Chapter 14 - THE WALL
The new owners thought we were insane.
Technically, they were correct.
Roman had sold them the estate eleven months earlier.
Now we stood in their wine cellar with Agent Hall, Sophia, two attorneys, and a contractor holding thermal imaging equipment.
The key did not fit any visible lock.
Sophia pointed toward the far wall.
“Behind there.”
Roman stared.
“That wall is original.”
“No.”
Sophia shook her head.
“It was rebuilt in 2005.”
The year Isabella died.
The contractor found the cavity in four minutes.
A narrow rectangular space behind limestone.
Roman went pale.
The owners gave permission to open it.
Behind the wall was a metal box.
No treasure.
No guns.
Paper.
Dozens of files wrapped in plastic.
One cassette recorder.
Three tapes.
A ledger.
Roman reached toward it.
Agent Hall stopped him.
“Gloves.”
He almost argued.
Then didn’t.
Progress remained strangely visible even during family catastrophes.
Hall opened the first ledger.
Pages of names.
Dates.
Companies.
Numbers.
Beside some names were symbols.
A circle.
A square.
A cross.
Leah had come too.
When she saw ANGELO MORETTI, she stopped breathing.
Beside his name was a circle.
Roman’s father’s name appeared dozens of times.
So did Carlo’s.
But Martin Devereux’s appeared more.
“What do the symbols mean?” I asked.
Sophia knew.
“Circle meant protected.”
Roman looked at her.
“Protected from what?”
“Carlo.”
She pointed.
“Square meant useful.”
“And cross?”
Sophia’s voice lowered.
“Dangerous.”
Leah found her father again.
ANGELO MORETTI — PROTECTED.
She looked confused.
“My father thought the Vascaris wanted him dead.”
Roman stared at the page.
“My father was protecting him.”
Agent Hall turned several pages.
Then stopped.
ISABELLA VASCARI.
There was a cross beside her name.
Nobody spoke.
Below it:
D.V. APPROVED.
Roman’s hands clenched.
“Devereux?”
Hall shook her head.
“Don’t assume.”
Then she found something else.
A payment dated four days before Isabella’s death.
$75,000.
Recipient coded D.V.-7.
Roman stood abruptly.
His chair fell backward.
“No.”
I reached for him.
He stepped away.
Not from me.
From the room.
From the possibility.
“My mother died because a truck lost control.”
Agent Hall said quietly:
“That is what the police report concluded.”
Roman looked at the ledger.
“Who was the truck driver?”
Hall didn’t answer immediately.
Roman already knew why.
May you like
Nobody in the room remembered.
That meant we were about to find out.
