Chapter 10 - NO MORE FAVORS|
Frank was safe that night.
We found him asleep in his bedroom, wearing an old flannel shirt and holding a photograph of Mrs. Elena.
The security supervisor had checked the wrong camera feed, and Owen's departure had caused confusion about who was responsible for the guesthouse.
For ten terrible minutes, Luca had believed he might lose his father too.
When Frank opened his bedroom door, he looked astonished to find half the household standing in the hallway.
"Has somebody died?"
Luca crossed the room and hugged him.
Frank stood completely still.
Then his arms slowly closed around his son.
I looked away.
Some moments deserve privacy, even when the people involved have forgotten how to ask for it.
Owen Cross was located the following morning.
He had left his assignment without authorization and was questioned by investigators about the copied volunteer schedule.
According to information later provided to the defense and prosecutors, he admitted receiving money from an intermediary to share certain security details.
He denied knowing that anyone intended to start a fire.
Detective Torres warned us that his statement would need independent corroboration.
But his cooperation helped investigators identify a series of communications with people connected to Dominic's businesses.
For Luca, the revelation cut deeper than I expected.
Owen wasn't a relative.
He wasn't an executive.
He was simply a man Luca had trusted to keep his father safe.
"How much did they pay him?" Luca asked Gabriel.
Gabriel gave him the figure.
Luca stared at the wall.
"That's all?"
He sounded almost hurt.
Then he laughed without humor.
"I've spent my life believing loyalty could be bought."
Gabriel didn't answer.
"Apparently I just didn't understand how cheaply it could be sold."
That afternoon, Luca met with Eleanor and his own criminal defense attorney.
The meeting lasted nearly five hours.
When it ended, he came into the kitchen and found me helping Frank make tea.
Frank had insisted on preparing it himself.
"I have two functioning hands," he complained.
"Then stop spilling the sugar," I replied.
He smiled.
For a moment, he looked almost like the man Mrs. Elena had once described.
Luca watched us from the doorway.
"Dad, can I speak with Claire?"
Frank examined his cup.
"Only if you promise not to upset her."
Luca almost smiled.
"I'll try."
We walked into the garden.
The November air was cold, and fallen leaves covered the stone pathway.
"I made a decision," Luca said.
I waited.
"I'm giving the investigators access to the records they need."
"All of them?"
"All the relevant ones."
He looked toward the house.
"My attorney has explained the consequences."
I studied his face.
"And?"
"I may lose businesses."
He paused.
"I may face charges of my own."
The words settled between us.
I knew how much of Luca's identity was connected to being feared.
Men lowered their voices when he entered a room.
People opened doors before he touched them.
Money solved problems that ordinary people had to endure.
But none of that had saved his mother.
And none of it had stopped the people closest to him from betraying him.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked.
He looked at me.
"Because my mother deserved a son who would tell the truth."
I shook my head.
"That's part of it."
His expression tightened.
"What else?"
"Because the people who were hurt deserve to know what happened."
He was silent.
Then he nodded.
"Yes."
I believed him.
Not because he looked remorseful.
But because he was finally willing to accept consequences he could not control.
Over the next several days, investigators obtained more evidence concerning Dominic's financial network.
Evelyn Clark agreed to formal interviews.
Records from several companies were preserved.
Independent auditors began preparing calculations of the money diverted from the foundation.
And the fire investigation continued.
Luca also arranged for an independent board to oversee emergency support for the Open Table kitchen.
Rosa insisted on one condition.
"No Moretti family member gets to decide who is hungry enough to deserve food."
Luca accepted immediately.
Frank laughed when he heard.
"That's exactly what Elena would have said."
For the first time, the future seemed imaginable.
Not easy.
Not free of consequences.
But imaginable.
Then, late one evening, Frank asked to speak with me privately.
He was sitting in the old breakfast room, holding a folded photograph.
It showed Elena and Luca at a family dinner years earlier.
Luca couldn't have been older than twenty.
He was smiling.
I had never seen him look so young.
"Claire," Frank said, "I owe you an apology."
I sat opposite him.
"For what?"
"For allowing Dominic to control so much of this family."
I shook my head.
"You don't owe me an apology for everything he did."
Frank looked down.
"But I knew Elena was afraid."
His voice trembled.
"And when she died, I let Dominic persuade me not to request a full investigation."
I felt a chill.
"Why?"
"He told me Luca would be dragged into a public scandal."
Frank wiped his eyes.
"He said people would use Elena's death to destroy our son."
I watched his hands shake.
"I signed papers confirming that I wasn't requesting a postmortem examination."
He swallowed.
"I was so frightened of losing the living that I failed the dead."
I reached across the table.
"Mrs. Elena loved you."
Frank began to cry.
"That's what makes it worse."
The following morning, Frank contacted Detective Torres and gave a formal statement explaining Dominic's role in the decision.
He also provided the papers he had signed.
Luca thanked him.
For the first time in years, father and son spoke about Elena without pretending they were all right.
But Dominic had not disappeared.
He was losing access to money, influence, and family loyalty.
And desperate men are often most dangerous when they realize their power is slipping away.
At seven the next evening, Luca received a call from an unfamiliar number.
It was Dominic.
His voice was calm.
Almost cheerful.
"Nephew, I think we've let this family disagreement go far enough."
Luca stood beside the dining room table.
"What do you want?"
"Your father's cooperation."
Luca went still.
"What are you talking about?"
Dominic chuckled.
"Go look at the guesthouse."
The line disconnected.
Luca ran.
I followed him through the garden.
The front door stood open.
Frank's favorite chair was empty.
His glasses rested on the table beside a half-finished cup of tea.
And on the floor lay the framed photograph of Elena that he had been holding the previous night.
May you like
This time, there was no confusion.
Frank Moretti was gone.
