Chapter 3 - The Death CertificateBy midnight, the Rossi estate had been sealed.
No cars could leave.
No employee could enter.
Every security camera was being checked.
But Leo was no longer interested in the shooter.
He wanted the truth.
He spread every document regarding his mother's death across the library table.
Death certificate.
Hospital records.
Travel records.
Insurance forms.
Newspaper clippings.
Everything.
Clare stood across from him.
“You said your mother died fifteen years ago.”
“Yes.”
“And you've never questioned it?”
Leo laughed bitterly.
“I was seventeen.”
“You never saw the body?”
“No.”
“Who identified it?”
“My father.”
Clare stared at him.
“Only him?”
Leo nodded.
A silence followed.
Then Clare noticed something.
“Mr. Rossi.”
“What?”
“The date.”
She pointed to the death certificate.
Leo looked.
His expression changed.
The official document stated that Rosalia Rossi died on November 14.
But another document showed something impossible.
Her insurance policy had been amended on November 16.
Two days after her supposed death.
Leo picked it up.
“That's impossible.”
“Maybe someone made a mistake.”
Leo turned toward her.
“No.”
His voice became colder.
“My family never made mistakes with money.”
He called his attorney.
“Pull every bank transaction connected to my mother between November 14 and December 31.”
The attorney hesitated.
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Ten minutes later, the answer came.
A dormant account had been accessed.
November 19.
Five days after Rosalia's official death.
One withdrawal.
Thirty thousand dollars.
Location?
Boston.
Leo felt a chill.
Clare stepped closer.
“Do you think it was her?”
“No.”
He stared at the screen.
“I think someone wanted me to think it was her.”
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
Leo answered.
Nothing.
Only breathing.
He motioned for Clare to remain silent.
A man's voice finally spoke.
“You shouldn't have opened the door.”
Leo's eyes hardened.
“Who are you?”
“You were safer believing your mother was dead.”
“Where is she?”
The voice laughed softly.
“You're asking the wrong question.”
“What question should I ask?”
“Who benefited from her death?”
The line went dead.
Leo immediately ordered his security team to trace it.
Nothing.
But Clare was staring at the photograph.
“There.”
“What?”
She pointed toward the man standing behind Rosalia.
“Your father isn't looking at the camera.”
Leo looked.
He was right.
His father was staring at someone outside the frame.
Someone beside Rosalia.
A woman.
Only part of her face was visible.
Clare leaned closer.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“I know her.”
Leo turned.
“Who?”
Clare swallowed.
“She was one of the nurses at St. Jude's.”
Leo's eyes narrowed.
“What was her name?”
“Marianne Bell.”
Before Leo could respond, every light in the mansion went out.
A scream came from the eastern wing.
Then another.
Leo grabbed Clare's hand.
“Stay with me.”
They ran toward the sound.
They found one of the guards collapsed near the staircase.
His throat had been cut.
Beside his body was a piece of paper.
Leo picked it up.
Four words.
ASK THE NURSE ABOUT MARY.
Clare looked at him.
“Who is Mary?”
Leo stared at the name.
His mother's name wasn't Mary.
But then he remembered something from childhood.
His mother used to tell him that when she wanted to disappear, she would become someone else.
Leo whispered:
“Mary was her alias.”
And at that exact moment, Clare's phone began ringing.
May you like
The caller ID read:
ST. JUDE'S HOSPICE.
