Chapter 6 - THE DRAWING IN THE CELLAR
“Mom,” Ben whispered, pointing at the drawing in the beam of my flashlight. “That’s mine.”
Rachel stared at it. She reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the paper.
“You drew this for Dad three years ago,” Rachel said, her voice filled with awe. “He kept it pinned to the refrigerator until the day he died.”
Answer one: Michael hadn't just hidden things in his jacket. He had hidden something in the cellar, leaving his son’s drawing as a marker so his family would know it was from him.
I looked at the rusted lockbox underneath.
“It needs a key,” I said, examining the heavy brass padlock.
Ben sniffled and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, silver key on a leather string.
“Dad gave me this before his last trip,” Ben said softly. “He told me it was a magic key. He said if I ever needed him, I should keep it safe.”
Rachel choked back a sob. She took the key from her ten-year-old son and slid it into the lock.
It turned with a heavy click.
Rachel opened the lid.
Inside was the original photograph Vanessa had used for blackmail—the picture of Luca at the docks.
But tucked underneath it was the rest of the heavy parchment Dominic had torn.
I shone the flashlight on the document.
“It’s the master deed,” Rachel gasped, reading the legal jargon. “Michael transferred all the family’s legitimate businesses—the real estate, the shipping companies, the casinos—out of the syndicate’s control.”
Open two: If the syndicate doesn't control the money, who does?
Rachel looked at the beneficiary line. Her eyes widened in absolute shock.
“He didn't leave it to Luca,” Rachel whispered.
She turned the paper toward me and Ben.
The sole beneficiary of a two-billion-dollar empire was listed as Benjamin Michael Moretti.
“He left it to Ben,” Rachel said, her voice shaking. “He put it in a trust that unlocks when Ben turns eighteen. Dominic can't touch the money because he’s not the legal guardian. I am.”
Suddenly, the heavy steel door of the wine cellar groaned violently.
Sparks showered from the edges of the frame.
“They’re cutting through the hinges with a blowtorch!” I yelled, pulling Ben behind a massive oak wine barrel.
The thick steel door crashed to the floor.
Standing in the doorway, holding a smoking tactical rifle, was Dominic.
“How touching,” Dominic sneered, stepping into the cellar. He kicked the drawing of the blue airplane aside. “Hand over the deed, Rachel. And I might let the maid live.”
“You killed my husband,” Rachel said, stepping in front of Ben, her voice ringing with absolute defiance. “You are not taking my son’s future.”
“I’ll take whatever I want,” Dominic raised the rifle.
Before he could pull the trigger, a voice echoed from the dark stairs behind him.
“You’re right, Dominic.”
Dominic spun around.
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Standing on the staircase, covered in dust and blood, holding a massive shotgun, was Mrs. Ramirez, the seventy-year-old head cook.
TITLE: THE COOK'S REVENGE
