Chapter 4 - The Man Lorenzo Buried
Lorenzo did not speak during the drive back.
That worried Clara more than anger would have.
Gabriel sat in the front seat taking calls.
Father Adrian had survived the trip to the hospital.
Barely.
No visitors were allowed.
Two Moretti men stood outside his room.
Clara watched Lorenzo through the reflection in the window.
“You really never saw your father’s body?”
He looked at her reflection.
“No.”
“Why?”
“There wasn’t enough left.”
Clara turned.
“What happened?”
“Car bomb.”
She waited.
He continued.
“My father and Uncle Matteo left a warehouse together. The vehicle exploded three minutes later.”
“And they identified them how?”
“Dental records.”
“Both?”
“Yes.”
“Who handled that?”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed.
“You think the records were falsified.”
“I think a priest just told you your dead father isn’t dead.”
“He was delirious.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“No.”
He looked away.
“Neither do I.”
At the estate, the investigation changed.
No longer: Who poisoned Isabella?
Now: What happened thirteen years ago?
Gabriel pulled old police records.
Autopsy records.
Insurance files.
Corporate transfers.
Clara stayed because leaving would have been stupid.
She also stayed because Sarah needed dialysis the next morning, and Lorenzo had quietly arranged for treatment at a private clinic.
Clara found out only when Sarah told her.
She stormed into his office.
“You paid for her treatment.”
“I arranged transportation.”
“And treatment.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
Lorenzo looked up.
“She needs it.”
“That doesn’t give you permission.”
His patience snapped.
“Someone fired through your apartment window twelve hours ago.”
“That has nothing to do with her medical bills.”
“It has everything to do with why you’re here.”
“You don’t get to buy control.”
“I’m not trying to control you.”
Clara laughed.
“That may be the least convincing thing you’ve ever said.”
He stood.
“So what do you want me to do? Let her miss dialysis because your pride is offended?”
Her anger flared.
“You think this is pride?”
“What is it?”
“Choice.”
The room went quiet.
Clara stepped closer.
“People with money love calling help generosity when it comes with strings nobody else can see.”
“There are no strings.”
“There are always strings with you.”
His jaw tightened.
She regretted it immediately.
Not because it was entirely wrong.
Because she had aimed where she knew it would hurt.
Lorenzo stepped back.
“Fine.”
His voice went cold.
“I’ll cancel it.”
Clara stopped.
Her mother needed the treatment.
He knew it.
She knew he knew it.
“Don’t.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
She swallowed.
“I’ll pay you back.”
“No.”
“Then I won’t accept it.”
“You cannot afford it.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Clara looked away.
Lorenzo saw what he had done.
His voice changed.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
“No. I meant—”
“You meant exactly what you said.”
She left.
That evening, Sarah found her in the garden.
“You’re angry.”
“He’s impossible.”
“He’s also paying for dialysis.”
“That’s why I’m angry.”
Sarah smiled weakly.
“You know, dignity and stubbornness are cousins.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Kidneys.”
Clara laughed.
Then Sarah became serious.
“He looks at you strangely.”
“Mom.”
“Not romantically.”
“Good.”
“Like he doesn’t know what to do with you.”
“That makes two of us.”
Inside, Lorenzo and Gabriel discovered something.
The dental examiner who had identified Lorenzo’s father died six months after the bombing.
Suicide.
The police detective overseeing evidence retired early.
Moved to Arizona.
The insurance payment on Vittorio Moretti’s life policy had been refused because the remains were considered partially inconclusive.
Clara looked over the files.
“You all just accepted this?”
Lorenzo’s voice was bitter.
“I was nineteen.”
“What about Isabella?”
“My father handled everything.”
“Your father was supposedly dead.”
“His attorney.”
“Who?”
Gabriel looked up.
“Richard Vale.”
Lorenzo’s longtime legal counsel.
Clara had met him at breakfast.
Gray suit.
Perfect manners.
