Chapter 8 - The Man at the Head of the Table
Vincent Moretti called at four that afternoon.
Not Luca.
Grace.
Her new phone rang while she was tasting tomato sauce.
Unknown number.
She almost ignored it.
Then answered.
“Grace Walker?”
The voice was smooth and older.
“Yes?”
“My name is Vincent Moretti.”
Her hand tightened around the phone.
Across the kitchen, Titan stood.
Grace put the call on speaker.
Luca had entered thirty seconds earlier.
He stopped instantly.
Grace kept her voice calm.
“How did you get my number?”
“Your employer keeps excellent personnel records.”
Luca’s expression darkened.
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Vincent chuckled.
“You sound like Samuel.”
Grace’s heart struck hard.
“You knew my father.”
“Very well.”
“What do you want?”
“To save you time.”
“Generous.”
“You are searching for a story that does not end where you think.”
Grace looked at Luca.
“What story?”
“Samuel was a good man who made one terrible mistake.”
“You accused him of stealing.”
“I reported what the records showed.”
“Did you believe it?”
Silence.
Then Vincent said, “No.”
Luca stepped forward.
Grace raised a hand, stopping him from speaking.
“Why accuse him if you didn’t believe it?”
“Because someone had threatened my children.”
Grace’s anger paused.
“You expect me to believe you were protecting your family?”
“No. I expect nothing from you.”
“What did Samuel discover?”
“Ask Luca why Antonio hid two million dollars.”
“I already know.”
The silence on the other end changed.
Vincent had not expected that.
Grace continued.
“I know about the ledger. I know about the glove. I know Dad survived the fire.”
Luca’s eyes widened slightly.
Grace knew she had revealed too much.
But Vincent’s reaction mattered.
For several seconds, nothing.
Then:
“You found the kennel.”
Not a question.
Grace’s pulse accelerated.
“How do you know about it?”
“Samuel showed me.”
Luca stepped closer.
Grace asked, “When?”
“One week before he disappeared.”
“Why?”
“Because he suspected I was stealing.”
“Were you?”
Vincent laughed bitterly.
“Not from Antonio.”
“That is a lawyer’s answer.”
“It is the only answer you get over a telephone.”
Grace looked at Luca.
“Then come here.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed.
Vincent became quiet.
“You are inviting me to Moretti House?”
“I’m inviting you to explain why you met Evan Mercer yesterday.”
This time the silence lasted longer.
Vincent finally said, “Grace, lock the kitchen door.”
Her skin prickled.
“Why?”
“Because Evan Mercer is not staying downtown anymore.”
Luca grabbed the phone.
“Where is he?”
Vincent recognized the voice.
“Nephew.”
“Answer me.”
“You still command rooms exactly like Antonio.”
“Where is Mercer?”
“I don’t know.”
“You met him.”
“He asked to meet.”
“Why?”
“To sell me something.”
“What?”
“A copy of Samuel’s missing evidence.”
Grace stared.
“Did you buy it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he wanted ten million dollars.”
Luca said, “Where is the evidence?”
“Mercer claims it proves who killed Daniel.”
Grace felt cold.
“His father?”
“Yes.”
“And Samuel?”
Vincent paused.
“He claims Samuel is alive.”
Grace’s knees weakened.
Luca caught her elbow.
She pulled away, not angrily—simply needing to stand under her own strength.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ask?”
“Of course.”
“What did Mercer say?”
“That Samuel would reveal himself when Grace opened the final door.”
Grace closed her eyes.
Another clue.
Another plan.
Another message from a father who seemed to have turned his disappearance into a maze.
“What final door?”
“I hoped you knew.”
Grace looked toward Titan.
“Come to the house.”
Vincent’s voice changed.
“That is not wise.”
“Why?”
“Because Luca believes I betrayed his father.”
Luca replied, “I believe evidence.”
“No,” Vincent said. “You believe whichever evidence your grief allows.”
Grace looked between phone and Luca.
The men carried years of resentment she did not understand.
She interrupted.
“Seven tonight.”
Vincent laughed.
“You sound exactly like Samuel.”
“People keep saying that.”
“Seven.”
The line disconnected.
Luca stared at her.
“You invited Vincent Moretti into my house.”
“Yes.”
“You could have asked.”
“I could have.”
“And?”
“I didn’t.”
Titan lay down again.
Grace returned to her sauce.
Luca watched her.
“You are either exceptionally brave or completely reckless.”
“Those are often the same thing before dinner.”
At seven precisely, Vincent arrived.
The six dogs lined the entrance hall.
Grace stood beside Luca.
Victor’s security team occupied discreet positions.
Vincent entered alone.
He was sixty-one, silver-haired, elegant and surprisingly ordinary in appearance.
Grace had expected menace.
Instead she saw exhaustion.
Titan’s reaction interested her most.
The dog stood.
Watched.
But did not growl.
Vincent slowly removed his gloves.
Plain black leather.
No embossed V.
His gaze found Titan.
“Old friend.”
Titan remained still.
