Chapter 5 - THE CHILD’S DRAWING IN THE DUST
The basement felt suffocatingly small.
Emily stumbled back, pressing her hand against her swollen stomach.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, that’s impossible. Her casket was sealed.”
Luca couldn’t look away from the silver pocket watch.
He rubbed his thumb over the engraved metal. “I placed it in her hands myself. Just before they closed the lid.”
“Then how is it here?” I asked, my heart pounding against my ribs.
“Because she didn’t die of a sudden heart attack,” a voice echoed from the top of the stairs.
We all turned.
Marcus was standing at the top of the basement steps.
He wasn't holding a gun. He was holding a rusted iron crowbar.
Behind him stood Vanessa, her red silk dress now stained and torn at the hem. She looked terrified, firmly in Marcus's grip.
Marco raised his weapon, pointing it directly at Marcus’s chest.
“Drop it, Marcus,” Marco warned.
Marcus smiled sadly. “You can shoot me, Marco. But if you do, Luca will never know why his wife really died. And he will never find out who Emily’s real father is.”
The words dropped like anvils.
Emily let out a sharp gasp, clutching my arm so hard her nails dug into my skin.
“What did you say?” Luca’s voice was a low, dangerous growl.
“The photograph, Luca,” Marcus said, slowly walking down two steps. “You saw it. She loved me first. But you had the money. You had the power.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” Marcus pointed his crowbar at the empty cabinet. “Look closer at the bottom shelf. I didn’t take everything.”
Luca kept his eyes locked on Marcus but motioned for me to look.
I knelt by the twisted steel cabinet.
I ran my hand along the bottom shelf. It felt solid, but when I pressed near the back corner, a thin false floor popped up.
Beneath it was a single sheet of paper.
I pulled it out.
It wasn’t a document or a confession.
It was a child’s drawing in faded crayon.
It showed three stick figures holding hands: a man, a woman, and a little girl.
Above the man’s head, written in a child’s clumsy handwriting, was the word DADDY.
But the man wasn't drawn with black hair like Luca’s.
He was drawn with bright, unmistakable silver hair.
Just like Marcus.
I handed the drawing to Luca.
He stared at it. His breathing became erratic.
“Emily drew this when she was five,” Marcus said gently. “She didn’t understand what she was drawing, but your wife knew it was dangerous. She hid it.”
Emily stepped forward, tears streaming down her face.
“I don’t remember drawing that. You’re my dad,” she cried, looking at Luca. “You’re the only father I’ve ever known!”
Luca’s hands shook. He looked from the drawing to Emily, then up at his oldest friend.
“If you loved her,” Luca said, his voice breaking, “why did you break into her cabinet? Why terrorize her daughter tonight?”
“Because I didn’t come for the truth,” Marcus sneered, his gentle facade dropping entirely.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy ledger book.
“I came for this. The evidence she was gathering to hand you over to the Feds.”
Vanessa whimpered.
Marcus shoved her forward.
“Tell him, Vanessa,” Marcus commanded. “Tell him who you really work for.”
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Vanessa fell to her knees at the bottom of the stairs. She looked up at Luca, her mascara running down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Luca,” she sobbed. “I’m an FBI informant.”
