Chapter 11 - One Hour to Burn the TruthThe photograph caught fire.
Carmine stamped it out.
Silas was already gone.
The front doors slammed shut.
Benny rushed outside.
Nothing.
No car.
No footsteps.
No witnesses.
Carmine stared at the burned edges of the photograph.
Someone had been watching the kitchen.
Someone had photographed Nell that morning.
Someone knew the microfilm existed.
And they wanted Carmine to panic.
He refused.
“Lock the house.”
Benny nodded.
“Already doing it.”
Nell entered the room.
“Where did he go?”
Carmine handed her the photograph.
Her face changed.
“He knows.”
“Yes.”
“Then we have to leave.”
“No.”
“They'll kill you.”
“They've had three years.”
“Why aren't you afraid?”
Carmine looked at her.
“Because now I know what they want.”
“The ledger.”
“The ledger and you.”
Nell stared.
“Why me?”
“Because your father encoded the original list through recipes.”
She shook her head.
“I don't remember any other codes.”
“You don't have to.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your memory may.”
Nell frowned.
Carmine showed her the microfilm.
“Look at the names.”
She scanned them.
Then she stopped.
One account number.
“That was my father's bakery mortgage.”
Carmine nodded.
“Keep going.”
Another number.
“A hospital.”
Another.
“A funeral home.”
Another.
A bank.
Then she saw a sequence of dates.
Her breathing changed.
“These are birthdays.”
“Whose?”
“My family's.”
She grabbed the paper.
“My mother. My uncle. My father.”
Then another date.
She stared at it.
“Carmine.”
“What?”
“This is your mother's birthday.”
He looked.
Beside the date was a number.
A bank account.
Carmine immediately called Benny.
“Find this account.”
Minutes later, Benny returned.
“It's active.”
Carmine's eyes narrowed.
“Owner?”
“Marianne Orsini.”
His mother's name.
“Impossible.”
“There's more.”
Benny placed another document on the table.
“Deposits every year.”
Carmine stared.
His mother had supposedly died eleven years ago.
Yet someone had been paying into her account.
Nell whispered:
“She wasn't dead.”
Carmine shook his head.
“No.”
“Then where is she?”
Benny checked the latest transaction.
“Three days ago.”
Carmine's blood went cold.
Three days.
The same day Palmira had been shot.
The same day Silas returned.
Someone was moving pieces.
Carmine ordered the bank records.
A location appeared.
A storage facility outside Baton Rouge.
They arrived before dawn.
Inside unit 214 was an old suitcase.
No woman.
No body.
Only letters.
One was addressed to Carmine.
He opened it.
Carmine,
If you're reading this, the story you were told about my death was false. I left because your father forced me to. He believed someone inside the Orsini family had already been bought.
Carmine's hand tightened.
I trusted him until I learned he was wrong about one thing.
The traitor was not inside the family.
The traitor was the man he trusted most.
Carmine stopped.
Silas.
His father's closest friend.
The letter continued.
Do not trust Palmira.
Carmine froze.
Nell read over his shoulder.
“What?”
Carmine showed her.
Benny looked uneasy.
“If Palmira was involved…”
Carmine shook his head.
“No.”
“But your mother wrote it.”
“She may have been wrong.”
Nell said quietly:
“Or someone wanted her to believe it.”
Carmine looked at her.
That was the difference between fear and understanding.
She was no longer running.
She was investigating.
Then the suitcase phone rang.
Carmine answered.
Silas.
“You found the letter.”
“Where is my mother?”
“Alive.”
“Where?”
“You'll have to choose which truth matters more.”
Carmine's voice hardened.
“My mother.”
“Or Eleanor.”
Carmine looked at Nell.
“What do you want?”
“Bring Eleanor to the Fontaine Bakery.”
“The building is burned.”
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
“Because the fire wasn't finished.”
The call ended.
Nell stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Carmine looked at the burned photograph.
Then at the microfilm.
May you like
Then at the city outside.
“It means they're trying to make you remember something.”
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