Chapter 2 - THE CALL THAT CAME BEFORE THE POSTER
The first thing I did was cancel the wedding planner's access to my house.
The second was ask my security director for every telephone record involving the property during the previous two weeks.
The third was something Vanessa didn't expect.
I told her I wasn't canceling our wedding.
Not yet.
She stared at me across the kitchen island.
"Gabriel, I lied to you."
"Yes."
"About my name."
"Yes."
"About my family."
"About parts of your family."
She looked exhausted.
"Why aren't you angry?"
"I am."
"Then why are you helping me?"
I set down my coffee.
"Because being angry at you doesn't mean I want someone to hurt you."
Her eyes filled.
I didn't move toward her.
Not because I didn't want to.
Because she needed to know that my protection wasn't another form of ownership.
"I won't decide whether we're getting married until I understand what happened," I said.
"And neither will you."
She nodded.
"That's fair."
"But no more lies."
"No more."
I looked at Emma, who stood near the doorway holding an old leather folder.
"That includes everyone."
Emma lowered her eyes.
"I understand."
It was nearly midnight.
The rest of the household had been sent to their quarters.
Only Matteo, my security director, and two trusted employees remained downstairs.
My Chicago attorney, Elena Ruiz, had been awakened by a phone call she answered with understandable irritation.
"Gabriel, somebody had better be dead."
"Not tonight."
"Then why are you calling at midnight?"
"Because someone may have been murdered five years ago."
That woke her completely.
Twenty minutes later, Elena joined us by video call.
She was forty-one, a former federal prosecutor who now handled the legitimate side of my companies and occasionally reminded me that I was not entitled to solve every problem with intimidation.
I trusted her because she had never been impressed by my last name.
I showed her the poster, the intake form, and the beneficiary inquiry.
She studied the documents without interruption.
"First question," she said.
"Rebecca, did you change your name legally?"
Vanessa nodded.
"Through an attorney in Pennsylvania."
"Do you still have the order?"
"Yes."
"Was the record sealed?"
"Certain supporting documents were restricted because of the threats."
"Fine."
"Second question."
Elena held up the legal inquiry.
"Did you ever receive notification of a trust proceeding?"
"No."
"Have you had contact with the trustee since your mother died?"
"Not in five years."
"Who is the trustee?"
"Allegheny Continental Trust."
Elena made a note.
"That's a financial institution, not your uncle?"
"Correct."
"Then your uncle cannot simply decide your inheritance belongs to him."
Vanessa looked down.
"He can make claiming it dangerous."
Elena's expression softened slightly.
"That's different."
I leaned forward.
"Explain the letter."
"It claims to involve a beneficiary review, but there's no evidence here that a judge authorized anyone to locate Rebecca."
"Trust administrators sometimes make reasonable efforts to contact beneficiaries."
"That doesn't entitle a private investigator to obtain confidential shelter records."
"Someone is using legitimate-sounding language to get information."
I looked at Emma.
"Who sent it to you?"
"My former supervisor."
"Her name?"
"Diane Walsh."
"Can we call her?"
Emma hesitated.
"She'll be asleep."
"Then wake her."
I heard the sharpness in my voice.
Emma flinched.
I corrected myself.
"Please explain that the woman from the intake form may be in danger."
Emma nodded and stepped into the hall.
Vanessa sat motionless.
I watched her struggle with a question she didn't want to ask.
"Say it."
"Do you think I was stupid?"
"No."
"I believed changing my name meant I could have an ordinary life."
"You still can."
She gave a painful little laugh.
"Ordinary people don't have armed security in their kitchen."
"Ordinary people shouldn't need it."
Her gaze moved to the scar across my right hand.
"You probably regret proposing to me."
I remembered the night I'd asked her.
We'd been on a quiet terrace overlooking Lake Como.
No cameras.
No audience.
Just Vanessa wearing a blue dress and telling me she didn't want a wedding that felt like a business merger.