He had kissed Isabella’s cheek.
“He’s still your lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Since before your father died?”
“Yes.”
The door opened.
Richard Vale entered.
Speak of the devil.
He looked from Clara to the files.
“I was told you wanted me.”
Lorenzo leaned against the desk.
“Did you identify my father’s body?”
Vale’s expression did not change.
“No.”
“Were you present?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see him?”
“What remained.”
“Enough to recognize him?”
“No.”
“Then why did you tell my mother it was certain?”
Vale paused.
“Because investigators told me it was.”
“Which investigator?”
“Detective Wallace.”
Gabriel pulled up the file.
“Wallace says in his report that positive identification came from dental records provided by the family dentist.”
Vale frowned.
“That’s my recollection.”
“Who gave investigators the records?”
Silence.
Then Vale said, “I did.”
Lorenzo stepped forward.
Clara felt the room tighten.
“Where did you get them?”
“Your father’s office.”
“Who told you where they were?”
Vale hesitated.
Too long.
“My memory is not perfect.”
Lorenzo slammed his hand onto the desk.
“Try.”
Vale flinched.
“Your mother.”
Isabella’s voice came from the doorway.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
She stood there.
Pale.
Furious.
“I never gave you Vittorio’s dental records.”
Vale stared at her.
“Isabella.”
“Do not use my name as a hiding place.”
Clara felt chills.
Vale’s face changed.
Not guilt.
Calculation.
He ran.
Gabriel lunged.
Vale shoved a chair into him and reached the hallway.
Lorenzo followed.
Clara heard shouting.
A crash.
Then a gunshot.
She ran.
Vale stood near the front entrance.
A guard was down.
Vale had his weapon.
Lorenzo stood fifteen feet away.
“Put it down.”
Vale laughed.
“You were always exactly like him.”
“Like who?”
“Your father.”
Lorenzo’s face went still.
“Where is he?”
Vale backed toward the door.
“You think this started yesterday?”
“Where is he?”
Vale smiled.
“You’ve been running his empire for thirteen years.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“He built you into exactly what he needed.”
A shot exploded.
Not from Vale.
From outside.
Vale jerked.
Blood appeared on his shirt.
Clara screamed.
He collapsed.
Gabriel pulled Lorenzo behind the wall.
Another shot shattered the glass door.
Everyone dropped.
Clara crawled toward Vale.
Lorenzo grabbed her ankle.
“No.”
“He’s alive.”
“Someone is shooting at us.”
“He knows everything.”
“Clara.”
“He dies, your answers die.”
She pulled free.
Crawled.
Vale gasped.
Blood bubbled at his lips.
Clara pressed her hands against the wound.
“Stay with me.”
He stared at her.
“The girl.”
“What?”
“The waitress.”
“Yes.”
His fingers closed around her sleeve.
“Your mother…”
Clara froze.
“What about my mother?”
Vale coughed.
“Ask… what hospital she worked at.”
His grip loosened.
Clara stared.
“My mother never worked at a hospital.”
Vale smiled through blood.
“Yes… she did.”
Then his hand fell.
Clara turned toward Sarah.
Her mother stood at the end of the hallway.
White-faced.
Terrified.
Clara slowly rose.
“Mom?”
Sarah did not answer.
“Did you work at a hospital?”
Silence.
Lorenzo looked between them.
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears.
“Before you were born.”
Clara felt the floor tilt beneath her.
“Which hospital?”
Sarah swallowed.
“St. Vincent’s.”
Gabriel looked up sharply.
Lorenzo’s face changed.
Clara saw it.
“What?”
Nobody answered.
“What is St. Vincent’s?”
Lorenzo spoke quietly.
“It was the hospital where my father was treated after the bombing.”
Clara stared at her mother.
Sarah began to cry.
And suddenly the conspiracy no longer belonged only to the Morettis.
May you like
It had been waiting inside Clara’s own family for thirteen years.
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