Chapter 3
The first page was a list of bank transfers.
Vivien Russo had received several payments over the last four months from a company called Bellwether Consulting. The amounts were not enormous, but they were regular—every ten days, always transferred from a different account.
“What is Bellwether?” I asked.
“On paper, a property advisory firm. In reality, it’s a dormant company with no active employees and an office address belonging to a mailbox service.”
“Who owns it?”
“That’s where it becomes complicated.”
He handed me another page.
The listed director was a man named Adrian Vale.
I knew the name.
“Vale was my father’s financial adviser.”
“Until your father dismissed him twelve years ago,” Rocco said. “After that, he moved abroad. But he returned to the city last winter.”
“Why?”
“We’re still checking.”
I looked at the transfers again.
“Vivien has been paid to speak with him?”
“We don’t know. But the payments began shortly after she first visited your mother alone.”
My stomach tightened.
“When was that?”
“Three months and six days ago.”
The same period Mia had indicated.
Rocco reached into the folder and removed a printed photograph. It showed Vivien leaving a small café near the river. A man stood behind her, his face partially turned away.
Even from the blurred image, I recognized Adrian Vale.
“What is this?”
“One of the contractors we interviewed remembered seeing Vivien meet him. I checked the café’s exterior camera. They met there twice.”
“Do you have audio?”
“No. But there’s more.”
He placed several photographs on the hood of the car.
Vivien entering my mother’s room.
Vivien leaving.
Elena arriving with clean laundry.
A delivery driver carrying a small parcel upstairs.
And in one image, Vivien stood beside Isabella’s wheelchair while my mother held a piece of paper in her lap.
The photograph had been taken through the partially open door.
I stared at it.
“What’s the date?”
“Two months ago.”
“What is my mother holding?”
“We enhanced the image.”
Rocco slid over a second photograph.
The paper contained three words written in a shaky hand.
Help me, Lorenzo.
For a moment, the garage seemed to tilt.
My mother’s handwriting had become uneven after her stroke, but I knew it. I had watched her sign birthday cards and legal documents for years.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She may have tried.”
I looked up sharply.
Rocco reached into the folder once more and produced a small audio recorder.
“This was found in a drawer in the old library. One of the cleaners discovered it behind a stack of magazines. It belongs to your mother.”
I pressed the button.
At first there was only static.
Then my mother’s voice emerged, weak but clear.
“Lorenzo, if you hear this, please don’t believe everything you are told.”
A pause followed, long enough for me to hear her breathing.
“Vivien has been visiting me. She says she wants to help. But she asks about the family trust, the house, and your father’s old accounts. I don’t understand why.”
Another pause.
“She also says Elena is stealing from us. I don’t believe that. Elena has been kind to me. She reads to me when my eyes hurt.”
My hands curled around the recorder.
My mother continued.
“She told me that if I speak to you, you will send Elena away. She says Elena has no papers and no protection. I don’t know whether that is true. I only know that every time I try to reach for the call bell, someone has moved it.”
The recording broke into static again.
Then her voice returned, softer.
“Please come to my room alone. I need to tell you something about your father.”
The message ended.
I stood in silence.
Rocco did not interrupt.
My father had died when I was twenty-four. A heart attack, according to the doctors. A sudden one. He had left behind a complicated business empire, several unresolved accounts, and a family trust I had inherited after years of legal disputes.
But my mother had never mentioned any secret concerning him.
“Why didn’t she send this to me?” I asked.
“She may have been afraid.”
“Of Vivien?”
“Perhaps. Or of what would happen if you heard her.”
I turned toward the house.
For years, I had believed my mother’s silence was a consequence of illness. I had mistaken withdrawal for weakness and dependence for helplessness.
But she had been trying to speak.
I had simply failed to listen.
“Where is Elena?” I asked.
“Mrs. Bell took her to the staff cottage. Mia is with her.”
“We need to speak with them.”
Rocco nodded.
Before we left, I looked again at the photograph of Vivien and Adrian Vale.
“Find out everything about Bellwether Consulting. And Adrian Vale. Quietly.”
“I already have people working on it.”
“Also find out who moved my mother’s call bell.”
Rocco’s expression hardened.
“I will.”
