Chapter 2 - THE TRASH TRUCK IN THE RAIN
Luca didn’t wait for Vanessa to answer.
He didn’t look at the thirty-six guests sitting at his engagement dinner.
He simply turned and walked out of the formal dining room.
He didn’t run. He didn’t shout. But the absolute silence of his footsteps was more terrifying than if he had screamed.
I looked at Maria. She was gripping the red sauce pot so tightly her knuckles were white.
“Emma,” she whispered. “Go with him.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
I hurried through the kitchen doors and down the long service hallway.
When I burst out the back doors into the service yard, the Chicago night air hit me like a wall of ice. It had started to rain, a cold, stinging drizzle.
The massive green garbage truck was idling, its hydraulic compactor whining loudly.
Two sanitation workers were lifting the estate’s heavy rolling bins toward the back of the truck.
“Stop!”
Luca’s voice cut through the mechanical roar.
He was standing in the pouring rain, his custom Italian suit instantly soaked.
The workers froze.
“Mr. Moretti?” one of them asked, confused.
“Don’t cycle the compactor,” Luca ordered, stepping into the muddy yard. “Put the bins down.”
“Sir, we already tipped two of them in—”
“Then I’m climbing inside.”
The worker’s eyes went wide. “Sir, you can’t do that, it’s a safety hazard—”
Luca didn’t care. He walked directly to the back of the truck and peered into the crushing chamber.
It was a mountain of black bags, discarded floral arrangements, and food waste.
“Emma,” Luca said, not looking back. “Get a flashlight.”
I pulled my phone from my apron pocket and turned on the flashlight, shining it into the back of the truck.
There, wedged between a broken crate and a torn bag of coffee grounds, was a leg of pale blue wood.
“I see it,” I said.
Luca reached in. The metal edges of the hopper scraped his forearms, drawing blood that mixed with the rain, but he didn’t flinch.
He gripped the blue wooden leg and pulled.
It was stuck.
“Hold the light steady,” he grunted.
He braced his foot against the bumper of the truck and yanked with all his strength.
The wood groaned. Then, it pulled free.
Luca stumbled backward onto the wet asphalt, clutching the little blue chair against his chest.
It was battered. The paint was chipped. One of the back spindles had snapped in half from the pressure of the trash.
But it was whole.
Luca knelt there in the rain, breathing heavily, holding the tiny chair like it was a lifeline.
I stood beside him, holding the light.
“Are you alright, sir?” I asked quietly.
He didn’t answer. He was staring at the broken spindle.
I looked closer.
Where the wood had snapped, it wasn’t solid.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, pointing. “The wood… it’s hollow.”
Luca wiped the rain from his eyes and looked at the broken piece of wood.
I was right. The thickest part of the chair’s frame had been hollowed out from the inside.
And tucked inside the narrow cavity was a small, tightly rolled piece of thick canvas.
Luca carefully reached into the splintered wood and pulled the canvas free.
He unrolled it.
Inside the canvas was a heavy, tarnished silver key.
It had a distinct, ornate bow shaped like a crescent moon.
Answer one: Vanessa hadn’t just thrown out a sentimental object. She had tried to destroy a hiding place.
Open two: What did the key open? And how did Vanessa know it was there?
“My mother wore this key on a chain around her neck for twenty years,” Luca whispered, staring at the silver metal in his palm. “When she died, the key vanished. We tore the house apart looking for it.”
He looked at the little blue chair.
“She hid it.”
The service door swung open.
Vanessa stepped out onto the covered porch. She was holding a large umbrella, her face pale in the harsh security lighting.
“Luca, what are you doing?” she demanded, her voice tight with panic. “Your guests are waiting. You’re ruining your suit over garbage.”
Luca slowly stood up.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t show her the key.
He just held the broken blue chair in one hand and looked at the woman he was supposed to marry.
“It’s not garbage, Vanessa.”
“It’s a broken piece of wood,” she snapped. “You are embarrassing me in front of my father and the board of directors.”
“Go back inside,” Luca said. His voice was absolute zero.
Vanessa hesitated, her eyes dropping to the chair, searching it.
She was looking for the hidden compartment.
When she saw the broken spindle, her breath caught. Just for a second. But I saw it.
She turned and hurried back inside.
Luca looked at me. The rain was dripping from his jaw.
“Emma.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Find Paul. Right now. Do not let Vanessa or anyone else speak to him.”
“Where is he?”
“He lives in the cottage by the south gate,” Luca said, his eyes darkening. “If Paul brought this chair back today, he knows why my mother hid the key.”
I turned to run.
“Emma,” he called out.
I stopped.
“Take Maria’s car. Don’t let the security cameras see you leave.”
I nodded and ran toward the staff parking lot.
Ten minutes later, I pulled Maria’s beat-up sedan up to the small stone cottage at the edge of the estate.
The front door was wide open.
I stepped inside.
“Paul?” I called out.
No answer.
The living room was completely destroyed. Furniture was overturned. Books were ripped from the shelves.
And lying on the center of the rug was Paul’s silver pocket watch.
The glass face was shattered. The hands were stopped exactly at 8:14 PM.
May you like
Ten minutes ago.
Someone had gotten to him first.
