Chapter 4 - THE SECRET BEHIND THE BURNED BAKERY WALL
“Why shouldn't I tell Carmine?”
Nell barely had time to whisper the question before the office door opened.
Lawrence Voss stood in the doorway.
He was sixty-six, silver-haired, impeccably dressed, and wearing the same expression Nell remembered from the dinner table.
A look of practiced superiority.
“Mrs. Puit,” he said, “I understand Miss Brisco has been causing trouble.”
Odette moved in front of Nell.
“She's here to collect her belongings.”
“Then I hope she makes it quick.”
Voss looked directly at Nell.
“Your employer has been remarkably generous, considering the circumstances.”
“My employer stopped someone from abducting my father.”
“That's a dramatic description of a medical transfer.”
“Is that what you call a forged signature?”
His smile thinned.
“Be careful, young lady. Accusations have consequences.”
Nell felt the brass key pressing against her palm inside her coat pocket.
She wanted to run.
Instead, she lifted her chin.
“So does stealing money from an employee for three years.”
For the first time, Voss appeared genuinely surprised.
“Who told you that?”
“Someone who bothered to look.”
Odette stepped toward the door.
“Miss Brisco has finished here.”
Voss did not move.
“Mr. Orsini will regret involving himself in matters his father wisely left alone.”
The words chilled Nell.
She walked past him without answering.
But she was no longer thinking about resigning.
She was thinking about the second oven.
Carmine was waiting in the courtyard when Nell emerged.
His expression suggested he had already heard something.
“Benny tells me Voss was here.”
“He was.”
“What did he want?”
“To remind me that poor people should be grateful when rich people take an interest in them.”
Carmine's jaw tightened.
“Did he threaten you?”
“Not directly.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Nell looked at him.
“Are all your conversations interrogations?”
“No.”
“Then maybe try asking whether my father is feeling better.”
Carmine went still.
A moment later, he nodded.
“Fair enough. How is Emmett?”
“Awake. Frightened. The doctors are adjusting his medication.”
“And you?”
She almost said she was fine.
It was the answer she had given for eight years.
Instead, she told the truth.
“I'm tired of being afraid.”
Carmine studied her.
“Then stop carrying this alone.”
Nell laughed bitterly.
“Easy advice from a man who owns half the city.”
“I don't own half the city.”
“Only the parts people are afraid to walk into?”
He almost smiled.
Then Nell reached into her coat and showed him the key.
“Odette gave me this.”
Carmine's face changed.
“Where did she get it?”
“My mother.”
He looked at the folded paper.
Nell explained the message, the second oven, and Odette's warning.
When she finished, Carmine said nothing for several seconds.
“There's something I haven't told you,” he finally admitted.
Nell's stomach tightened.
“What?”
“My father visited the bakery on the night of the fire.”
“I know.”
“And Lawrence Voss arranged for that visit to be removed from the police record.”
Nell stared at him.
“Your grandmother told you?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell you why?”
“No.”
“Then maybe it's time you found out.”
Carmine held her gaze.
“I intend to.”
An hour later, Benny drove them to Chartres Street.
Nell had not returned to the bakery in eight years.
She had passed the neighborhood occasionally on buses, but she always looked away.
Now she stood before an old brick building with boarded windows and a faded sign.
FONTAINE'S BAKERY.
The letters were barely visible beneath years of dirt.
Her father had painted that sign himself.
Nell remembered being six years old and sitting on the sidewalk while Emmett balanced on a ladder.
Her mother had brought lemonade and complained that the lettering was crooked.
He had laughed and painted a tiny red heart inside the letter O.
The heart was still there.
Nell pressed her hand against her mouth.
Carmine stood quietly beside her.
He did not tell her not to cry.
For that, she was grateful.
Benny approached with a ring of keys.
“The building belongs to Crescent Hospitality.”
Nell turned.
“Bellarose?”
“Through a property subsidiary.”
“Then how did you get inside?”
Carmine looked at her.
“I asked the caretaker to open it.”
Nell gave him a doubtful look.
