Chapter 8 - THE MAN WHO HAD BEEN WAITING
“October second?” Luca whispered.
He took the paper from my hand.
His fingers trembled.
“My father wrote this three weeks ago?”
Eleanor nodded.
“That's when it arrived.”
Luca stared at the signature.
For twenty-two years, he'd believed his father had disappeared into the darkness of Chicago's criminal world.
Now he was holding evidence that Anthony might still be alive.
“Why didn't you call me?” he asked.
Eleanor's eyes filled.
“Because I didn't know whether the letter was genuine. And I knew Victor had people watching my house.”
Luca looked at the handwriting.
“It's his.”
“You're certain?”
He nodded.
“My father wrote notes on my homework when I was little. He always crossed his sevens.”
His voice cracked.
“I remember.”
I watched him carefully fold the paper.
Then he looked at Eleanor.
“What does the fifth note mean?”
She shook her head.
“Anthony never explained.”
Daniel stood beside me.
“Can I see?”
I handed him the paper.
He studied the notes.
Then frowned.
“That's not how Grandpa played it.”
Luca crouched beside him.
“What do you mean?”
Daniel pointed.
“The last one is too high.”
Richard had said the final note belonged to the person waiting.
Grandpa had taught Daniel the song.
But he'd never played that last note.
“Can you show us?” I asked.
Daniel nodded.
“I need a piano.”
Eleanor led us into a small music room.
Against the wall stood an upright piano.
Daniel climbed onto the bench.
He pressed the familiar four notes.
Then paused.
“Grandpa said stop here.”
Luca leaned closer.
“And the fifth?”
Daniel pressed a higher key.
The note rang sharply.
He shook his head.
“That's the wrong one.”
“What happens if you play it?” Luca asked.
Daniel shrugged.
“Grandpa said it means don't go.”
Luca looked at me.
A warning.
Not a key.
I thought of the warehouse.
The piano Victor had been moving.
The hidden compartment.
“Maybe Anthony didn't want anyone opening the piano,” I whispered.
Luca nodded slowly.
“Maybe he wanted us to stay away from it.”
Gabriel's phone vibrated.
He checked the message.
“Mr. Moretti, we've confirmed Samuel Cross is alive.”
Luca turned.
“Where?”
“Working under his own name at a rehabilitation center outside Rockford. He helps restore old furniture.”
I looked down at Eleanor's business card.
Walker & Sons Restoration.
My heart began pounding.
“Does David work there too?”
Gabriel nodded.
“The businesses share a workshop.”
Luca looked at me.
“Sarah, we can go.”
I didn't hesitate.
“Yes.”
We drove south through the afternoon.
Daniel fell asleep with his head against my shoulder.
Luca sat silently, holding the note from Anthony.
Once, I saw him wipe his eyes.
He noticed me watching.
“I spent twenty-two years being angry with him,” he admitted.
“For leaving?”
“For everything.”
He looked toward the window.
“I thought he chose the business over me.”
I swallowed.
“Maybe he thought staying away would keep you safe.”
Luca nodded.
“That doesn't make it hurt less.”
“No,” I whispered. “It doesn't.”
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked at me.
“If Richard was telling the truth, your mother was my sister.”
I nodded.
“That makes you my uncle.”
He smiled faintly.
“I've never been anyone's uncle before.”
I glanced at Daniel.
“You might have some catching up to do.”
Luca looked at the sleeping boy.
“I intend to.”
The workshop stood beside a quiet road lined with maple trees.
A painted wooden sign hung above the entrance.
Walker & Sons Restoration.
My hands shook as I opened the car door.
Luca stayed beside me.
“You don't have to do this alone.”
I nodded.
Inside, the air smelled of sawdust and varnish.
An older man stood at a workbench, carefully sanding a wooden chair.
He looked up when we entered.
His eyes moved from Luca to me.
Then to Daniel.
The sanding block slipped from his hand.
“Sarah?”
My breath caught.
The man was older than the photograph.
