Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WHO REMEMBERED EVERY DOG
Frank Bellini's signature stared back at me.
My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the photograph.
It wasn't my mother's handwriting.
The letters were larger, pressed so firmly into the paper that I could feel their indentations.
Below the signature was a date.
October 19, 2018.
The same month Bear had disappeared from our apartment.
I called Dante and told him what I'd found.
He wanted to send a car.
I told him I was taking the subway.
“Olivia, Frank knows where you live.”
“Then I'll meet you somewhere public.”
“Where?”
“Harbor House.”
There was a pause.
“Isn't that rescue closed?”
“That's what everyone keeps telling me.”
Harbor House Rescue stood on a narrow street near Brooklyn's old industrial waterfront.
The building was smaller than I remembered.
Its green doors were faded.
Several windows were boarded up.
A metal sign announced that the property was awaiting redevelopment.
But there was still a light inside.
And when I looked through the glass, I saw an elderly woman feeding a small brown dog.
“Mrs. Alvarez?”
She turned.
For a moment, her face brightened.
“Olivia?”
Then she noticed Dante standing behind me.
The smile disappeared.
“Oh, Lord,” she whispered. “Not another Moretti.”
Dante remained near the entrance.
“I'm not here to threaten you.”
She looked at his two bodyguards.
“That's what the last one said.”
I stepped between them.
“Mrs. Alvarez, it's me.”
Her expression softened.
She opened the door.
Then she looked down.
Orion stood beside my leg.
The elderly woman covered her mouth.
“Bear?”
His ears lifted.
She began crying.
“Oh, you beautiful boy.”
Orion approached her slowly.
She held out a trembling hand.
He sniffed it.
Then he pressed his enormous head against her knees.
Mrs. Alvarez sank onto a nearby chair.
“I thought they'd ruined you.”
Dante's face changed.
“What does that mean?”
She looked at him.
“You really don't know?”
“No.”
She studied him for a long moment.
“Your father owned the company that managed this building. Your family foundation paid our operating expenses.”
“I know that.”
“Then perhaps you should know what happened to the animals your money was supposed to save.”
She stood and walked toward a dusty filing cabinet.
“Frank Bellini came here in 2018. Said he was improving our program. More funding. Better kennels. New partnerships.”
“What kind of partnerships?” Dante asked.
“Private security training.”
I looked at Orion.
Mrs. Alvarez nodded.
“They took dogs from shelters. Large breeds. Frightened dogs. Animals people were already afraid of.”
My stomach tightened.
“And what happened?”
“At North Pier, some of the trainers believed fear made a dog more obedient. They withheld food. Kept animals isolated. Punished them for reacting.”
Dante's expression darkened.
“Frank told me the facility rehabilitated aggressive animals.”
Mrs. Alvarez gave him a sad look.
“Some of those dogs weren't aggressive until they got there.”
Orion leaned against my leg.
Suddenly, the way he'd recoiled from Frank's hand made terrible sense.
“My mother knew?”
“She found out when several dogs came back with injuries. She started asking questions.”
“What happened to her?”
“They accused her of stealing supplies and falsifying adoption records.”
I felt sick.
My mother had spent her final years worrying that people thought she was dishonest.
She'd stopped visiting friends.
She'd avoided talking about the rescue.
I'd believed she was simply embarrassed about losing her job.
“She didn't steal anything,” Mrs. Alvarez said firmly.
“Then why didn't she fight?”
The elderly woman looked at me.
“Because they threatened you.”
The room went silent.
“Me?”
“You were eighteen, working part-time, trying to get through community college. Your mother was terrified someone would make trouble for you.”
I remembered the night she told me Bear had found another home.
She'd sat at our kitchen table for almost an hour without speaking.
Then she'd said, “Sometimes loving something means making sure it's safe, even when you can't keep it.”
I'd been angry with her.
For months.
And she'd never defended herself.
Dante walked toward the filing cabinet.
“Do you have records?”
Mrs. Alvarez pulled out a thick, battered binder.
“These are my daily kennel logs. I kept duplicates because Frank's people were always changing the official records.”
She opened to October 2018.
There was Bear's name.
His description.
His medical history.
And the notation:
Transfer opposed by caretaker Nora Marshall.
A second line listed his destination.
North Pier K9.
Dante looked at me.
“Your mother didn't surrender him.”
Mrs. Alvarez shook her head.
“She fought to keep him here.”
I covered my mouth.
For eight years, I'd believed my mother had given away the one animal I'd loved more than anything.
Now I understood.
She'd been trying to save him.
Mrs. Alvarez turned another page.
“There's something else.”
She pointed to a signature authorizing the transfer of six dogs.
Including Bear.
The writing was unmistakably confident.
The name was printed beneath it.
DANTE MORETTI.
I slowly raised my eyes.
May you like
The man standing beside me had just discovered that the order which destroyed my mother's life carried his own signature.
And he wasn't denying it.
