Chapter 5 - THE PHOTOGRAPH FROM ACROSS THE STREET|
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father sitting beside our apartment window.
Then I imagined someone standing on the sidewalk outside, watching him through the glass.
At six in the morning, I showed Ben the photograph.
He stopped making coffee.
“Who sent this?”
“I don't know.”
“Emma, that's Dad.”
“I know.”
His face became pale.
“They were watching our apartment?”
I nodded.
Ben immediately pulled the curtains closed.
My father looked up from his recliner.
“What's happening?”
I tried to smile.
“Nothing, Dad.”
He gave me the same disappointed look he'd used when I was twelve and tried to hide a broken kitchen window.
“Don't,” he said.
One word.
That was all he needed.
I showed him the message.
He studied it for a long time.
Then he reached for my hand.
“Police.”
I nodded.
For once, I wasn't going to argue with either of them.
An hour later, I sat across from Detective Elena Vega at a police station on the Near West Side.
She was in her early forties, with dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail and the exhausted expression of someone who had spent years listening to people explain why their problems weren't their fault.
She examined the photograph carefully.
“Does your employer know about this?”
“Not yet.”
“Who might want to intimidate you?”
I told her everything.
The ravioli.
The eviction notice.
The unauthorized company transaction.
Vanessa's warning.
The men searching Mrs. Caruso's restaurant.
Detective Vega didn't interrupt.
When I finished, she placed the photograph inside an evidence folder.
“I'll need the original message and the number it came from.”
I handed her my phone.
“Are you going to arrest Vanessa?”
“Not because you suspect her.”
She looked directly at me.
“But this threat is serious, and I want you to call if anyone approaches your family.”
I appreciated that she wasn't pretending the problem would disappear simply because I'd reported it.
Then she asked a question I hadn't expected.
“Do you know whether Luca Moretti is cooperating with an outside attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She closed her notebook.
“Make sure the evidence stays outside his organization.”
That sentence followed me all the way back to the mansion.
When I arrived, Luca was waiting in the front hall.
He wore yesterday's black trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
He looked as though he hadn't slept either.
“Marco said you were late.”
“I went to the police.”
His expression changed.
“Why?”
I showed him the threatening message.
He read it twice.
Then he walked toward the window and stood there in silence.
I could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock.
Finally, he turned.
“Is your father safe?”
“For now.”
“Marco can arrange security.”
“I've already reported it.”
“Emma—”
“Sir, I'm not asking for permission.”
He stopped.
I hadn't meant to sound disrespectful.
But fear had burned through most of my patience.
“My father worked his whole life,” I continued.
“He paid taxes, fixed heating systems in freezing buildings, and raised two children after our mother died.”
My voice shook.
“He shouldn't have to hide in his own apartment because somebody wants to steal an old woman's restaurant.”
Luca looked at me for a long moment.
“No,” he said.
“He shouldn't.”
Then he did something I hadn't expected.
He apologized.
Not for the threat itself.
Not with some polished speech about unfortunate circumstances.
He simply said, “I built a company where people thought using fear was acceptable.”
He looked toward his father's photograph in the hallway.
“And I let it happen.”
I didn't know what to say.
Luca Moretti wasn't a man people usually heard admitting mistakes.
Before I could respond, Marco entered with a woman carrying a leather briefcase.
She was short, sharp-eyed, and dressed in a navy suit.
“Emma Reed?”
“Yes?”
“I'm Nina Alvarez.”
She shook my hand.
“Luca asked me to look into the Caruso property.”
I liked her immediately.
She didn't look past me to address the billionaire standing behind her.
She opened her briefcase and placed several documents on the table.
“The purchase was completed through Moretti Holdings,” she explained.
“But the approval trail doesn't match Luca's normal authorization process.”
Luca folded his arms.
“What does that mean?”
“Someone used a security credential registered to your private office.”
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
Nina looked at me.
“Do you remember who had access to that office last Thursday?”
“Vanessa.”
“Anyone else?”
“I saw Daniel Voss leaving the second-floor hallway around eight thirty.”
Luca's expression hardened.
Nina made a note.
“That's useful.”
Then she showed us another document.
“The company that purchased Caruso's building borrowed against its projected redevelopment value almost immediately.”
I frowned.
“Before Mrs. Caruso had even moved out?”
“Yes.”
“Is that normal?”
“It's not automatically illegal.”
Nina paused.
“But this lender appears to have been told that the property would be vacant and ready for construction by Friday.”
Luca glanced at his watch.
“That means they needed Teresa out before tomorrow.”
“Exactly.”
Nina placed a second page beside the first.
“And here's something else.”
I leaned closer.
There were thirty-seven addresses on the page.
All within a few blocks of Caruso's.
“What are these?”
“Other properties tied to the redevelopment.”
Luca scanned the names.
His face changed.
Several were family-owned shops.
A bakery.
A tailor.
Two small grocery stores.
Apartments above businesses where families had lived for decades.
Nina tapped the list.
“Caruso's isn't the only place facing eviction.”
My stomach tightened.
“Thirty-seven others?”
“Potentially.”
Luca looked up.
“How many owners know my company is involved?”
“We don't know yet.”
I stared at the addresses.
Mrs. Caruso wasn't an unfortunate casualty of progress.
She was one piece of a much larger plan.
And someone had been hiding that plan from the man whose name appeared on the paperwork.
That afternoon, Marco sent a security team to check our apartment building.
I insisted they coordinate with Detective Vega.
I wasn't interested in having armed strangers outside my father's home without the police knowing why.
Luca didn't argue.
At four thirty, my phone rang.
It was Mrs. Caruso.
“Emma, sweetheart, can you come?”
Her voice sounded frightened.
“What's wrong?”
“There's a man from the city outside my restaurant.”
I stood.
“Is he changing the locks?”
“No.”
She began to cry.
“He says the building isn't safe anymore.”
I felt my heart drop.
“What?”
“He put a red notice on the door.”
A pause.
May you like
Then she whispered the words that made everything suddenly worse.
“Emma, they're saying the whole building has to come down.”
