Chapter 4 - Harbor House

Dante stayed with Grace until sunrise.

He asked simple questions first.

What food she liked.

Where she had lived.

Whether she had married.

She had not.

Whether she had other children.

She did not.

Then he asked:

“Did you ever stop loving my father?”

Grace looked out the window.

“No.”

Frank turned away.

Dante noticed.

“What?”

Frank did not answer.

Grace did.

“Frank helped us once.”

Dante looked at the old driver.

“When?”

“The night Antonio tried to take me out of Chicago.”

Frank sighed.

“I drove.”

Dante stared.

“And thirty years later you brought me back.”

Frank smiled faintly.

“Apparently I am bad at retiring.”

By eight in the morning, Dante had made a decision.

No police.

Not yet.

Not because he trusted Robert.

Because he did not know who in law enforcement had once worked for Thomas Blake.

Dante called his security chief.

One sentence.

“Lock the mansion down.”

Then another.

“Robert Blake does not leave.”

Marina called six times.

Dante ignored the first five.

He answered the sixth.

“What?”

Her voice shook.

“My father is gone.”

Dante stood.

“What do you mean?”

“He left through the service garage before your men arrived.”

Frank cursed.

Marina continued.

“He took nothing except an old document case.”

Dante looked at Grace.

“Where would he go?”

Marina whispered:

“I think Harbor House.”

Dante’s face changed.

“You know what it is.”

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes.

“Of course you do.”

“I found the name in my grandfather’s files years ago.”

“And you never told me.”

“I did not know it had anything to do with you.”

“Where is it?”

Silence.

“Marina.”

“North harbor. Pier seventeen.”

Dante ended the call.

Frank frowned.

“There hasn’t been a working warehouse there in years.”

Dante looked at me.

“Julia.”

“Yes?”

“You should stay here.”

I almost agreed.

Then Grace spoke.

“No.”

Everyone looked at her.

“She comes.”

Dante frowned.

“Why?”

Grace looked at me.

“Because your fiancée tried to remove the only man carrying proof.”

I swallowed.

Grace continued.

“And Julia refused.”

Dante nodded once.

We left ten minutes later.

The lake was gray.

Snow blew across the road.

Pier seventeen looked abandoned.

Rust.

Broken windows.

A chain-link fence.

One warehouse stood apart from the others.

HARBOR HOUSE.

The sign was barely visible.

Dante’s guards entered first.

Clear.

No Robert.

No workers.

Only dust.

Then Frank found the basement door.

Locked.

Dante kicked it once.

Nothing.

A guard used a pry bar.

The door opened.

Cold air rose from below.

We descended.

The basement was not empty.

Metal shelves.

Document boxes.

Old filing cabinets.

A desk.

And one wall covered with photographs.

Grace stopped.

Dante stared.

There were photographs of Antonio.

Young.

Older.

Dante as a child.

Dante at school.

Dante at his mother’s funeral.

Dante becoming head of Moretti Logistics.

Grace put a hand over her mouth.

“Someone watched him.”

Dante walked closer.

Photographs of Marina too.

Teenager.

College.

Her first meeting with Dante.

Their first public dinner.

Their engagement.

Frank whispered:

“This was planned.”

Dante found a folder beneath the photographs.

BLAKE–MORETTI CONSOLIDATION.

Inside:

Financial projections.

Property maps.

Insurance policies.

Marriage schedules.

Dante read one line.

Then another.

His expression became colder.

I stepped closer.

“What is it?”

He handed me the page.

Upon legal marriage of Dante Moretti and Marina Blake, voting control of both logistics entities may be consolidated through the pre-existing trust instruments.

Frank swore.

Grace looked confused.

Dante explained.

“My father left half of Moretti Logistics in trust.”

“For you?”

“Yes.”

“Then how could Marina control it?”

Dante looked at the document.

“If I married into the Blake line under this agreement, Robert could challenge the trust structure.”

Frank shook his head.

“Antonio would never sign that.”

Dante flipped to the last page.

There was a signature.

Antonio Moretti.

Grace gasped.

Frank stared.

“That is his signature.”

Dante said nothing.

Then he found the date.

Ten years ago.

Two weeks after Antonio’s reported death.

No one moved.

Grace whispered:

“He was alive.”

Dante’s eyes remained on the page.

“Or someone forged it.”

Frank pointed at a notation.

Witnessed by E. Collins.

He froze.

Dante looked at him.

“Collins.”

Frank’s face drained.

“That was my brother.”

“You had a brother?”

“Edward.”

“Where is he?”

Frank looked at the page.

“Dead.”

“When?”

“Eight years ago.”

Dante’s phone rang.

Unknown number.

He answered.

No greeting.

Robert Blake’s voice.

“You found Harbor House.”

Dante looked at the room.

“Yes.”

“Then you know this is larger than Marina.”

“Where are you?”

“Do not involve her.”

“Where are you?”

Robert ignored the question.

“Your father made choices too.”

Dante’s voice became dangerous.

“My father signed something after he died.”

Robert was silent.

Then:

“Antonio did not die that night.”

Grace closed her eyes.

Dante’s hand tightened around the phone.

“Where is he?”

Robert whispered:

“If I tell you, I lose the only protection I have left.”

“From who?”

A sound came through the phone.

A car door.

Then another voice.

A man.

Older.

Faint.

But clear enough.

“Robert.”

Grace dropped the blanket.

Frank’s face went white.

Dante stopped breathing.

The man on the phone spoke again.

“Hang up.”

Frank whispered:

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“That is Antonio.”

The call ended.