“He agreed?”
“Eventually.”
Inside, the bakery smelled of dust, damp plaster, and old smoke.
Most of the shelves had disappeared.
The front counter was gone.
But the kitchen remained.
Two enormous brick ovens stood against the rear wall.
The first had been badly damaged by the fire.
The second was covered in soot but otherwise intact.
Nell moved toward it.
Her hands trembled as she brushed debris from the iron door.
The brass key fit a tiny lock beneath the handle.
She turned it.
Nothing happened.
She tried again.
A clicking sound came from behind the oven.
Benny leaned closer.
“There's a secondary latch.”
Carmine helped move a loose metal panel.
Behind it was a narrow compartment built into the brickwork.
Inside sat a rusted biscuit tin wrapped in oilcloth.
Nell carefully lifted it out.
Her mother's handwriting appeared on the lid.
For Eleanor, when she's old enough to understand.
Nell began crying.
She had spent eight years believing every piece of her mother had disappeared into the flames.
Now she was holding something Rosa had protected for her.
Carmine waited.
“Open it when you're ready.”
Nell nodded.
Inside were three objects.
A small photograph of her parents holding her as a baby.
A gold wedding band.
And a sealed envelope.
She picked up the envelope.
It was addressed to Salvatore Orsini.
Not Eleanor.
Not Emmett.
Salvatore.
Her fingers stiffened.
Carmine looked at the handwriting.
“That was my father's name.”
“I can read.”
“I wasn't suggesting otherwise.”
Nell tore the envelope open.
Inside were copies of bank statements and a handwritten letter.
Rosa had discovered that charitable donations meant for storm-damaged neighborhoods had been transferred into a private development fund.
The account authorized dozens of property purchases.
Families had lost homes.
Small businesses had been seized.
And at the bottom of the transaction sheets appeared an unmistakable signature.
Salvatore Orsini.
Nell turned toward Carmine.
“Your father signed these.”
He studied the papers.
“Yes.”
“He helped Bellarose steal from people who had already lost everything.”
“We don't know what these signatures represent.”
“Stop defending him!”
Her voice echoed through the empty bakery.
For eight years, she had carried an image of her mother dying in smoke.
For eight years, she had watched her father slowly disappear into illness.
And now the son of the man whose signature appeared on those papers was standing beside her, asking for patience.
“My mother died here,” she said. “She died trying to expose what those men were doing.”
Carmine said nothing.
Nell held the papers against her chest.
“I don't want your help anymore.”
“Nell.”
“No. You've done enough.”
She stepped away.
Carmine did not try to stop her.
But as she approached the kitchen door, Benny called out.
“Boss. You need to see this.”
He was examining a second sheet that had slipped from the envelope.
It was a handwritten list of transfers.
Beside one entry was the date of the fire.
And underneath was a notation that made Carmine visibly pale.
Security authorization: C. Orsini.
Nell read it.
She slowly turned.
“Carmine?”
He stared at the notation.
“I was twenty-five,” he whispered.
“Were you here?”
Carmine's silence lasted too long.
Nell took one step toward him.
“Were you here the night my mother died?”
Finally, he answered.
“Yes.”
The room seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
“And what did you do?”
Carmine closed his eyes.
“I delivered an envelope to your mother.”
“What was inside?”
“I was told it was a warning to evacuate.”
Nell stared at him in horror.
“Did you see her leave?”
“No.”
“Did you check?”
Carmine's face tightened.
“No.”
Nell stumbled backward.
“You left her here.”
Before he could answer, Benny's phone rang.
He listened briefly.
Then looked at Carmine.
“Boss, the hospital just called.”
Nell spun toward him.
“My father?”
“He's alive.”
Benny swallowed.
“But somebody got into his room.”
Carmine moved toward the door.
“What happened?”
“They were looking for something. Security found the room torn apart.”
Nell gripped the biscuit tin.
“Where's Papa?”
Benny's expression darkened.
“That's the problem.”
May you like
He lowered the phone.
“Your father is missing again.”
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