Chapter 6 - My Father's Secret|
I stared at the photograph until the faces began to blur.
My father looked younger than I remembered.
His brown hair was thicker, his shoulders straighter, and his smile painfully familiar.
Beside him stood Vittorio Romano.
Behind them was a greenhouse filled with white roses.
I knew that greenhouse.
Or at least, I thought I did.
It looked exactly like the abandoned property my father had once taken me to when I was a little girl.
"Where did you get this?" I demanded.
Vittorio smiled.
"Your father and I were business associates."
"That's impossible."
"Is it?"
I looked at Massimo.
He appeared just as surprised as I was.
Vittorio noticed.
"Ah, so our fearless Massimo didn't know either."
"Enough," Massimo said.
But I raised my hand.
"No."
Everyone turned toward me.
"I want to hear this."
Vittorio pulled out a chair and sat.
"Your father, Thomas Miller, was a remarkable man."
My throat tightened.
"Don't talk about him like you knew him."
"But I did."
He tapped the photograph.
"Thomas managed several commercial properties for the Romano family."
I shook my head.
"My father sold flowers."
"Eventually."
The word hung between us.
Massimo moved closer.
"Uncle, choose your next words carefully."
Vittorio ignored him.
"Eighteen years ago, your father discovered irregularities in our property accounts."
I felt cold.
"What irregularities?"
"Money moving through businesses that didn't exist."
Massimo's eyes narrowed.
"You're confessing to fraud at breakfast?"
Vittorio laughed.
"I'm explaining history."
He looked at me again.
"Thomas became frightened."
"Of you?"
"Of what he didn't understand."
I clenched my fists.
"My father wasn't a coward."
"No," Vittorio admitted.
"He was stubborn."
That sounded like Dad.
Painfully so.
"He kept records."
"Where?"
Vittorio's smile returned.
"That's the question, isn't it?"
Suddenly, I understood.
The greenhouse.
The folder.
The strange threats.
"You think my father hid something."
Vittorio leaned forward.
"I think he left something behind."
Massimo stepped between us.
"This conversation is over."
Vittorio stood.
"Then perhaps Miss Miller should ask why her father received a payment of two hundred thousand dollars from Romano Holdings three months before opening his flower shop."
My breath caught.
"You're lying."
Vittorio reached into his pocket and placed a photocopied bank record on the table.
I stared at the amount.
Two hundred thousand dollars.
My father had always told me he started the business with his savings and a small loan.
Had he lied?
Or was this document another trap?
Massimo picked it up.
"This proves nothing without the original records."
"Believe whatever makes you comfortable," Vittorio replied.
Then he left.
The room remained silent.
I couldn't breathe.
Massimo reached for me.
"Sophie."
I stepped away.
"Don't."
His hand fell.
"I need to go somewhere."
"Where?"
"My father's house."
Massimo studied me.
"You're not going alone."
I looked at him.
"Fine."
I didn't have the energy to argue.
An hour later, we arrived at the little brick bungalow where I'd grown up.
It stood on a quiet street lined with maple trees.
The porch swing still creaked in the wind.
My father had died two years earlier, but I'd never been able to sell the house.
Inside, everything smelled faintly of cedarwood and old books.
Massimo followed me into the living room.
He seemed strangely out of place among the faded family photographs and handmade furniture.
"This was his favorite chair," I said.
Massimo looked at the worn brown recliner.
"He must have been a practical man."
"He fixed everything."
I smiled sadly.
"Except himself."
Massimo said nothing.
I led him into Dad's small office.
The shelves were filled with gardening books, invoices, and old family albums.
I began searching.
Massimo helped quietly.
After nearly an hour, I found nothing.
Then I noticed a photograph of my mother.
She had died when I was sixteen.
In the picture, she stood beside Dad in front of the same greenhouse.
Behind the frame was a folded piece of paper.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
It was a letter.
Written in my father's unmistakable handwriting.
My Sophie,
If you're reading this, someone has finally come looking for what I protected.
I stopped breathing.
Massimo moved beside me.
"Keep reading."
My eyes filled with tears.
I made mistakes when I was younger.
I trusted men who cared more about power than people.
But when I learned what they were doing, I chose to protect the truth.
The greenhouse was never just a greenhouse.
Remember where your mother planted the first white rose.
I looked up.
"The first white rose."
Massimo frowned.
"What does that mean?"
I suddenly remembered a summer afternoon when I was eleven.
My mother kneeling in the soil.
My father laughing as I spilled water over his shoes.
And a small brass plaque beside the greenhouse entrance.
I turned toward Massimo.
"I know where we need to go."
Before he could answer, his phone rang.
He listened for several seconds.
Then his expression became deadly serious.
"What happened?"
I watched his face.
He ended the call.
"Massimo?"
He looked at me.
"Someone broke into your father's greenhouse twenty minutes ago."
My stomach dropped.
"Did they find anything?"
He hesitated.
May you like
Then he said the words I dreaded most.
"They found a body."
