Chapter 2
Camilla refused to enter until her attorney arrived.
Marco came anyway.
His lip was swollen.
His suit jacket was torn from the fall through the seating display.
He looked at the envelope and immediately looked away.
Domenico noticed.
Rachel did too.
“You knew Elena wrote this.”
Marco shook his head.
“No.”
“You tried to take it before I opened it.”
“Because Camilla panicked.”
“That doesn't explain you.”
Marco leaned back.
“You had just watched your daughter get hit. You weren't thinking clearly.”
Domenico almost laughed.
Marco had spent fifteen years beside him.
He knew exactly which accusation would usually provoke him.
Not tonight.
Domenico opened the envelope.
Inside was a single handwritten page and a small brass key taped to the bottom.
Elena’s note was short.
Domenico,
If you ever find this, it means I was right not to keep the originals in the house.
Please do not confront anyone until you see what I saved.
Locker 214.
Ask for the old station storage records.
Camilla knows why.
E.
Domenico read the final sentence twice.
Then he looked at Marco.
Marco had gone pale.
Camilla knows why.
Camilla entered twenty minutes later with counsel.
Domenico slid a photocopy of Elena’s letter across the desk.
Camilla read it.
Her face collapsed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Domenico asked one question.
“What is Locker 214?”
Camilla looked at her attorney.
“Don't answer yet.”
Domenico waited.
Camilla slowly sat.
“Elena was angry before she died.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“She thought Marco was stealing.”
Marco stood.
“Camilla.”
She ignored him.
“Elena was reviewing foundation expenses. She convinced herself something was wrong.”
Domenico turned toward Marco.
“Was something wrong?”
“No.”
Camilla looked at her husband.
The pause between them lasted less than a second.
Domenico saw it.
Rachel saw it.
Marco sat again.
Domenico held up the brass key.
“What station?”
Camilla closed her eyes.
“Grand Central.”
Domenico felt the first real shift beneath his feet.
Elena had hidden something outside the family home.
Camilla knew where.
May you like
Marco apparently knew enough to be terrified of the key.
And for eighteen months neither had told Domenico that his dead wife had been investigating anything at all.