The staff cottage stood behind the kitchen gardens, a modest brick building with two small apartments. Elena lived there with Mia. The windows were lit, and the curtains had been drawn.
I knocked.
Elena opened the door almost immediately. Her face was pale, and one hand remained on Mia’s shoulder.
“Mr. Duca—”
“Lorenzo,” I said gently. “Please call me Lorenzo.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I’m sorry about earlier. I should have told you.”
“You should have.”
The words came out more sharply than I intended. Elena flinched, and I regretted them at once.
I stepped inside.
Mia sat at a little table with a bowl of sliced fruit. Mrs. Bell was beside her, helping her arrange the pieces into a smiley face. When Mia saw me, she reached for my hand.
I knelt beside her.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
She leaned against my shoulder.
Elena stood near the sink, twisting a dishcloth between her fingers.
“I’m not angry with you,” I said. “I need you to understand that.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You were trying to protect your daughter. But my mother was being frightened in her own room, and I didn’t know.”
Tears gathered in her eyes.
“I tried to tell you.”
“When?”
“Many times. But Miss Vivien was always nearby. If I spoke to you, she would say I was making trouble. She told me you would believe her because she was your future wife.”
I looked at Mia, who was carefully placing a grape in the center of her fruit smile.
“What exactly did Vivien ask you to do?”
Elena hesitated.
“She wanted me to tell you that your mother was happy about the engagement. She said your mother had given her permission.”
“She had not.”
“I knew that. Your mother tried to write something, but Miss Vivien took the paper away.”
“What else?”
Elena glanced at Mrs. Bell.
The older woman gave her an encouraging nod.
“She told me to bring tea to your mother every evening,” Elena said. “But she had me put something in it.”
I felt the room grow still.
“What?”
“Not poison,” Elena said quickly. “Please, no. It was a medicine. Miss Vivien said it would help your mother sleep.”
“Did you see the bottle?”
“No. She gave me a small packet. I was afraid to use it, so I poured the tea out when she wasn’t looking.”
My anger rose, but beneath it was something colder.
“How long did this continue?”
“Three weeks.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She said she had photographs of my immigration papers. She said one phone call could have me taken away from Mia.”
Rocco stepped forward.
“She had no authority to do that.”
“I didn’t know that,” Elena whispered. “I only knew I couldn’t risk losing my daughter.”
Mia looked up from the table.
“Mommy said no sleepy tea.”
Elena moved quickly to her and embraced her.
“That’s right, my love. No sleepy tea.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
The child had been living inside a fear she could not understand, and I had been moving through the same house believing everything was normal.
“Did Vivien ever mention Adrian Vale?” I asked.
Elena’s expression changed.
“Who?”
“Adrian Vale. An older man. Gray hair. Often wears dark suits.”
She shook her head slowly.
“I don’t know his name. But there was a man who came twice. Miss Vivien met him near the back gate.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall. Thin. He had a silver watch.”
Rocco and I exchanged a glance.
“Did he enter the house?”
“Once. Miss Vivien brought him to your mother’s room.”
“Was anyone else there?”
“Elena?” Mrs. Bell asked quietly.
Elena looked toward her.
“Your mother asked me to get help,” Elena continued. “She had been upset. The man showed her some papers and said she had to sign them. She refused.”
“What kind of papers?”
“I don’t know. But your mother became very frightened.”
“Did he touch her?”
“No,” Elena said quickly. “He stood beside the desk. He spoke calmly. That was what made it worse.”
“What did he say?”
Elena closed her eyes, trying to remember.
“He said, ‘Your son will lose everything if you keep resisting.’”
The words struck me with unexpected force.
My father’s business had nearly collapsed after his death. I had spent years rebuilding it. There had been lawsuits, creditors, and a series of missing documents that no one had been able to explain.
Could Adrian Vale have been involved?
“Did my mother sign anything?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she dropped the pen. I picked it up after they left. She had written only her name, but the paper was blank beneath it.”
I turned to Rocco.
“Find out whether any documents bearing my mother’s signature were filed recently.”
“I’ll contact the attorneys.”
“Not our regular attorneys. Use someone independent.”
May you like
He nodded.
I looked back at Elena.
