologized again for allowing Vanessa to treat me as disposable.
“I can't undo the way she spoke to you,” he said.
“No.”
“But I can make sure it doesn't happen again.”
“Then listen when the next employee tells you something uncomfortable.”
He nodded.
“I intend to.”
The children's home stood on a tree-lined street west of downtown.
Its brick walls were old but clean.
A painted wooden sign hung beside the entrance.
MORETTI HOUSE — EVERY CHILD BELONGS SOMEWHERE.
Inside, children's artwork covered the hallways.
The kitchen smelled of toast and cinnamon.
I had expected something grim.
Instead, I found a place people were desperately trying to keep warm and welcoming with too little money.
Evelyn showed us the roof damage.
A cracked ceiling.
A broken heating unit.
Windows that needed replacing.
“The repairs aren't optional,” she said. “But closing the home isn't our only option.”
Luca nodded.
“Get independent estimates.”
Then he asked to see the archived correspondence.
Evelyn led us into a small office.
There were filing cabinets and neatly labeled boxes.
“We kept copies of every letter sent to Mrs. Moretti,” she explained.
“Why?”
“Because some children had no permanent address. If they wrote her, I wanted to make certain she received it.”
She opened a box marked 2009–2021.
We searched for nearly an hour.
Mia's letters were there.
So were Benjamin's drawings.
Elliot had written only twice.
The first letter thanked Adelaide for his blue coat.
The second said:
Mrs. Moretti, I don't want to leave. They say Mia and Ben are coming with me, but I heard them say they only need one of us.
Luca read it twice.
“What did that mean?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“I never saw that letter.”
“You kept a copy.”
“It wasn't in this box when I reviewed it last year.”
Someone had returned it.
Someone wanted it found.
Then a young employee entered the office.
Her name was Rachel.
She looked nervous.
“Mrs. Porter, there's something I should show you.”
She handed Evelyn a printed financial statement.
“This came with the new building inspection notice.”
Evelyn read it.
Her face drained.
“What is it?” Luca asked.
“Someone authorized an emergency sale agreement for the property.”
Luca took the page.
The buyer was a development company called North Harbor Holdings.
The price was substantially below what the land might command in an ordinary sale.
A deposit had already been accepted.
And the agreement carried an authorization allegedly issued on behalf of Adelaide Moretti.
Luca looked at the signature.
It was the same copied signature from the medical-related documents.
His jaw tightened.
“Who owns North Harbor?”
Evelyn shook her head.
Richard had described it as an independent buyer.
Daniel checked the public corporate filings available on his tablet.
“Sir, Richard Bellini is listed as a former officer of one of the affiliated management companies.”
Luca stared at the statement.
Before he could answer, Rachel spoke again.
“There's one more thing.”
She placed a photograph on the desk.
It had been taken at the home three weeks earlier.
A woman stood near the front entrance wearing a dark coat and sunglasses.
I recognized her immediately.
“Patricia.”
Evelyn nodded.
“She came here asking about Elliot.”
Luca leaned forward.
“Did she speak to him?”
Rachel looked frightened.
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
“She left with someone who said he could help her.”
Daniel studied the photograph.
The man beside Patricia had his back to the camera.
He wore a gray jacket.
On his wrist was an expensive gold watch.
Luca suddenly went still.
“Zoom in.”
Daniel enlarged the photograph.
Luca stared at the watch.
Then turned toward Evelyn.
“Where did you get this?”
“From our entrance camera.”
Luca's voice became dangerously calm.
“My father gave that watch to one person when he retired from the foundation.”
“Who?” I whispered.
May you like
Luca looked at me.
“Anthony Bellini.”
