Chapter 6 - THE MONEY NORA TOOK
Maggie left the Moretti house without saying goodbye.
Vincent followed her to the sidewalk.
“Maggie.”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
For once, he listened.
She walked three blocks before realizing she had no car.
Vincent stayed far enough behind that she could pretend she was alone.
Finally, Maggie turned.
“Take me home.”
He did.
The drive back was quiet.
At Sullivan’s Flowers, the electrician had finished most of the repairs.
The shop smelled faintly of plaster dust and eucalyptus.
Maggie went upstairs and pulled every box belonging to her mother from the closet.
Vincent stood in the doorway.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
Maggie looked at him.
“Stay.”
He did.
They searched for nearly two hours.
Bills.
Recipes.
Christmas cards.
Old church programs.
Nothing.
Then Maggie found a bankbook tucked inside the sleeve of her mother’s winter coat.
Twenty-seven years earlier, regular deposits had begun.
Five hundred dollars.
Every month.
Maggie sat on the floor.
Carlo had told the truth.
Vincent crouched several feet away.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing for everyone.”
“I don’t know what else to do.”
“Then don’t do anything.”
He stayed still.
Maggie turned another page.
The deposits continued for seven years.
Then stopped.
On the final line, someone had written:
Paid in full.
Maggie laughed bitterly.
“Paid in full for what? My father?”
Vincent said nothing.
A small envelope fell from the bankbook.
Maggie opened it.
Inside was her mother’s handwriting.
Margaret,
If you ever find this, I failed to keep something buried that your father made me promise would stay buried until you were old enough not to be destroyed by it.
Then I kept waiting for an age that never came.
Maggie’s hands trembled.
She kept reading.
Dominic’s money was not payment for your father’s silence.
It was your father’s money.
Maggie looked at Vincent.
“What?”
She read on.
The four hundred thousand dollars from the trust belonged to the injured families. Patrick insisted.
But Dominic had also promised Patrick a partnership in three Moretti properties as compensation for years of work managing the trust.
After Patrick died, Dominic honored that promise privately.
The monthly money was the income from Patrick’s share.
Maggie sat completely still.
Her mother had not accepted blood money.
She had accepted something Patrick had earned.
Answer one.
Then another line opened a larger wound.
I never told you because Dominic asked me not to. He believed Carlo was still looking for the originals, and he was afraid anyone connected to Patrick might be watched.
Maggie lowered the letter.
“He protected us.”
Vincent’s voice was quiet.
“Too late.”
“Yes.”
“Still.”
Maggie nodded.
There was one final paragraph.
Patrick told me the originals were hidden somewhere nobody in the Moretti family would ever think to search.
He said, “Where people come to apologize, celebrate, mourn, and start over.”
If you ever need the truth, begin where I spent my life.
Maggie looked around.
The flower shop.
Vincent stood slowly.
“He hid them here.”
Maggie almost laughed.
“We’ve renovated this place three times.”
“Your father was clever.”
“He also labeled everything.”
She wiped her face.
“Men who alphabetize ribbon receipts are not mysterious.”
Vincent looked toward the staircase.
“Where would a florist hide paper from a family like mine?”
Maggie considered it.
“Not somewhere dry.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“My father used to say people always hide paper from water.”
“So?”
“So he’d do the opposite.”
They went downstairs.
The old refrigerated case had been replaced years ago.
But one piece remained from Patrick’s time.
A wooden worktable beside the sink.
Maggie had refused to throw it away.
They pulled drawers.
Checked underneath.
Nothing.
Then Vincent noticed shallow knife marks shaped like a square beneath the lower shelf.
They removed six screws.
Behind the panel sat a metal biscuit tin.
Maggie looked at him.
“Do Mafia families always create this much paperwork?”
“Only the organized ones.”
She opened the tin.
Inside was a photograph.
Not documents.
A photograph of Patrick, Dominic, Carlo, and another man standing beside the Halsted warehouse.
The fourth man wore a city inspector’s jacket.
On the back, Patrick had written:
Edwin Bellamy accepted $18,000. Carlo said it buys us six months.
Maggie looked up.
“Bellamy.”
Vincent’s face darkened.
“Bellamy Urban Development.”
“The company that filed the complaint against my shop.”
“Yes.”
Vincent took the photograph.
“The inspector’s son owns it now.”
Maggie suddenly understood.
“Your uncle wasn’t just trying to buy my building.”
“He was trying to control it.”
“Because he thought my father hid evidence here.”
Vincent nodded.
The current acquisition had never been entirely about redevelopment.
But there was no original safety report.
Only the copy from Clara’s frame.
Maggie searched the tin again.
Empty.
“Where are the originals?”
Vincent examined the photograph more closely.
“Wait.”
Patrick was wearing his florist apron in the picture.
Pinned to the chest was a small card.
A delivery ticket.
Maggie found a magnifying glass beneath the counter.
The writing was tiny.
But readable.
ORDER 314.
WHITE LILIES.
ST. AGNES CHAPEL.
Maggie stared.
Vincent whispered, “St. Agnes.”
The nursing home.
Where this entire thing had started.
The place where Vincent had taken the roses.
Maggie looked at him.
“Evelyn never gave you the key by accident.”
“No.”
“She sent us in a circle.”
“No.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“She sent us back to her.”
They arrived at St. Agnes just before visiting hours ended.
Evelyn Caruso was awake.
She looked from Maggie to Vincent.
Then smiled faintly.
“About time.”
Maggie sat beside her.
“Where are the originals?”
Evelyn’s smile disappeared.
“I never had them.”
“Then why send us through all this?”
“Because you needed to know who your fathers were before you learned what they did.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“What did they do?”
Evelyn looked at him.
“Patrick gave the originals to Dominic.”
Vincent stared.
“My father had them?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Evelyn pointed at his wrist.
His silver watch.
Vincent looked down.
“This belonged to my father.”
“I know.”
May you like
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“That’s why Patrick chose it.”
