Chapter 7
Dominic learned about the break-in from Claire.
That mattered.
Three years earlier, he would have learned from someone else before she finished speaking to the police.
He would have had names.
Addresses.
Vehicle records.
Perhaps photographs.
Now he sat across from her in a police conference room and waited while Detective Ortiz explained what they knew.
No forced entry.
No usable fingerprints.
Building camera disabled for eleven minutes.
Margaret had gone downstairs to collect mail.
When she returned, the box was gone.
Nothing else had been taken.
“Someone knew exactly what they wanted,” Ortiz said.
Claire looked at Dominic.
“Who knew about the box?”
“Us,” Dominic said. “Margaret. Katherine. Nora. Police.”
“And whoever originally knew Evelyn had records,” Ortiz added.
Claire folded her arms.
“What about Michael?”
“Verified at work in Indiana.”
“Ethan?”
“In custody.”
Dominic spoke.
“Adrian.”
Ortiz nodded.
“We interviewed him this morning.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
She had not seen Adrian Moretti since the criminal proceedings.
“What did he say?”
“That he never heard of Evelyn Shaw.”
Dominic laughed once.
Ortiz looked at him.
“You don’t believe him.”
“My cousin lies differently depending on whether he thinks the truth can hurt him.”
Claire glanced at Dominic.
“What does that mean?”
“When Adrian invents something, he overexplains. When he knows the truth and wants distance from it, he becomes concise.”
Ortiz made a note.
Claire disliked how useful Dominic still was in rooms like this.
Knowledge built through years of dangerous intimacy did not become harmless merely because it was now offered to police.
But perhaps usefulness did not have to be purity.
“What about Vanessa?” Claire asked.
Dominic’s face changed.
Ortiz looked at his notes.
“She returned to Illinois four days ago.”
Claire stared.
“What?”
“Her mother had surgery.”
“Does she know about the ledger?”
“We don’t know.”
Dominic said nothing.
Claire noticed.
“What?”
He looked at her.
“Vanessa knew Evelyn.”
The room went still.
“How?”
“My father hired Evelyn until I was fifteen. Vanessa’s father worked for ours.”
Claire stared at him.
“You told me Evelyn died twenty years ago.”
“She did.”
“And Vanessa knew her?”
“As a child.”
“How well?”
“I don’t know.”
Claire stood.
“Again.”
Dominic’s expression tightened.
“What?”
“Again there is information.”
“I didn’t know it was relevant.”
“You don’t get to decide relevance.”
“I know.”
Ortiz interrupted.
“This is useful. Not proof of anything.”
Claire sat again.
The detective continued.
“We’ll speak with Vanessa.”
They found her before lunch.
Vanessa did not resist.
She requested an attorney.
Then, unexpectedly, she requested Claire.
Claire refused.
Vanessa asked again.
Nora advised against it.
Claire went anyway.
Not because Vanessa deserved the meeting.
Because Claire was tired of other people possessing pieces of her history.
Vanessa entered the interview room wearing jeans and a gray sweater.
No designer dress.
No sharp perfume.
No carefully arranged hair.
She looked older.
So did Claire.
Vanessa sat.
For several seconds, they simply looked at each other.
Then Vanessa said, “I’m sorry about your daughter.”
Claire’s expression hardened.
“My daughter is healthy.”
“I know. I meant what happened.”
“You already apologized in court.”
“I was apologizing to a judge.”
Claire almost smiled.
At least that was honest.
“What do you want?”
Vanessa looked toward the one-way glass.
“Is Dominic watching?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t about him.”
Claire leaned back.
“Everything used to be about him for you.”
Vanessa flinched.
“Yes.”
The answer removed some of Claire’s anger without earning forgiveness.
Vanessa folded her hands.
“Evelyn Shaw was my aunt.”
Claire stared.
“What?”
“My mother’s half sister.”
“Margaret said—”
“Margaret is Evelyn’s full sister. My mother was their father’s child from another relationship.”
Claire processed it.
“Did Dominic know?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“My mother hated the Morettis. She changed her surname after marrying my father.”
Claire felt cold.
“Why did you never tell anyone?”
“Because there was nothing to tell until now.”
Claire almost laughed.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
Vanessa looked directly at her.
“I expect you to verify it.”
That sounded unlike the woman Claire remembered.
Vanessa continued.
“Evelyn did not die from cancer.”
Claire’s breath caught.
“What?”
“She died in a car accident.”
Claire went still.
“Twenty years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Who was driving?”
“My mother.”
The room became silent.
“Your mother survived?”
“Yes.”
“Did she think the crash was deliberate?”
Vanessa nodded.
Claire’s pulse accelerated.
“Why?”
“Because someone had been following Evelyn.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Cars.
Always cars.
Metal transformed into plausible accidents.
“Who?”
“She didn’t know.”
“Anthony?”
“Maybe.”
“Daniel Mercer?”
“He was already dead.”
“What did Evelyn know?”
Vanessa looked toward the glass.
“A lot.”
“About what?”
“Anthony’s accounts. Daniel’s work. Robert Bell’s loan.”
Claire leaned forward.
“And?”
Vanessa’s voice lowered.
“Adrian’s father.”
Dominic’s uncle Victor.
Claire remembered him.
He died of a heart attack when Dominic was twenty-four.
“What about him?”
“Evelyn believed Victor ordered Daniel Mercer’s death.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Daniel was cooperating with federal agents. He had evidence Victor was using shipping containers to move stolen art.”
“And Anthony?”
“Covered it up.”
Claire closed her eyes.
It fit too easily.
That frightened her.
“Where did you learn this?”
“My mother.”
“When?”
“After my sentencing.”
Claire stared.
Vanessa swallowed.
