Chapter 3 - The Secret Rosa Had Carried for Eighteen Months|
That night, Luca Moretti did something I had never seen him do before.
He canceled every business meeting scheduled for the following morning.
Then he turned off his phone.
For a man whose entire organization seemed to depend on his constant attention, that was almost unheard of.
But as he sat beside his mother in the living room, nothing else mattered.
"Mama, I need you to tell me everything."
Rosa shook her head.
"I don't want you to hate me."
Luca reached for both her hands.
"There is nothing you could tell me that would make me stop loving you."
She looked at him through her tears.
"You don't understand."
"Then help me understand."
I quietly moved toward the doorway.
This was a conversation between a mother and her son.
But Rosa reached for me.
"Claire, please stay."
I stopped.
Luca looked at me and nodded.
So I sat beside the elderly woman who had treated me more like a granddaughter than an employee ever since I arrived at the mansion.
Rosa took a long, trembling breath.
"Eighteen months ago, your father was very worried."
Luca frowned.
"About his heart?"
"No."
She shook her head.
"About money."
Luca looked confused.
"Papa never worried about money."
"He wasn't worried about losing it."
Rosa swallowed.
"He was worried about where some of it had gone."
She explained that Frank had been reviewing accounts connected to the Moretti Family Foundation.
For decades, the foundation had paid for neighborhood food programs, scholarships, and assistance for retired employees.
Frank considered it one of the few things he had built that would outlive the family's darker reputation.
But shortly before his death, several large payments had begun appearing in financial reports without satisfactory explanations.
Frank had confronted the people managing those accounts.
One of them was Julian Cross.
The other was Vanessa Bellini.
At the time, she had been working as an outside fundraising consultant.
Luca stared at his mother.
"Vanessa was handling my father's foundation accounts?"
Rosa nodded.
"Only for a short time."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because your father asked me not to."
Luca leaned back.
"Why?"
"He said he needed proof before he accused anyone."
Rosa looked toward the dark fireplace.
"The night he died, he called me into his study."
Her voice became very small.
"He told me somebody was stealing from the foundation."
Luca's jaw tightened.
"Did he say who?"
"No."
She shook her head.
"But he told me to keep an old blue box safe."
I watched Luca's expression sharpen.
"What blue box?"
Rosa closed her eyes.
"He said everything he needed was inside it."
"Where is it now?"
"I don't know."
Tears filled her eyes again.
"After the funeral, I looked everywhere."
She explained that Frank had asked her to leave the study because he was expecting visitors.
She had gone upstairs to change her clothes.
Less than an hour later, she heard shouting.
Then a heavy thud.
She hurried downstairs.
The study door was locked.
"Your father was calling for me," Rosa whispered.
"I heard him say my name twice."
Luca squeezed her hands.
"What did you do?"
"I tried the handle."
She began crying.
"Then I called for help."
Rosa said Vanessa appeared in the hallway moments later.
She insisted a private doctor had already been contacted and told Rosa to stop making a scene.
But Rosa had heard Frank struggling on the other side of the door.
She begged someone to call an ambulance.
Vanessa told her that upsetting an elderly cardiac patient could make the situation worse.
"She said I was confusing your father."
Rosa covered her mouth.
"She told me to go upstairs and wait."
Luca's expression became terrifyingly still.
"And you believed her?"
Rosa looked at him helplessly.
"I was frightened."
I felt my throat tighten.
She looked so small sitting there.
An eighty-three-year-old woman carrying eighteen months of guilt because someone had convinced her that panic was the same thing as wrongdoing.
"Mrs. Rosa," I whispered, "you were trying to save him."
She looked at me with desperate eyes.
"Then why didn't I break the door?"
Luca immediately knelt in front of her.
"Mama, listen to me."
His voice cracked.
"You were not responsible for what happened to Papa."
"But Vanessa said—"
"I don't care what Vanessa said."
Rosa began sobbing against his shoulder.
Luca held her tightly.
I turned away, giving them a moment.
On the mantelpiece stood a photograph of Frank and Rosa on their wedding day.
Frank was smiling broadly, his arm wrapped around a young woman with dark curls and bright, mischievous eyes.
I wondered whether either of them could have imagined that one day she would be afraid to sit at her own dining table.
When Rosa finally stopped crying, Luca asked another question.
"Did Vanessa threaten you before tonight?"
Rosa nodded.
"Three weeks ago, she played me a recording."
Luca lifted his head.
"What recording?"
"Of my voice."
Rosa rubbed her trembling hands together.
"It sounded as though I was telling someone to leave your father alone."
"Did you say that?"
"I don't remember saying it that way."
She began crying again.
"Vanessa said that if anyone heard it, they would believe I had refused to help him."
Luca stood so abruptly that his chair scraped against the floor.
"She has been blackmailing you."
Rosa looked down.
"She said you would never forgive me."
Luca walked toward the window.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he turned back.
"Where did Papa usually keep things he didn't want anyone else to find?"
Rosa managed a faint smile.
"Your father had hiding places all over this house."
"Which one did he use most?"
She considered the question.
Then something changed in her expression.
"The music."
Luca frowned.
"What?"
Rosa looked toward the dining room.
"Your father always said that when people became too interested in his papers, he preferred to let them listen to music."
I remembered the antique upright piano in the small sitting room.
It had belonged to Frank's mother.
Nobody had played it since his death.
"Mr. Moretti," I said carefully, "there's a locked compartment beneath that piano."
Luca turned toward me.
"How do you know?"
"I found it while cleaning last winter."
"Why didn't you open it?"
"Because I didn't have the key."
Rosa suddenly caught her breath.
She reached beneath the neckline of her cardigan and pulled out a thin gold chain.
A tiny brass key hung from it.
"Frank gave me this on our fiftieth wedding anniversary."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"He told me I would know when to use it."
Luca stared at the key.
May you like
Then Rosa whispered something none of us expected.
"Vanessa asked me for this the day after your father's funeral."
