Chapter 3 - The Man With the Silver CaneCarmine had spent most of his life collecting enemies.
Some wanted his money.
Some wanted his territory.
Some wanted him dead.
But the most dangerous enemies were the ones who wanted something else.
His reputation.
His silence.
His signature.
That afternoon, Lucien Vale walked into Orsini territory with a silver-topped cane and no fear in his eyes.
Benny nearly stopped him at the gate.
Carmine waved him through.
Lucien entered the dining room wearing a charcoal suit.
He was older now.
Thinner.
His hair had gone silver at the temples.
He smiled as though they had last met at a wedding instead of a funeral.
“Carmine.”
“Lucien.”
“I heard you're asking about an old bakery.”
Carmine did not offer him a seat.
“How did you hear?”
Lucien smiled.
“You ask questions loudly.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No. It isn't.”
They stared at each other.
Then Lucien tapped his cane against the floor.
“You should stop digging.”
Carmine's expression remained calm.
“Why?”
“Because what happened to Fontaine Bakery was twenty times uglier than you think.”
“Tell me.”
Lucien laughed softly.
“You don't even know what you're asking.”
“I know your company appeared in the investigator's records.”
Lucien's smile vanished.
“Then you know too much already.”
“Why was Raven Shipping paying people connected to the fire?”
“We weren't.”
“We found your glove.”
Lucien looked at Benny.
“A glove?”
“A very specific one.”
Lucien sighed.
“Carmine, do you remember what your father used to say?”
Carmine said nothing.
Lucien continued.
“Trust the man who tells you the truth you don't want to hear.”
“What truth?”
Lucien leaned closer.
“The person who burned that bakery wasn't working for me.”
“Who?”
Lucien looked toward the hall.
“The same person who has been watching your house.”
Benny immediately reached for his phone.
Carmine asked, “How long?”
“Three years.”
Lucien turned and walked toward the door.
Carmine called after him.
“Who is it?”
Lucien stopped.
“You really don't remember?”
Carmine frowned.
Lucien looked over his shoulder.
“The night your father died.”
Carmine's face hardened.
“What about it?”
“Ask Palmira.”
Then Lucien left.
Carmine stood still.
The night his father died had been thirty years ago.
A car crash.
Rain.
A broken guardrail.
He had never questioned it.
Or so he thought.
He found Palmira in the greenhouse.
“Lucien came here.”
“I know.”
“What did he tell you?”
Palmira did not look up from her roses.
“That he is still irritating.”
“He mentioned my father.”
The pruning shears stopped.
Carmine noticed.
“What happened the night he died?”
Palmira finally looked at him.
“Your father was investigating someone.”
“Who?”
“A man named Silas Reed.”
Carmine had never heard the name.
“Who was he?”
“Accountant.”
“For whom?”
“Several companies.”
“including us?”
Palmira hesitated.
“Yes.”
Carmine stared at her.
“Why did nobody tell me?”
“You were nineteen.”
“I was old enough to know if someone killed my father.”
Palmira's voice softened.
“No one knew if he was killed.”
“Lucien thinks he was.”
“Lucien thinks many things.”
“Did you?”
Palmira's eyes sharpened.
“I knew your father was frightened before he died.”
Carmine's stomach tightened.
“Of what?”
“He said someone had found the ledger.”
Carmine went quiet.
The ledger.
The same ledger Nell had mentioned.
He returned to his office and opened every archive concerning his father's companies.
Nothing.
Then he found an old handwritten note inside a safe deposit inventory.
Three words.
BLUE CHURCH. BASEMENT.
Carmine stared at them.
Benny entered.
“Problem?”
“Find every church in New Orleans that used to have blue doors.”
Benny frowned.
“That's oddly specific.”
“Do it.”
Hours later, they found one.
St. Agnes on Dauphine Street.
The church had been renovated twice.
Its basement had been sealed after flooding.
Carmine went that night.
He brought Benny and two men.
The old basement smelled of wet stone.
Boxes were stacked against the walls.
They searched for nearly an hour.
Then Nell appeared.
Carmine spun around.
“What are you doing here?”
She was breathing hard.
“I got a message.”
“From who?”
“I don't know.”
She held up a photograph.
It showed the church basement.
On the back:
THE LEDGER WAS NEVER IN THE BAKERY.
Carmine stared.
“Nell.”
She looked around.
“I told you they knew I was here.”
A sound echoed upstairs.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Carmine signaled Benny.
The men spread out.
Then the footsteps stopped.
A metallic click came from the stairwell.
Nell grabbed Carmine's sleeve.
“Don't.”
A bullet struck the wall beside them.
Benny fired.
Silence.
When they reached the stairs, the shooter was gone.
But something had been left behind.
A silver cane.
Carmine picked it up.
He recognized the engraved initials.
S.R.
Silas Reed.
Impossible.
Palmira had said he had died twenty-nine years earlier.
Nell stared at the cane.
“Who is Silas Reed?”
Carmine looked at her.
“I don't know.”
Then he noticed something inside the cane's hollow handle.
A tiny roll of paper.
He opened it.
Four names were written in black ink.
The first was Silas Reed.
The second was Thomas Vale.
The third was Emmett Fontaine.
The fourth was:
CARMINE ORSINI.
Carmine looked at Nell.
May you like
Someone had been connecting their lives for decades.
And someone had just left him a map.
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