Chapter 5 - THE WARNING CALL THAT PUT A LITTLE GIRL AT RISK
My sister offered us her spare room in Wisconsin.
It was a two-hour drive from Chicago.
She lived near Kenosha with her husband and two children, in a small house that always smelled of laundry detergent and toast.
I accepted.
Rose was excited about seeing her cousins.
I was relieved to have somewhere familiar to go.
Before leaving the hotel, I sent Dominic a message.
We’re staying with family for now. I’ll contact payroll about my employment status.
He replied within ten minutes.
Understood. Please let me know if any employment documents are missing.
That was all.
No questions about the address.
No request for a meeting.
No promise to make everything right.
I appreciated the restraint.
But I also noticed that I kept looking at my phone.
It was an uncomfortable realization.
I’d spent two years barely speaking to Dominic beyond work.
Now, after a handful of honest conversations, I found myself wondering whether he had eaten dinner.
Whether he’d slept.
Whether the people around him were telling him the truth.
I told myself it was concern.
Nothing more.
There were too many reasons for it to be anything else.
The following Monday, I received a call from Serena.
I almost didn’t answer.
Her name appeared on my screen while I was helping my sister fold children’s clothes.
My stomach tightened.
I stepped onto the back porch.
“Hello?”
“Emily.”
Her voice was warm.
Almost affectionate.
“It’s Serena.”
“I know.”
A brief pause.
“I heard you left the estate.”
“Yes.”
“Such a shame. Rose seemed happy there.”
I looked toward the kitchen window.
My daughter sat at the table eating apple slices.
“She’s happy with her family.”
“Of course.”
Serena sighed.
“I wanted to clear up a misunderstanding.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“Rose apparently saw me handling some papers in the music room.”
“Yes.”
“Those were charity committee documents.”
I looked toward the bare trees beyond the porch.
“Then you should explain that to Dominic.”
“I have.”
I didn’t believe her.
Not because I knew she was guilty.
Because the explanation didn’t match the documents Dominic had described.
Serena lowered her voice.
“Children can misunderstand things. They repeat words without knowing what they mean.”
“That’s true.”
“And sometimes adults take those words too seriously.”
I felt anger rise.
“Serena, Rose told Dominic what she saw. She isn’t responsible for what anyone else found afterward.”
The line went quiet.
Then Serena said, “You know, Emily, Dominic has always been generous to you.”
I looked down at my hand.
I was gripping the porch railing.
“Yes. He paid me for the work I did.”
“That’s not quite what I meant.”
“Then say what you mean.”
Her tone changed.
Only slightly.
“I’d hate for a misunderstanding to cause trouble for your daughter.”
I felt cold all over.
“Don’t contact us again.”
“Emily—”
I ended the call.
Then I immediately wrote down what she’d said.
I sent the information to Dominic’s attorney through the contact he had provided.
Afterward, I stood outside until my hands stopped shaking.
It was the first time I understood that Serena didn’t simply want the documents back.
She wanted Rose to become unreliable.
A little girl with an overactive imagination.
A child who had misunderstood a harmless situation.
Someone whose words could be dismissed.
And that frightened me more than the envelopes themselves.
On Tuesday afternoon, a detective contacted me.
Her name was Rachel Moreno, and she worked with a joint financial-crimes investigation involving several Chicago businesses.
She explained that investigators wanted to speak with me about events I’d personally observed at Vitali House.
I agreed to an interview at a police facility.
My sister watched Rose.
The detective was calm, direct, and careful.
She asked about Serena.
The music room.
The telephone call.
The conversation Rose had reported.
She also made an important distinction.
“You didn’t personally see Ms. Bellini place documents inside the piano, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Your daughter told you about that?”
“Yes.”
“And you saw her carrying an envelope afterward?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She wrote everything down.
Then she asked whether Rose had been questioned repeatedly about what she’d seen.
I shook my head.
“I told her she didn’t have to investigate anything.”
“That was appropriate.”
She explained that any further interview with Rose would need to be handled carefully, with attention to her age and without leading questions.
I appreciated that.
I had worried Dominic would want Rose to identify people, repeat conversations, or become part of some elaborate plan.
But the detective seemed more interested in protecting her from the pressure of adult expectations.
At the end of the interview, she said, “You did the right thing reporting Serena’s call.”
I nodded.
Then I asked, “Is Dominic in danger?”
Her expression became guarded.
“I can’t discuss everything under investigation.”
“I understand.”
“But I can tell you that concerns about his safety have been taken seriously.”
I looked down.
For the first time, I realized how close the situation might have come to something irreversible.
And how little my daughter had understood when she first whispered, “She’s a secret spy.”
Dominic called me that evening.
I was sitting on my sister’s back steps with a mug of tea.
The air smelled of wet earth and wood smoke.
“Emily.”
“Hello.”
“How did the interview go?”
“Fine.”
“Was the detective respectful?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I waited.
Then he said, “I heard Serena contacted you.”
“She did.”
“I’m sorry.”
I looked toward the yard.
My sister’s children had left a soccer ball beside the fence.
“Dominic, you can’t apologize for every choice someone else makes.”
“No.”
He paused.
“But I can acknowledge that being connected to my life brought this to your door.”
I looked down at my tea.
“That part is true.”
He was silent.
Then he said, “I’ve ended my relationship with Serena.”
I felt something move in my chest.
I hated that I noticed.
“Was that difficult?”
He considered the question.
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“Even knowing what you know?”
“Yes.”
He sounded tired.
“I loved who I thought she was.”
The words stayed with me.
I remembered the first months after Daniel died.
How I’d kept his coffee mug on the kitchen counter.
How I’d sometimes set two plates at dinner without thinking.
How the shape of someone could remain in your life long after the reality had changed.
“Losing the person you imagined is still a loss,” I said.
Dominic was quiet.
Then he answered, “I think you’re the first person who’s understood that.”
I looked toward the house.
Rose was laughing at something her cousins had said.
For a moment, I wanted to tell Dominic to come over.
To sit with us.
To eat dinner at an ordinary kitchen table where nobody cared what his last name meant.
I didn’t.
Instead, I said, “Get some rest.”
He laughed softly.
“You sound like my doctor.”
“Then perhaps you should listen to both of us.”
May you like
“I’ll try.”
When the call ended, I sat outside until the tea went cold.
