Chapter 15 - The Notebooks

Adrian’s notebooks arrived six weeks later.

Three black books.

One brown.

All worn at the corners.

Natasha opened the first at Miriam’s dining table.

Alone.

That was important.

Matteo had offered to be present. She had said no. He had answered, “All right,” and nothing more.

The first pages were ordinary.

Meeting notes.

Tax deadlines.

Reminders to buy coffee.

A grocery list containing three different kinds of mustard.

Natasha cried harder over the mustard than she had over the murder evidence.

Because murder belonged to the story everyone else now knew.

Mustard belonged only to her father.

She kept reading.

Halfway through the second notebook, Richard’s name appeared.

R. Castellano — charming, ambitious, watches people when he thinks no one notices.

Dated eight years before Natasha met him.

The next entry:

Vittorio frightened of his own son.

Another:

Richard asked why Adrian keeps family photographs in office. Too interested in Natasha. Move photo.

Natasha’s hands became cold.

Her father had noticed Richard before Richard ever approached her.

The notebook continued.

Luca says Richard believes Adrian hid copies with family. Dangerous assumption.

Then:

If I die, Tasha must not become bait.

Natasha closed the book.

For an hour, she could not open it again.

Miriam found her at sunset.

“You ate?”

“No.”

“Bad strategy.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Also bad strategy.”

Miriam heated soup.

Natasha stared at the notebook while she ate.

“Do you think he knew Richard would come after me?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Because parents are cowards in specific ways.”

Natasha looked up.

Miriam sat across from her.

“We call silence protection when the truth frightens us.”

“He wrote that too.”

“Then Adrian was occasionally intelligent.”

Natasha smiled faintly.

After dinner, she opened the third notebook.

This one focused on the patients.

Names.

Dates.

Questions.

Adrian had written about Sofia Marquez.

Young woman. Teacher. Sister Elena aggressive in the best way.

Natasha laughed through tears.

Another entry:

Score changed without credible basis. Richard login. Pike signed review.

And below it:

Luca says follow the money, but patients are not numbers. Remember faces.

Natasha understood again why her father’s final letter had insisted on the patients.

The fourth notebook contained personal letters never sent.

One to her mother.

One to Luca.

One to Natasha.

She read hers last.

Tasha,

I have spent so much time trying to arrange the world around you that I forgot you are not a room I can make safe by moving the furniture.

She stopped.

The sentence felt written for the woman she had become.

You will make choices I would not make. Some will be mistakes. Some will be better than mine. If I teach you anything worth keeping, let it be this: anyone who requires your fear in order to keep your love does not love you well.

Natasha closed her eyes.

Richard had required fear.

Her father had used secrecy.

Matteo had begun with protection and slowly learned to ask.

Different men.

Different failures.

Different choices.

The last page contained an address.

A storage unit in Little Havana.

Natasha called Brooks.

The unit had never appeared in the investigation.

Agents met her there the next morning.

Inside were boxes of architectural samples, old client records, and one sealed crate labeled N.V.

“Mine,” Natasha whispered.

Brooks opened it under camera.

Inside were photographs from Natasha’s childhood, her mother’s scarves, university drawings, and a yellow metal cash box.

The box contained twelve thousand dollars.

A note from Adrian lay on top.

Emergency money. Not secret money. There is a difference.

Natasha laughed.

Brooks smiled.

Under the cash was the original deed to a small commercial storefront in Coconut Grove.

Transferred to Natasha through a trust.

She stared.

“I own this?”

Brooks checked the document.

“It appears so.”

The address was familiar.

She drove there immediately.

The storefront had been rented for years to a frame shop that had recently closed.

Dust covered the windows.

Above the door, faint painted letters remained under a newer sign.

VOSS & STONE CONSERVATION.

Natasha’s knees weakened.

Miriam, who had insisted on coming, whispered, “Your father bought your old studio building.”

“I leased space here.”

“He must have purchased it later.”

Brooks handed Natasha another envelope found with the deed.

She opened it.

Tasha,

You once told me you wanted to spend your life saving beautiful things no one else noticed were falling apart.

I hope you do.

Natasha sat on the curb and cried.

Not because the building solved anything.

It did not.

Richard was still awaiting trial.

Paul was negotiating through lawyers.

Salvatore was fighting extradition.

Patients were still dead.

But the building represented a future Adrian had imagined for her before fear had taken over everything else.

Matteo came that evening only because she invited him.

He stood outside the dusty storefront.

“This is yours?”

“Yes.”

“It needs work.”

“I know.”

“A lot of work.”

“I know.”

He looked at the cracked stucco.

“Possibly all the work.”

She smiled.

“Now you sound like a client.”

He put his hands in his pockets.

“What will you do with it?”

“Restore it.”

“Of course.”

“And reopen.”

“Voss & Stone?”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

Natasha looked at him.

“I read the notebooks.”

“How bad?”

“Bad enough.”

“Anything about Luca?”

“Yes.”

Matteo waited.

She appreciated that too.

“He trusted him.”

Matteo looked away.

“My father trusted Luca.”

“I know.”

“He also wrote that Luca was trying to get you out.”

Matteo’s face changed.

“What?”

“He thought you were still salvageable.”

A rough laugh escaped Matteo.

“That sounds like him.”

Natasha handed him a photocopied page.

Luca believes Matteo still thinks law can wash blood off money. Maybe he needs to learn law can also stop the bleeding.

Matteo read it silently.

Then folded it carefully.

“May I keep this?”

“Yes.”

He looked at the building again.

“Do you need an investor?”

“No.”

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He smiled.

“Good answer.”