Chapter 2 - The Name Inside the Canvas Bag

Caitlyn opened her canvas bag.

Santino watched her place 3 things on the hood of his car.

A folded hospital invoice.

A plastic pill bottle.

And a passport.

Not hers.

HELEN MARCHETTI.

The photograph showed her mother 8 years younger.

The passport had expired.

Santino picked it up.

“You told Walter your name was Helen Bell.”

Caitlyn nodded.

“It is not.”

“No.”

“And Caitlyn Bell?”

“Not real either.”

Santino looked at her.

The parking lot lights reflected across the windshield.

Inside the dialysis center, a nurse pushed an empty wheelchair past the glass doors.

Santino opened the passport again.

“Helen Marchetti.”

“Yes.”

“Who is Marchetti?”

Caitlyn did not answer.

He waited.

That was worse than pressure.

Finally, she said:

“My father’s name.”

“You said your father was dead.”

“He is.”

“When?”

“Three years ago.”

Santino looked at her.

“That is when your identities changed.”

“Yes.”

He closed the passport.

“Why?”

Caitlyn looked toward the clinic doors.

“My mother is tired.”

“I did not ask about your mother.”

“I know.”

Santino’s voice stayed quiet.

“You stole from me.”

“Yes.”

“You used false identification in my house.”

“Yes.”

“You brought a woman using a different name into my staff quarters.”

“Yes.”

“And now you are deciding which question I am allowed to ask.”

Caitlyn looked at him.

“No.”

“Then answer.”

She opened the canvas bag again.

This time she removed a photograph.

Old.

Creased.

Four people standing outside a restaurant.

Helen.

A younger Caitlyn.

A man with dark hair.

And another man.

Santino stopped.

He knew the second man.

His uncle.

Lorenzo Ferraro.

Dead 5 years.

Santino took the photograph.

“When was this?”

“Twelve years ago.”

“Where?”

“Federal Hill.”

“What was my uncle doing with your family?”

Caitlyn swallowed.

“Business.”

Santino stared at her.

“That word means too many things in my family.”

“I know.”

“How?”

She looked at the photograph.

“My father worked for him.”

Santino’s expression changed.

“Doing what?”

“Books.”

“Accounting?”

“Yes.”

“For which company?”

Caitlyn hesitated.

“Ferraro Maritime.”

Santino’s eyes hardened.

That company had been closed 4 years earlier after a federal audit.

He looked again at the photograph.

“What was your father’s name?”

Caitlyn closed her eyes.

“Anthony Marchetti.”

Santino went still.

The name was old.

But not forgotten.

Anthony Marchetti had been accused of stealing almost $2 million from Ferraro accounts.

Then vanished.

Every adult in the Ferraro family had called him a thief.

Santino stared at Caitlyn.

“Anthony Marchetti was your father.”

“Yes.”

“You came into my house under a false name.”

“Yes.”

“Knowing who I was.”

“Yes.”

“And you stole my mother’s brooch.”

“Yes.”

He laughed once.

It was not amusement.

“Do you understand how this looks?”

Caitlyn’s eyes filled.

“Yes.”

“Then explain why I should not think your father sent you.”

“He did not.”

“He died.”

“Yes.”

“Convenient.”

She flinched.

Santino regretted the word immediately.

He did not take it back.

Caitlyn reached deeper into the bag.

One envelope.

Yellowed.

She handed it to him.

The front read:

SANTINO FERRARO.

The handwriting was unfamiliar.

Santino looked at her.

“What is this?”

“My father wrote it.”

“When?”

“Three years ago.”

“Before he died?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you have it?”

“He told me to deliver it if I ever found you.”

Santino stared.

“And you worked in my house for 2 months.”

“Yes.”

“You had this the entire time.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you not give it to me?”

Caitlyn looked through the clinic window at Helen.

“Because my father also told me something else.”

“What?”

“That if Lorenzo Ferraro’s family ever found out who we were, my mother would not survive the week.”

Santino said nothing.

Caitlyn continued.

“I did not come to your house to find you.”

“Then why did you?”

“The staffing company placed us there.”

“You expect me to believe that.”

“No.”

She looked exhausted.

“I expect you to verify it.”

Santino looked at the envelope again.

Then opened it.

One page.

Santino,

If you are reading this, I failed to correct what your uncle did.

Santino’s face changed.

He continued.

I did not steal from Ferraro Maritime.

Lorenzo moved the money and used my access to make it appear mine.

I copied the original ledgers.

Your mother knew.

Santino stopped reading.

Caitlyn watched him.

He looked up.

“My mother?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“My father went to her.”

“When?”

“Eleven years ago.”

“My mother died 9 years ago.”

“I know.”

Santino’s jaw tightened.

“What did she do?”

Caitlyn whispered:

“She believed him.”

Silence.

Santino looked at the next line.

Your mother promised to show you the records when you were old enough to take control.

She never got the chance.

Santino stopped breathing.

His mother had died suddenly.

A stroke.

That was what everyone had said.

He looked at Caitlyn.

“What happened to the ledgers?”

She shook her head.

“I do not know.”

“Your father did.”

“He did.”

“Where are they?”

“He never told me.”

Santino looked at the hospital invoice.

Then at the stolen brooch.

Then at Caitlyn.

“You took the smallest piece in that cabinet.”

“Yes.”

“Why that one?”

She looked ashamed.

“Because my father once said your mother wore it the night she agreed to help him.”

Santino froze.

“You recognized it.”

“Yes.”

“So you did know what you were taking.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Caitlyn’s voice broke.

“Because I thought if anyone came looking for it, I would know whether my father had told the truth.”

Santino stared at her.

“And did someone come looking?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

Caitlyn looked past him.

A black sedan had just entered the clinic parking lot.

She went pale.

Santino turned.

Walter Quinn stepped out.

The butler looked at Caitlyn.

Then at the passport in Santino’s hand.

His face changed.

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Caitlyn whispered:

“He knows my real name.”