Chapter 8 - Lorenzo had spent twenty years trying to become nothing like his father.Enzo DeLuca had ruled the old syndicate with cruelty.
He had believed fear was stronger than loyalty.
He had taught Lorenzo that trust was a weakness.
When Enzo died, Lorenzo rebuilt the empire.
Cleaner.
Quieter.
More legitimate.
At least that was what Lorenzo had believed.
Now Rachel was telling him the first fraudulent transfer had been authorized by his father.
“You're sure?”
“We found the original signature.”
“My father died eight years ago.”
“I know.”
“And the company records?”
“Altered.”
Lorenzo sat in silence.
Sophia remained near the kitchen door.
She looked exhausted.
“Tell me everything Isabella told you.”
Sophia shook her head.
“She made me promise.”
“She is alive.”
“I know.”
“Then I need to know.”
Sophia finally broke.
“She came to me two weeks before the crash.”
Lorenzo listened.
“She was carrying papers.”
“What papers?”
“Hospital records.”
“Why?”
“She said someone had changed your father's medical file.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“She believed your father had not died when everyone thought.”
Lorenzo stared.
“That is insane.”
“I thought so too.”
“What else?”
“She said someone had been using his identity.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Sophia wiped her eyes.
“She was terrified.”
“What did she want from you?”
“Claire.”
Lorenzo went still.
“Why Claire?”
Sophia looked down.
“Because Claire had seen something.”
“What?”
“Your father.”
Silence.
Lorenzo pushed back his chair.
“That cannot be true.”
Sophia nodded.
“Claire claimed she saw him at the port.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
His father had supposedly been dead for five years by then.
Rachel entered the room.
“Lorenzo.”
He turned.
“We found something.”
She placed a file on the table.
A hospital admission.
A man admitted under an alias.
The photograph looked like Enzo DeLuca.
Older.
Thinner.
But unmistakable.
“Where was this?”
“A private facility in upstate New York.”
“When?”
Three years ago.
Lorenzo looked at Sophia.
Then at Rachel.
“Find the hospital.”
“We already did.”
“And?”
“The records are gone.”
“Convenient.”
“Too convenient.”
Rachel placed another page on the table.
A payment made to the hospital.
From Blackmere Holdings.
Vincent's company.
Lorenzo shook his head.
“Vincent wasn't there three years ago.”
“No.”
“Then who was?”
Rachel answered quietly.
“Someone using your family's internal accounts.”
That narrowed the list.
Or should have.
But then they found archived payroll.
A security consultant had been paid for eight years.
Monthly.
Always in cash.
The name was fake.
The photograph was not.
It was Anthony Bell.
Former security contractor.
The same man connected to Isabella's abduction.
Lorenzo stared.
“Find him.”
They did.
Anthony was living under an alias near Albany.
Police surrounded the house.
He surrendered without a fight.
During interrogation, Rachel placed Isabella's photograph on the table.
Anthony looked away.
“You know her.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She found out.”
“About what?”
Anthony swallowed.
“The old man.”
Lorenzo leaned forward.
“My father?”
Anthony nodded.
“He was alive.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Who paid you?”
Anthony stayed silent.
Rachel pushed a photograph across the table.
Vincent's ring.
Anthony's eyes changed.
“Who was he working for?”
Anthony whispered:
“Not Vincent.”
“Then who?”
Anthony looked toward Lorenzo.
“Your father.”
Lorenzo's face hardened.
“My father is dead.”
“He was supposed to be.”
Anthony shook his head.
“He didn't die.”
“Where is he?”
Anthony hesitated.
Then finally said:
“There's a place outside Kingston.”
“What place?”
“A church.”
Lorenzo exchanged a look with Rachel.
“Saint Matthew's?”
Anthony nodded.
“He used the basement.”
Lorenzo remembered the drawings.
The hidden room.
The wedding ring.
The footprints.
Everything.
But one thing didn't fit.
If Enzo had been behind the conspiracy, why would he kidnap Isabella?
Anthony answered before Lorenzo asked.
“She found out his biggest secret.”
“What secret?”
Anthony's hands trembled.
“He wasn't running the operation.”
Lorenzo stared.
“Then who was?”
Anthony looked at him.
“Your mother.”
Silence.
Lorenzo actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the story had become so impossible that his mind needed another explanation.
“My mother died fifteen years ago.”
Anthony shook his head.
“She didn't.”
Lorenzo's smile vanished.
“What?”
Anthony whispered:
“Your mother disappeared.”
“That was the story.”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
May you like
Anthony looked toward the interrogation room door.
“Your mother was the one who ordered the crash.”
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