Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN MY MOTHER TRIED TO SAVE
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“My mother worked for the Morettis?”
I could barely get the words out.
Luca stared at me as if I had just announced that we were related.
Mrs. Moretti was crying silently.
On my phone, my father wiped his eyes.
Then he began signing.
Your mother helped Antonio's wife many years ago.
I translated aloud.
Luca knelt beside his mother.
“Mom, you knew Claire's family?”
She nodded.
Her trembling fingers moved.
Margaret Bennett.
Hearing my mother's name in that room nearly broke me.
I hadn't heard anyone outside my family say it in years.
My mother had been a nurse.
She spent most of her career caring for elderly patients in their homes.
She was gentle, patient, and stubborn about treating people with dignity.
Whenever someone called a patient difficult, she would remind them that fear often looked like anger.
I had thought her connection to the Moretti family ended with ordinary nursing work.
But my father was telling me something different.
I signed:
Why didn't you tell us?
His answer came slowly.
Your mother made me promise.
“Promise what?”
He looked away.
For the first time, I realized how much he had been carrying alone.
She believed someone dangerous was stealing from Mrs. Moretti.
Luca stood abruptly.
“When?”
I translated the question.
My father signed:
About five years ago. Before Margaret became seriously ill.
He explained that my mother had visited Mrs. Moretti periodically during her recovery from an earlier illness.
During those visits, she noticed unfamiliar men arriving with documents.
Some papers required Mrs. Moretti's signature.
Others involved Antonio's estate.
My mother grew concerned when Mrs. Moretti told her that financial accounts were showing withdrawals she did not recognize.
Then one evening, a man came to our apartment.
Silas Crane.
He warned my mother that accusing wealthy families of wrongdoing could destroy her nursing career.
My father wanted to call the police.
But my mother was frightened.
She had two daughters to raise.
And the man knew where we lived.
“So she stayed quiet?” I asked, ashamed of how bitter my voice sounded.
My father shook his head.
She copied the records.
I froze.
“What records?”
He signed:
She kept them in a blue metal box.
I remembered that box.
It sat on the highest shelf of my father's bedroom closet.
He had always told us it contained old insurance documents.
I looked at Luca.
“We have to get it.”
Before he could answer, the library door opened.
Anthony entered.
“Boss, Detective Morales is here.”
A woman in her early forties stepped inside behind him.
She wore a dark coat and carried a leather folder.
“Luca.”
“Detective.”
Her eyes moved from me to Mrs. Moretti.
“Which one of you received the threat?”
“I did,” I said.
She introduced herself as Elena Morales, a Chicago Police Department detective who had previously investigated financial crimes involving the Moretti organization.
She didn't seem impressed by Luca's reputation.
Or frightened by it.
She simply opened her notebook.
“Tell me everything.”
For the next twenty minutes, I explained the sign language, the forged documents, the photograph of my sister, and Dominic's disappearance.
Luca showed her the notebook and memory card.
Morales studied the material.
Then said something important.
“I'm taking this seriously. But none of you are going to solve it by turning this mansion into a private jail.”
Luca's jaw tightened.
“Someone threatened her family.”
“I understand. That's why officers are outside their building. The guests need to be free to leave once we've identified and questioned the relevant people.”
She turned toward me.
“Claire, I need your original messages preserved. No deleting anything.”
I nodded.
Then Mrs. Moretti suddenly touched the detective's sleeve.
Her fingers moved.
I translated.
“She says she tried to tell the police about the brakes.”
Morales frowned.
“When?”
Mrs. Moretti spelled a date.
September nineteenth.
Morales wrote it down.
“Who did you speak to?”
Mrs. Moretti struggled.
Her fingers shook.
Then she formed the letters:
D. R.
I looked at Luca.
“Dominic Russo?”
Mrs. Moretti nodded.
Morales stopped writing.
“Dominic was the person who received her statement?”
Luca swore under his breath.
Dominic hadn't merely been in the car.
He had also controlled the first attempt Mrs. Moretti made to report what happened.
Morales stood.
“I need to check the original crash investigation.”
Her phone rang before she reached the door.
She answered.
Then listened without speaking.
Her expression became grim.
“Where?”
Another pause.
“Was anyone hurt?”
She ended the call.
Luca stepped forward.
“What happened?”
“Your security chief has been found.”
“Where?”
“Near the old freight yard on the South Side.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
I felt a moment of relief.
Until she continued.
“He's asking for a lawyer. But before he stopped talking, he told the responding officers one thing.”
We waited.
May you like
Morales looked directly at Luca.
“He said your mother wasn't supposed to survive the crash.”
