Chapter 3 - The Man Who Had Been Dead for Fourteen Years

Vincent took the stairs alone.

I hated that.

Mr. Bennett hated it more.

“Vincent,” he whispered.

Vincent lifted one hand.

Stay.

The hallway above us was dark.

A second floorboard moved.

Then a door opened.

Vincent disappeared from view.

Three seconds passed.

Five.

Then I heard him breathe.

Not shout.

Not curse.

Breathe.

Like someone had struck the air from his lungs.

I climbed the first step.

Mr. Bennett did not stop me.

When I reached the landing, Vincent was standing outside a small bedroom.

A man sat on the edge of the bed.

Sixty-two.

Gray hair.

Thin face.

Dark sweater.

A bandage around his left hand.

He looked older than the photographs.

But not different enough.

Dominic Marino looked at his son.

“Hello, Vincent.”

Vincent did not move.

Fourteen years were standing between them.

Then Vincent crossed the room.

He grabbed his father by the shoulders.

Not gently.

“You were alive.”

Dominic nodded.

“You let me bury you without a body.”

“I know.”

“You let me think I failed you.”

“I know.”

“You let him raise me.”

Dominic closed his eyes.

“That was the part I regretted every day.”

Vincent stepped away.

Mr. Bennett entered behind us.

Dominic looked at him.

“You brought the box.”

“Yes.”

“And Raymond?”

“Still at the estate when we left.”

Dominic shook his head.

“No. He left ten minutes after you did.”

Vincent looked toward the window.

“How do you know?”

Dominic held up another phone.

A map glowed on the screen.

One moving dot.

Heading north.

“Because I put a tracker in his car this afternoon.”

Vincent stared.

“You were at the estate?”

“Not inside.”

“Then how—”

“Evelyn.”

I looked at him.

Dominic pointed at my coat.

“Your left pocket.”

I reached inside.

A small black device.

I had never seen it before.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed.

Mr. Bennett smiled faintly.

“I put it there when we left.”

I stared at him.

“You tracked me?”

“I tracked the car.”

“You could have told me.”

“I could have.”

Dominic stood.

“He needed Raymond to believe Vincent was going to the summer house.”

Vincent looked at his father.

“So this is a trap.”

“A decoy.”

“And you are the bait?”

“No.”

Dominic walked to the closet.

He removed a flat metal case.

“You are.”

Vincent’s expression changed.

Dominic set the case on the bed.

Inside were bank records.

Company seals.

Copies of signatures.

And one photograph.

Raymond Marino entering a private bank in Zurich.

Fourteen years earlier.

Dominic spoke quietly.

“I found the first false company when you were eighteen.”

Vincent looked at the documents.

“Raymond stole from us.”

“From everyone.”

“How much?”

“By then? Twelve million.”

Vincent looked up.

“By then?”

Dominic nodded.

“Now it is closer to one hundred and nine.”

I stopped breathing.

Dominic continued.

“He could not move that much without help. Lawyers. Accountants. Contractors.”

“And Camilla’s brother.”

“Yes.”

Vincent picked up a document.

“Luca Russo.”

“He began working for Raymond six years ago.”

“Did Camilla know?”

Dominic looked at him carefully.

“She knew something.”

“That is not an answer.”

“No. It is the only answer I can prove.”

Vincent turned away.

“Why meet her seven months ago?”

“Because she contacted me.”

Mr. Bennett looked surprised.

Dominic nodded.

“She said she wanted out.”

Vincent laughed bitterly.

“Out of what?”

“Raymond had been using Luca’s debts to control both of them.”

“What debts?”

“Gambling. Private loans. Stupid decisions.”

Vincent looked at the photograph from the café.

“So Camilla came to you for help.”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“She offered me Raymond’s records.”

Mr. Bennett frowned.

“She never told me that.”

“She never delivered them.”

Vincent looked at his father.

“Why?”

Dominic’s eyes lowered.

“Because Raymond learned she had found me.”

A vehicle moved on the road outside.

All four of us became still.

Dominic checked the tracker.

The moving dot had stopped.

Less than half a mile away.

Vincent looked through the curtains.

No headlights.

Mr. Bennett whispered.

“He came without them.”

Dominic closed the metal case.

“Good.”

Vincent turned.

“Good?”

His father looked at him.

“There is something Raymond believes is hidden in this house.”

“What?”

“The original ledger.”

“The one proving everything?”

“Yes.”

“Is it here?”

Dominic shook his head.

“No.”

Vincent stared.

“Where is it?”

Dominic looked at the old wooden wall beside the bed.

Then at me.

“Back in Boston.”

Mr. Bennett’s face changed.

“The study.”

Dominic nodded.

“The room Raymond has spent fourteen years trying to enter without looking desperate.”

Vincent understood first.

“The key.”

Mr. Bennett reached for the chain around his neck.

It was empty.

We all looked at him.

Then he looked at the wooden box.

The brass key was gone.

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Someone had taken it.

And the last person who had stood close enough to Mr. Bennett to do that was Camilla.