Chapter 5 - What Harper's Mother Never Told Her
Harper stared at the photograph until the warehouse around her seemed to disappear.
Her mother, Evelyn Lane, looked impossibly young.
Maybe twenty-five.
Beside her stood Vittorio Moretti.
Adrian's father.
They were outside a courthouse.
“What is this?” Harper whispered.
Adrian took the photograph.
“I don't know.”
“My mother knew your father?”
“Apparently.”
“She never mentioned him.”
Marco looked over Adrian's shoulder.
“I remember her.”
Everyone turned.
Harper's pulse jumped.
“You knew my mother?”
“Not personally.”
Marco studied the photograph.
“She worked for Father.”
Harper laughed once.
“No. My mother was a bookkeeper.”
Marco's expression remained serious.
“For Father.”
Harper stepped backward.
Her mother had died four years earlier after a brief illness.
Harper had spent months going through her belongings.
There had been nothing about the Morettis.
No photographs.
No letters.
Nothing.
“What did she do?”
Marco looked toward Adrian.
Adrian shook his head.
“I don't remember her.”
“You were young,” Marco said.
Then he looked at Harper.
“Evelyn managed accounts.”
Harper's stomach tightened.
“What accounts?”
“The ones nobody was supposed to know existed.”
Silence.
Harper understood before anyone explained.
Dirty money.
Hidden businesses.
Secret payments.
“My mother worked for criminals.”
Adrian said quietly, “Working for my father doesn't mean she was part of everything he did.”
“You don't know that.”
“No.”
At least he didn't lie.
Detective Mercer took the documents.
“These records need to come with me.”
Harper grabbed the photograph.
“This doesn't.”
Mercer allowed her to keep it.
Back at the mansion, Harper couldn't sleep.
She sat in the library until nearly three in the morning.
Adrian found her there.
He placed two mugs of coffee on the table.
“You look terrible,” Harper said.
“So do you.”
“Thank you.”
“You started it.”
She smiled despite herself.
Then her gaze returned to the photograph.
“I thought I knew her.”
“You probably did.”
“She lied to me.”
“Parents do that when they think the truth is dangerous.”
“You sound experienced.”
Adrian sat opposite her.
“My father lied professionally.”
Harper ran her thumb along the photograph.
“Why would Rourke investigate me?”
“Your mother may have left something.”
“She left debt.”
“Maybe she left something else.”
Harper suddenly remembered.
A box.
Her mother's belongings had mostly been sold or donated, but Harper had kept one old metal lockbox.
It was beneath her bed.
“I need to go home.”
Adrian immediately stood.
“Not alone.”
They returned to South Boston before sunrise.
Her apartment door had been forced.
Harper stopped in the hallway.
“No.”
Everything inside had been searched.
Cushions cut.
Drawers emptied.
Mattress overturned.
Adrian entered first.
“Stay behind me.”
Harper ignored him.
She went directly to the bedroom.
The lockbox was gone.
Her knees weakened.
“They took it.”
“What was inside?”
“Old papers. Jewelry. My mother's things.”
“What papers?”
“I don't know. I never read all of them.”
Adrian looked around.
“Rourke knew.”
Harper sat on the edge of the overturned mattress.
“This happened because of you.”
The words came before she could stop them.
Adrian absorbed them silently.
Harper immediately regretted it.
But he nodded.
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
“You didn't know.”
“Doesn't change the result.”
Harper rubbed her face.
“My life was boring forty-eight hours ago.”
“I envy you.”
“No, you don't.”
“I do.”
Something in his voice made her look up.
Adrian stood amid the wreckage of her tiny apartment wearing a coat that probably cost more than everything she owned.
Yet for the first time, Harper saw how trapped he was.
Not by money.
By inheritance.
Expectation.
Fear.
“Why don't you leave?” she asked.
“My family?”
“All of it.”
“Because hundreds of legitimate employees depend on the companies. Because my brother would inherit the rest. Because men like Rourke would take control.”
“You think you're the only person who can fix it?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Adrian looked toward the broken door.
“Because my father spent his life telling me what being a Moretti meant.”
“And?”
“I'd like to decide for myself.”
Harper understood that.
She had spent years believing abandoning nursing school meant she had failed.
Maybe survival wasn't failure.
