Chapter 8 - Frank’s Name in the Ledger

Frank stared at the page.

“That is not possible.”

Dante looked at him.

Payment.

Twenty-nine years ago.

Fifty thousand dollars.

Purpose:

TRANSFER.

Grace stood slowly.

Her face went pale.

“Transfer of what?”

Frank shook his head.

“I never took money.”

Victor laughed from the floor.

The guard held him down.

“Everyone took money.”

Frank stepped toward him.

“I did not.”

Dante looked at the date.

The day after his birth.

Frank’s hands trembled.

“I was driving Antonio.”

Antonio frowned.

“No.”

Frank looked at him.

“You were in jail.”

Antonio stopped.

Grace whispered:

“Frank.”

He turned.

Her eyes filled.

“Did you know where they took Dante?”

“No.”

“Then why is your name there?”

“I don’t know.”

Victor smiled.

Dante crouched beside him.

“Explain.”

Victor turned his face away.

Dante grabbed his collar.

“You want to live long enough to bargain?”

Victor looked at him.

Then at Frank.

“Ask Edward.”

Frank froze.

“My brother is dead.”

Victor smiled.

“Eventually.”

Frank’s face changed.

“What does that mean?”

Antonio stepped closer.

Victor said:

“Frank Collins did not receive the payment.”

Frank stared.

“Edward did.”

Dante looked at the ledger.

“He used Frank’s name?”

“Yes.”

Frank closed his eyes.

Victor continued.

“Edward looked enough like Frank to collect packages and sign forms.”

Frank whispered:

“He always hated working honestly.”

Dante turned a page.

Another payment.

FRANK COLLINS.

Eight years later.

Grace gasped.

Frank shook his head.

“I had left Chicago by then.”

Dante kept turning pages.

Four more payments.

All under Frank’s name.

Then one final note.

E. COLLINS — HOLDING SITE.

Dante looked at Frank.

“What holding site?”

Frank looked terrified now.

“I don’t know.”

Antonio took the ledger.

His eyes moved across the coded entries.

Then stopped.

“H-4.”

Robert looked up.

“That was a Blake property code.”

Marina stared at him.

“What property?”

Robert swallowed.

“A farmhouse near Rockford.”

Dante looked at Grace.

“Why does that matter?”

Antonio’s expression had changed completely.

“Because Edward told me once that Victor kept people there.”

Grace went pale.

“What people?”

“Witnesses.”

Dante looked down at Victor.

“Who?”

Victor smiled.

“Go find out.”

Two hours later, federal agents arrived.

Not local police.

Dante called a lawyer he trusted.

Then a retired prosecutor.

Then the FBI field office directly.

Victor was taken away in handcuffs.

Robert surrendered too.

Antonio did not run.

Before leaving, he gave Grace one look.

“I will answer everything.”

She nodded.

“Start with the truth.”

Marina watched her father enter the car.

Robert stopped beside her.

“I am sorry.”

She stared at him.

“No.”

He lowered his eyes.

“That word belongs to people who tell the truth before they are caught.”

He left.

Frank looked at Dante.

“Rockford.”

Dante nodded.

We drove west.

The farmhouse was abandoned.

Windows boarded.

Barn collapsed.

But beneath the house was a locked cellar.

Inside were old medical records.

Cots.

Photographs.

Passports.

Names.

Grace stood in the doorway.

“This was not a safe house.”

Frank whispered:

“No.”

Dante opened a cabinet.

Folders organized by year.

Then he found one marked:

G. BLAKE.

Grace stopped.

Dante opened it.

Photographs of her at the convent.

Letters she had written.

Letters never delivered.

Every one addressed to Antonio.

Grace began crying.

“I wrote him.”

Dante looked at Antonio’s name on the envelopes.

“They kept them.”

Frank stared at the box.

Then found another folder.

A. MORETTI.

Inside were letters Antonio had written.

To Grace.

Also never delivered.

Thirty years of words.

Locked underground.

Grace held one envelope.

The date was two months after Dante’s birth.

She opened it.

Her hands shook.

Dante looked away to give her privacy.

Grace read silently.

Then sobbed.

“What did he say?”

She looked at her son.

“He said he was coming for us.”

Dante closed his eyes.

Frank opened another cabinet.

Then stopped.

A recent file.

Not thirty years old.

Three years.

The label:

GRACE BLAKE — REACTIVATED.

Dante took it.

Inside was a photograph of Grace returning to Chicago.

A surveillance report.

And a typed instruction.

DO NOT ALLOW CONTACT WITH DANTE MORETTI BEFORE CONSOLIDATION.

Signed:

R.B.

Marina stared.

“My father.”

Dante’s jaw tightened.

Then Frank found another page.

“Dante.”

He handed it over.

A payment authorization.

Signed R.B.

But beneath the signature was a handwritten approval.

V.M.

Victor Moretti.

Dante looked at Marina.

“Your father was taking orders.”

She closed her eyes.

Frank opened the final drawer.

One envelope.

Marked:

IF CONSOLIDATION FAILS.

Dante opened it.

Inside was a photograph.

Julia Hart.

Me.

Entering Dante’s mansion six months earlier.

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I stopped breathing.

Dante slowly looked at me.