Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Photograph
Dominic's mother had supposedly been in Italy.
That was the first thing he told us.
The second was that Evelyn Vale had been dead for six years.
Suddenly, we had two ghosts in the mansion.
One speaking through a recorder.
The other appearing in a security log where she wasn't supposed to exist.
Dominic dismissed the staff early.
By seven, only Marcus, Dominic and I remained in the library.
Rain tapped against the windows.
The atmosphere would have been perfect for a mystery movie if I weren't trapped inside the mystery.
“My mother left for Florence three days before Sofia died,” Dominic said.
“You're sure?” I asked.
“I drove her to the airport.”
Marcus turned the laptop.
“Someone used her access code at 11:48 p.m.”
“Could Vincent have known it?”
“Possible.”
Dominic stared at the screen.
I thought about Sofia.
About fear in her voice.
About the door opening.
“Did your mother know Sofia was investigating the missing money?”
“I don't know.”
“What was their relationship like?”
Dominic hesitated.
“Complicated.”
That word covered half the disasters in human history.
“How complicated?”
“My mother wanted Sofia away from the family businesses. Sofia wanted to know everything.”
“And your father?”
“He encouraged her.”
“Vincent?”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“He thought women should stay out of business.”
There it was.
A motive.
Maybe.
Marcus closed the laptop.
“We need evidence, not theories.”
I nodded.
Then remembered something.
“The photographs.”
Both men looked at me.
“In Sofia's music room. There are hundreds.”
“So?”
“If she was hiding information, maybe she hid something there.”
Dominic stood.
We searched until midnight.
Nothing.
At 12:14, exhausted, I sat at the piano.
My fingers brushed the keys.
One made no sound.
I pressed it again.
Nothing.
“Dominic.”
He came over.
“This key is dead.”
He crouched.
Removed the front panel.
Behind the mechanism was an envelope.
Ten years old.
Yellowed.
On the front, one word.
DOM.
Dominic didn't move.
“Open it,” Marcus said.
He did.
Inside was a photograph.
Sofia stood beside a car.
Her car.
The one that went off the bridge.
Behind her stood Vincent.
On the back, Sofia had written:
IF THEY SAY I WAS ALONE, THEY'RE LYING.
There was also a bank statement.
Three million dollars transferred from Vale Logistics into a company called Bellweather Holdings.
Authorized by Vincent Moretti.
Dominic sat down.
For the first time, the powerful man looked genuinely shaken.
Marcus read the statement twice.
“This is enough to prove theft.”
“Not murder,” Dominic said.
“No.”
I looked at the photograph.
Something bothered me.
Then I saw it.
“Wait.”
I carried it beneath the lamp.
In the car's rear window was a reflection.
A woman.
Older.
Elegant.
Watching from the house.
“Dominic.”
He looked.
His face changed.
“My mother.”
The photograph had been taken on the morning Sofia died.
Evelyn Vale had not been in Italy.
The next day, Dominic canceled every meeting.
We went through boxes from his mother's estate.
Letters.
Receipts.
Old passports.
Finally, Marcus found it.
A boarding pass.
Florence.
But the flight date was one day after Sofia died.
Dominic sat silently.
“My mother lied to me.”
I touched the edge of the table.
“Maybe she had a reason.”
“You're defending her?”
“No. I'm saying we don't know what the reason was.”
He looked at me.
I realized how tired he was.
Ten years of grief had been reopened in two days.
“Eat something,” I said.
Marcus stared at me like I'd lost my mind.
Dominic blinked.
“What?”
“You haven't eaten since yesterday.”
“This isn't the time.”
“That's what people say right before they become unbearable because their blood sugar crashes.”
Marcus turned away.
His shoulders moved.
“Are you laughing?” Dominic asked.
“No.”
“You are.”
“I value employment.”
The phrase broke something.
Dominic laughed.
Not much.
One quiet sound.
But real.
I stared.
So did Marcus.
Dominic's expression immediately hardened.
“Neither of you heard that.”
“Absolutely not,” Marcus said.
I smiled.
“I'm telling the statue.”
Dominic looked at me.
And this time, he smiled.
Fully.
For three seconds, the mystery disappeared.
He was just a man.
Then Marcus's phone rang.
His expression changed as he listened.
“What?”
He walked toward the window.
“When?”
Silence.
“We're coming.”
He hung up.
“Someone broke into the storage building where Evelyn's belongings were kept.”
Dominic stood.
“What was taken?”
“One box.”
“Which?”
Marcus looked at me.
“The box containing Sofia's journals.”
We drove there immediately.
The lock had been forced, but nothing else was disturbed.
One box missing.
Whoever came knew exactly what they wanted.
Marcus checked nearby cameras.
A vehicle appeared at 3:07 that afternoon.
Black SUV.
License plate obscured.
But the driver made one mistake.
He stepped beneath a security light.
Marcus froze the image.
Dominic leaned closer.
I looked over his shoulder.
The man wasn't Vincent.
I'd seen him before.
Every morning.
Every evening.
He had opened the gates for me six days straight.
“That's Daniel,” I whispered.
Daniel Price.
Dominic's longest-serving groundskeeper.
Twenty-two years at the Vale estate.
Dominic stared at the screen.
Then Marcus said the words that changed everything.
“Daniel didn't work for Vincent.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
May you like
Marcus looked at Dominic.
“Because Evelyn Vale hired him personally.”