“I went home angry at everyone. Dominic. You. Adrian. Myself.”
Her voice trembled.
“My mother told me I had spent my life trying to be chosen by a family she had spent hers trying to escape.”
Claire said nothing.
“She told me about Evelyn. About Victor. About the accident.”
“Why didn’t you go to police?”
“I had no evidence.”
“You had testimony.”
“My mother refused.”
“And now?”
“She has dementia.”
Claire leaned back.
Vanessa looked down.
“There are days she knows me. Days she thinks I’m Evelyn.”
Claire felt something she did not want to feel.
Sympathy.
It was easier when villains remained simple.
Vanessa continued.
“Last month, she said something during one of her confused episodes.”
“What?”
“She said, ‘Victor didn’t find the black book.’”
Claire stopped breathing.
“You knew about the ledger.”
“Yes.”
“Before Michael’s letter?”
“Yes.”
“Did you break into Margaret’s apartment?”
“No.”
“Did you follow us?”
“No.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
Vanessa hesitated.
Claire’s stomach dropped.
“Who?”
“Adrian.”
Claire stood.
“You contacted Adrian?”
“He contacted me.”
“From prison?”
“Through an attorney.”
Claire stared.
“He asked whether my mother had ever mentioned Evelyn.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Before Michael followed Dominic.”
“Yes.”
Claire turned toward the glass.
Detective Ortiz entered immediately.
Within two hours, investigators obtained records showing Adrian had communicated with three people through legal mail and monitored calls.
One name mattered.
Thomas Keene.
Former Moretti security contractor.
Released from federal prison eight months earlier.
Thomas Keene had worked for Victor Moretti twenty years ago.
Dominic recognized him instantly.
“He was at the lake house,” Dominic said.
“When?” Ortiz asked.
“The week after my father died. He helped clear storage.”
Claire looked at him.
“And you’re remembering this now?”
Dominic ignored the anger in her voice.
“Because I haven’t heard his name in eighteen years.”
Ortiz asked, “Could he know about the ledger?”
“Yes.”
“Would he hurt someone to get it?”
Dominic looked at Claire.
Then back at Ortiz.
“Yes.”
Police located Keene’s apartment.
Empty.
His phone had been turned off the night Margaret’s apartment was entered.
His car was found at O’Hare.
For forty-eight hours, nobody knew where he was.
Then Lily disappeared for seven minutes.
Seven minutes.
Claire would remember every second for the rest of her life.
Preschool ended at 2:45.
Katherine arrived at 2:42.
The teacher released Lily at 2:47.
But Katherine was not at the gate.
A woman wearing a jacket similar to Katherine’s stood beside a gray SUV and called Lily’s name.
Lily walked toward her.
A teacher noticed the woman was wearing sunglasses despite the rain.
She called out.
The woman grabbed Lily’s wrist.
Lily screamed.
The teacher ran.
The woman released her, jumped into the SUV, and drove away.
Seven minutes after the school called Claire, Lily was locked inside the principal’s office with two police officers.
Claire arrived first.
Dominic arrived four minutes later.
He ran through the front doors.
Claire was holding Lily.
Dominic stopped.
Every instinct in him seemed to pull forward.
Claire saw it.
Saw the terror.
Saw the need to touch his child.
He did not move.
He waited.
Claire looked at Lily.
“Daddy’s here.”
Lily reached for him.
Only then did Dominic cross the room.
He dropped to his knees.
Lily wrapped both arms around his neck.
Dominic closed his eyes.
His hands shook violently.
Claire had never seen him afraid like that.
Not in the hospital.
Not in court.
Not even when his empire collapsed.
This was different.
This was helplessness without anywhere to convert itself into power.
“I’m okay,” Lily whispered.
Dominic pressed his face against her hair.
“I know.”
“The bad lady grabbed me.”
“I know.”
“Ms. Parker yelled really loud.”
Dominic laughed through tears.
“Good.”
Claire crouched beside them.
Lily looked between her parents.
“Can we go home?”
Claire nodded.
“Yes.”
Detective Ortiz arrived before they could leave.
He showed Claire a still image from the school camera.
The woman was not Vanessa.
Not Margaret.
Not anyone Claire recognized.
Dominic did.
His face became white.
“Who?” Claire asked.
Dominic stared at the image.
“Thomas Keene’s daughter.”
Ortiz looked at him.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
“Rachel.”
Claire looked at Lily.
Then at Dominic.
“Why would she take our daughter?”
Dominic’s voice was hollow.
“I don’t know.”
But by midnight, they had an answer.
Police found Rachel Keene in a motel outside Joliet.
She surrendered without resistance.
In her room they found photographs of the lake house.
Margaret’s building.
Dominic’s apartment.
Claire’s house.
Lily’s preschool.
They also found a handwritten note from Thomas Keene.
Rachel,
If I disappear, Moretti found it first.
The Bell woman has the key.
Her child is the only thing she will trade for the truth.
Claire read the note once.
Then again.
Dominic stood beside her.
“The Bell woman,” Claire whispered.
“Me.”
Ortiz nodded.
“And apparently you have something Keene believes opens or identifies the location of the ledger.”
Claire shook her head.
“I have nothing.”
Dominic looked at her.
Then his eyes lowered.
To the necklace around Claire’s throat.
A small brass key.
Old.
Worn smooth.
Claire touched it instinctively.
Her father’s key.
She had worn it for eleven years.
Robert Bell had given it to her three days before he died.
He told her it opened nothing anymore.
Just an old office key.
A memory.
Dominic stared.
Claire slowly removed the chain.
On one side of the key was a number so faint she had never considered it important.
Dominic whispered, “That isn’t an office number.”
Claire looked at him.
“What is it?”
May you like
His face changed.
“Storage locker.”