I'd promised her that the ceremony would belong to us.
Now I wondered how many people had been circling her before I ever put a ring on her finger.
"I regret not asking enough questions," I answered.
"That's not the same thing."
She looked away.
Emma returned with her phone.
"Diane is awake."
I switched to speaker.
A tired woman answered.
"Emma, I need to know you haven't put Rebecca in danger."
Elena leaned toward the microphone.
"Ms. Walsh, my name is Elena Ruiz."
"I'm an attorney representing Rebecca, with her permission, if she's willing to grant it."
Vanessa cleared her throat.
"Diane?"
There was a sharp intake of breath.
"Rebecca?"
"It's me."
For several seconds, the woman on the telephone said nothing.
Then her voice broke.
"Oh, honey."
Vanessa pressed her fingers against her lips.
"You sound good."
"I'm trying."
"Are you safe?"
Vanessa looked at me.
"Right now, yes."
Diane released a shaky breath.
"Then please listen carefully."
"The inquiry wasn't the first thing we received."
I straightened.
"What else?"
"Three weeks ago, a man visited the center."
"He identified himself as a representative of the Hart family."
"He said Rebecca's elderly relative was dying."
Vanessa frowned.
"What elderly relative?"
"He wouldn't give a name."
"He claimed her family needed to reach her before it was too late."
"Did you let him inside?"
"Only into reception."
"Our staff refused to confirm whether Rebecca had ever been a client."
Elena nodded approvingly.
"What happened next?"
"He became angry."
"He said we could be sued for interfering with an inheritance."
"Two days later, the legal inquiry arrived."
"Did the man leave a card?"
"Yes."
Diane gave us a name.
Hart Recovery Services.
It was the same company behind the telephone number on the poster.
"Did you recognize him?" I asked.
"No."
"But I remember something he said when he thought I wasn't listening."
"What?"
"He was speaking to someone on the phone outside."
"He said, 'If we don't find her before the wedding, the whole deal falls apart.'"
Nobody spoke.
Vanessa slowly turned toward me.
"The wedding?"
Diane sounded confused.
"What wedding?"
I stared at the phone.
"Mine."
The silence lasted several seconds.
Then Diane whispered:
"Oh, God."
Elena spoke first.
"Ms. Walsh, preserve every visitor log, email, envelope, and security recording related to these inquiries."
"Don't send anything through an unsecured personal account."
"Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"Don't answer further questions from the investigator."
"I understand."
Before we ended the call, Vanessa leaned forward.
"Diane?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Did you ever hear what happened to my mother's house?"
The older woman hesitated.
"I heard the property was never repaired."
"Your uncle kept it fenced off."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"There's something else."
We waited.
"The week after you left the center, someone mailed us a little package addressed to Rebecca Hart."
Vanessa's face changed.
"What package?"
"A jewelry box."
"A small one."
"Inside was an old silver watch."
Vanessa's breath caught.
"My mother's watch?"
Diane sounded surprised.
"I don't know."
"It wasn't working."
"There was a note."
"What did it say?"
"'She wanted you to have this when you were safe.'"
Vanessa covered her mouth.
"Where is it now?"
"In our locked storage room."
"I didn't know how to forward it without risking your location."
"I thought one day you might come back."
Vanessa began crying.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just silent tears running down her face.
I had seen her become emotional before.
I'd never seen grief reach her so completely.
"Mom wore that watch every day," she whispered.
"She used to tell me it was the only thing my father ever bought her that she couldn't argue with."
For the first time that evening, I moved beside her.
I placed my hand on the back of her chair.
She reached for it.
And I let her hold on.
After the call, Elena remained on the screen.
"Gabriel, I need to say something you may not want to hear."
"Go ahead."
"Your fiancée's missing-person poster may be a tool for locating her."
"But it may also be bait intended for you."
I looked at her.
"Explain."
"Someone apparently knows about your wedding."