Vincent looked at Grace.
“Samuel’s daughter.”
“Vincent.”
“You have his eyes.”
“Apparently I have everything except his explanation.”
A sad smile crossed Vincent’s face.
“That also sounds like him.”
They moved into the dining room.
Grace had prepared food before realizing she would be eating with them.
Teresa served.
Victor remained nearby.
The absurdity of discussing murder, missing fathers and hidden millions over roast chicken did not escape Grace.
Vincent ate one bite.
Stopped.
“What?”
“This sauce.”
Grace frowned.
“What about it?”
“Samuel made something like this.”
“No, he didn’t.”
Vincent smiled.
“He did here.”
Grace looked at Luca.
Luca nodded.
“He learned from Teresa.”
Teresa looked offended.
“I attempted to teach him.”
Grace laughed despite herself.
For a moment Samuel existed at the table.
Not as victim.
Not as mystery.
As a bad cook.
The warmth disappeared when Luca placed the ledger down.
“You recognize it?”
Vincent did not touch it.
“Yes.”
“Did you create these accounts?”
“Some.”
“Which?”
Vincent pointed to several.
“These were for cash reserves Antonio kept outside normal operations.”
“Illegal?”
“Mostly tax avoidance.”
Grace raised an eyebrow.
Vincent shrugged.
“I did not say we were saints.”
“And the others?”
“Not mine.”
“Evan’s?”
“I don’t know.”
Luca opened the photograph of the glove.
Vincent stared.
“That was mine.”
“Teresa says you were in Rome.”
“I was.”
“Who had access to your belongings?”
“Staff. Family.”
“Evan?”
Vincent thought.
“Yes.”
The answer was too easy.
Grace asked, “Why did you accuse Dad?”
Vincent’s composure cracked.
He looked older.
“Because someone sent me photographs of my daughters leaving school.”
Luca’s expression shifted.
“You never told us.”
“I was told Samuel had stolen from Antonio. Then I received evidence showing Samuel meeting a federal investigator.”
“Was he?”
“I don’t know.”
“They threatened your daughters?”
“Yes.”
“So you supported the story.”
“Yes.”
Grace’s voice hardened.
“You helped destroy my father’s name.”
Vincent looked directly at her.
“Yes.”
No excuse.
No deflection.
“I have regretted it every day.”
Grace did not forgive him.
But honesty mattered.
“Who threatened you?”
“A typed note.”
“Do you have it?”
Vincent removed a folded copy from his jacket.
Victor examined it.
Grace read.
Confirm Walker acted alone or your children inherit his consequences.
No signature.
Vincent continued.
“Three months after Antonio died, my daughters received scholarships to schools in Switzerland from an anonymous foundation.”
Grace stared.
“You think someone paid you afterward?”
“I think someone rewarded my silence.”
“Did you investigate?”
“For years.”
“What did you find?”
“One name kept appearing.”
“Evan Mercer?”
Vincent shook his head.
“Marcus Hale.”
Luca leaned forward.
A former Moretti chief financial officer.
Still alive.
Still wealthy.
Retired in Florida.
Grace remembered the breakfast list.
One of three former executives still connected.
“What was his role?”
“He approved accounting software and external transfers.”
“Could he forge Samuel’s authorization?”
“Yes.”
Luca’s face hardened.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Vincent laughed bitterly.
“You stopped answering my calls eleven years ago.”
“You could have come here.”
“You would have had me thrown out.”
“Probably.”
Grace rubbed her forehead.
“Men are exhausting.”
Teresa quietly agreed.
Vincent reached into his jacket again.
Victor tensed.
Vincent slowly placed a USB drive on the table.
“Evan gave me this yesterday.”
Luca did not touch it.
“What is it?”
“A sample.”
Victor inserted it into an isolated laptop.
One video file.
The timestamp was six years old.
Grace’s heart began pounding before it played.
A man appeared on screen.
Older.
Bearded.
Thin.
But Grace knew him immediately.
“Dad.”
Samuel Walker sat in front of a plain wall.
Alive.
Six years after the fire.
Grace covered her mouth.
Samuel looked directly into the camera.
“If Grace ever sees this, then the wrong people found me first.”
Grace began crying.
The recording continued.
“Gracie, I’m sorry. I wanted to come home a thousand times.”
He looked tired.
Afraid.
Then he said:
“Do not trust Evan Mercer.”
Vincent leaned back.
Luca went still.
Samuel continued.
“Evan thinks this is about money. It isn’t. His father discovered what Antonio and I were doing. Daniel tried to help us. Someone killed him for it.”
Grace whispered, “Who?”
On screen, Samuel looked over his shoulder.
Then directly into the camera.
“The person responsible is still inside Moretti House.”
Everyone at the table stopped breathing.
Samuel added one final sentence.
“And Luca has trusted him with his life for more than twenty years.”
Grace slowly turned.
There were not many people fitting that description.
Her eyes moved instinctively toward the doorway.
Victor Reyes stood there.
Silent.
May you like
Watching.
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