Maybe changing direction wasn't either.
A noise came from the hallway.
Adrian immediately moved in front of her.
An elderly woman appeared.
“Harper?”
Harper relaxed.
“Mrs. Alvarez.”
Her downstairs neighbor entered cautiously.
“I heard somebody last night.”
“Did you see them?”
“No. But your mother told me something years ago.”
Harper froze.
“What?”
Mrs. Alvarez looked at Adrian suspiciously.
Harper said, “It's okay.”
The elderly woman lowered her voice.
“Evelyn said if anyone ever came asking about her papers, I should give you this.”
She removed an envelope from her cardigan.
Harper stared.
“You've had that all these years?”
“She made me promise.”
Harper opened it.
Inside was a key.
And a handwritten note.
Harp,
If you're reading this, someone finally came looking.
I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth.
Locker 214. South Station.
Do not trust anyone who tells you Vittorio Moretti was the worst man in the room.
Harper read the final sentence twice.
Adrian did too.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
They drove to South Station.
Locker 214 contained a leather ledger, a flash drive, and another envelope.
Adrian recognized the ledger immediately.
“My father's.”
Harper opened it.
Names.
Dates.
Amounts.
Politicians.
Police officers.
Judges.
Businesses.
Rourke's name appeared repeatedly.
So did another.
Paul Mercer.
Harper stared.
“The detective?”
Adrian's face hardened.
Payments stretched back twelve years.
Mercer wasn't investigating the Morettis.
He had been working for them.
Or someone inside the organization.
Harper opened her mother's letter.
Evelyn explained everything.
She had discovered Rourke diverting money and paying officials without Vittorio's authorization.
When she confronted Vittorio, he had believed her.
They secretly gathered evidence.
But before they could take action, Evelyn became frightened.
Someone had threatened Harper, who was then a child.
Evelyn disappeared from the Moretti world and never returned.
Vittorio allowed her to leave.
Rourke never stopped looking for the evidence.
Harper lowered the letter.
“So he watched me because he thought Mom gave me this.”
Adrian nodded.
“And the night I found you?”
“Coincidence.”
“Was it?”
They looked at each other.
Adrian's phone rang.
Marco.
“Where are you?”
“South Station.”
“Leave.”
Adrian stood.
“Why?”
“Mercer's coming.”
Adrian looked around.
“How do you know?”
“Because I just found Gabriel unconscious.”
The line went dead.
Adrian grabbed Harper's hand.
They moved toward the exit.
Too late.
Mercer appeared at the end of the corridor.
No badge displayed.
Gun in hand.
“Give me the ledger.”
Harper's fingers tightened around it.
Adrian stepped in front of her.
Mercer sighed.
“I was hoping this wouldn't become difficult.”
“You've been working with Rourke.”
“For a long time.”
“You investigated your own crimes.”
“Useful arrangement.”
Adrian's voice remained calm.
“You won't shoot us in a train station.”
Mercer smiled.
“Who said anything about shooting?”
Two men appeared behind Harper.
She and Adrian were trapped.
Mercer extended his hand.
“The ledger.”
Harper looked down.
Then she noticed the train arriving behind Mercer.
People filled the platform.
Cameras everywhere.
She raised her voice.
“Detective Mercer!”
Heads turned.
Mercer's expression changed.
Harper continued loudly.
“Why are you pointing a gun at me?”
Dozens of commuters looked over.
Phones appeared.
Mercer lowered the weapon.
Adrian smiled.
“She's smarter than both of us.”
Mercer stepped backward.
“You have no idea what you're doing.”
Harper held up the ledger.
“Actually, I'm starting to.”
Mercer disappeared into the crowd.
Adrian and Harper escaped through another exit.
Outside, Harper finally breathed.
“We have him.”
“No,” Adrian said.
“We have evidence.”
“Different thing.”
Harper looked at the ledger.
“Then what do we do?”
Adrian's phone rang again.
Unknown number.
He answered.
Rourke's voice came through.
“Bring me Evelyn's ledger.”
Adrian's expression darkened.
“Why would I?”
A video arrived.
Marco appeared on screen.
Bound to a chair.
Blood on his lip.
Alive.
May you like
Rourke spoke again.
“Because this time, Adrian, your brother really does die.”