"Someone knows your travel schedule."
"Someone placed a freshly printed poster in a transit station you happened to visit."
"That could be coincidence."
"Or it could be calculated."
Matteo appeared at the doorway.
"Boss?"
I turned.
"What?"
"I checked the visitor logs."
"The investigator didn't call through the main office."
"He asked for the wedding coordinator."
"Who answered?"
"Mrs. Palmer."
Our event coordinator.
I frowned.
"Did she know anything?"
"She thought he was checking guest accommodations."
"He asked whether Miss Hale had any relatives coming from Pennsylvania."
"And?"
"Mrs. Palmer told him no."
Matteo paused.
"Then he asked whether the wedding would still happen if there was an issue with the bride's legal identification."
My jaw tightened.
"What did she say?"
"She told him that was an inappropriate question and ended the call."
Elena closed her eyes.
"That wasn't a casual inquiry."
I nodded.
"Find out who told that investigator where I'd be today."
"Already started."
Matteo handed me a tablet.
On the screen was an internal itinerary.
My Philadelphia meeting.
My flight details.
The location of the transit stop where he'd parked.
All of it had been entered into my company's executive transportation system.
Only a handful of people had access.
I recognized every name.
Matteo.
My assistant.
My security director.
And Daniel Price.
Daniel had been my closest business associate for thirteen years.
We'd built my legitimate transportation empire together.
He had stood beside me at my father's funeral.
He was supposed to be my best man.
I stared at his name.
Then handed the tablet back.
"Don't accuse anyone."
Matteo looked surprised.
"Boss?"
"Not until we know."
Elena nodded.
"Good."
She turned to Vanessa.
"I need you to tell me everything you remember about your mother's finances."
"Every company name."
"Every unusual payment."
"Every document she mentioned."
Vanessa wiped her cheeks.
"I was a junior financial analyst when she started investigating."
"I helped compare shipping invoices with bank transfers."
"Most of the records were ordinary."
"Then I found repeated payments to a company called Northstar Recovery."
I frowned.
"What did Northstar Recovery do?"
"According to the invoices, it transported contaminated industrial waste to licensed facilities."
"Did it?"
"We couldn't find matching disposal certificates."
"How much money?"
"Millions."
"Over what period?"
"Several years."
"Did your mother report it?"
"She tried."
Vanessa folded her hands.
"Her attorney told her to wait until he could verify the evidence."
"She said she wouldn't wait."
"Then the house burned."
Elena studied her.
"Do you remember a shipment number?"
Vanessa frowned.
"Why?"
"Because companies can change names."
"Shipment identifiers are harder to explain away."
Vanessa closed her eyes.
For a moment, she seemed to be standing in another room, five years earlier.
Then she whispered:
"Seventeen."
I looked up.
"What?"
"Route Seventeen."
"Mom kept saying the invoices all led back to Route Seventeen."
Matteo stopped moving near the doorway.
I noticed.
"Matteo?"
He looked directly at me.
"Caruso Freight used to operate a Route Seventeen."
Vanessa turned slowly.
"What?"
Matteo swallowed.
"It serviced western Pennsylvania."
"Until five years ago."
Elena looked at me.
"Why was it discontinued?"
I stared at the dark screen of my phone.
"Daniel told me it was losing money."
Nobody spoke.
Then Vanessa asked a question that hurt more than anything she'd said about her hidden identity.
"Gabriel... did your company have anything to do with my mother's death?"
I wanted to tell her no.
I wanted to tell her that Caruso Freight had nothing to do with fires, illegal dumping, or murdered women.
But I'd spent enough years in business to know the difference between what I believed and what I could prove.
So I gave her the only honest answer.
"I don't know."
Her hand slipped from mine.
May you like
And for the first time since I'd proposed to her, I understood that finding Rebecca Hart might destroy more than our wedding.
It might destroy the empire I'd spent my life building.