His hair had gone gray.
Deep lines marked his face.
But the eyes were the same.
“David?” I whispered.
He took one step forward.
Then stopped.
As though afraid I'd disappear.
“My little girl.”
The words nearly brought me to my knees.
For twenty-five years, I'd wondered whether my father had wanted me.
Now the answer stood six feet away.
He looked at Daniel.
“And this must be your boy.”
I nodded through tears.
“His name is Daniel.”
David covered his mouth.
“I know.”
I froze.
“What?”
He looked ashamed.
“Thomas sent me photographs every Christmas.”
My heart broke.
“Grandpa knew where you were?”
David nodded.
“He asked me to wait.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor still had people watching you.”
I stared at him.
“Did you ever try to come?”
“Every year.”
His voice broke.
“I drove to Ohio more times than I can count. Once, I stood across from your school and watched you graduate.”
Tears streamed down my face.
“You were there?”
He nodded.
“I wanted to walk across the street. I wanted to tell you how proud I was.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because Thomas believed Victor would use me to find you.”
I wiped my face.
“Grandpa should have let me decide.”
David nodded.
“Yes.”
He didn't defend himself.
That made it harder to stay angry.
“I should have fought harder,” he whispered.
I looked at the old leather watch on his wrist.
The same watch from Grandpa's dresser.
“You kept it?”
David followed my gaze.
“Thomas gave it back to me after I was released.”
For a moment, we simply stood there.
Then Daniel approached.
“Are you my grandpa?”
David looked at me.
I nodded.
“Yes, honey.”
Daniel smiled.
“Hi, Grandpa.”
David knelt.
“Hello, Daniel.”
“Do you like cookies?”
David laughed through his tears.
“Very much.”
“Good. I do too.”
It was such an ordinary conversation.
And somehow it healed something inside me.
Then Luca stepped forward.
“Mr. Walker, we need to ask about Anthony Moretti.”
David's expression changed.
He looked toward the back of the workshop.
Then lowered his voice.
“Not here.”
Luca frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Victor has been watching this place.”
Gabriel immediately moved toward the windows.
David shook his head.
“It's not the windows you should worry about.”
He led us to a workbench covered with antique furniture parts.
Beneath a cloth lay a familiar wooden music box.
Grandpa's.
I stared.
“How did you get that?”
David looked confused.
“Thomas sent it to me years ago.”
I froze.
“But Luca found that box at Victor's warehouse.”
David lifted the lid.
Inside was a small gold bird.
Except this bird faced left.
The one we'd found faced right.
Two identical music boxes.
I looked at Luca.
David spoke quietly.
“Anthony made two copies.”
“Why?” Luca asked.
“One held the location of the ownership records.”
“And the other?”
David looked toward Daniel.
“The other held the reason Victor was willing to destroy the Moretti family.”
He turned the little bird.
A compartment opened.
Inside was a photograph.
Anthony Moretti stood beside Isabella and David.
All three were smiling.
On the back was a handwritten sentence:
The truth belongs to the children, not the men who buried it.
Luca stared at the photograph.
Then David removed a second object.
A small silver key.
“The fifth note wasn't meant to open the piano,” he said.
Luca looked up.
“What does it open?”
David swallowed.
“Anthony's private archive.”
“Where is it?”
David looked directly at Luca.
“Inside Moretti Holdings headquarters.”
My heart stopped.
Because Victor Bellini had controlled the company's records for twenty-two years.
And Luca still owned the building.
David continued.
“Anthony left instructions that only you could authorize access.”
Luca stared at him.
“Then why hasn't anyone found it?”
David looked at the silver key.
“Because the archive isn't registered under Anthony's name.”
“Whose name is it under?”
David turned toward me.
“Sarah Bennett.”
I couldn't breathe.
Then he said the sentence that changed everything.
“Your mother didn't leave you a share of the company, Sarah.”
May you like
He placed the key in my hand.
“She left you the controlling interest in everything Victor has spent twenty-two years pretending he owns.”
