Chapter 5 - The Warehouse Fire Started Before They Arrived

Pier Nine was already burning.

Not the whole warehouse.

One office.

One row of records.

Flames behind glass.

Marco stopped the car.

“No.”

Lorenzo ran first.

Marco followed.

Vivienne stayed beside me.

Fire alarms screamed.

Sprinklers had not activated.

Inside the warehouse, papers covered the floor.

Some burned.

Some soaked in gasoline.

Marco found a metal cabinet.

Locked.

Lorenzo kicked it once.

Twice.

It opened.

Empty.

“Too late.”

Then a voice came from above.

“Not entirely.”

Adrian DeLuca stood on the mezzanine.

Sixty-one.

Gray suit.

Calm face.

Marco stared.

“You killed my mother.”

Adrian sighed.

“Straight to that.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

Lorenzo shouted:

“You cut her brakes.”

Adrian looked at him.

“You still believe that?”

Marco stepped toward the stairs.

“Then who did?”

Adrian smiled faintly.

“Ask Robert.”

Vivienne went still.

“No.”

Adrian looked at her.

“Your father has been hiding behind me for years.”

Marco’s face hardened.

“Robert said you called after the crash.”

“I did.”

“You said Elena made a mistake.”

“Yes.”

“And consequences followed.”

“Yes.”

“That sounds like a confession.”

“It sounds like intimidation.”

Adrian walked down one step.

“I wanted Robert frightened.”

“Why?”

“Because he had panicked.”

Vivienne whispered:

“About what?”

Adrian looked at her.

“Your father followed Elena after the tailor shop.”

Silence.

Vivienne stared.

“No.”

“He wanted the evidence back.”

Marco looked at her.

She shook her head.

“I didn’t know.”

Adrian continued.

“Robert confronted Elena at a parking garage.”

Lorenzo’s voice shook.

“And?”

“They argued.”

“What happened?”

“Elena drove away.”

Marco stared.

“And the brakes?”

Adrian looked toward the burning office.

“Robert had paid someone to disable her car.”

Vivienne stopped breathing.

“No.”

Adrian continued.

“He wanted to scare her.”

Marco laughed once.

Bitter.

“Everyone only wants to scare someone.”

Adrian said nothing.

Lorenzo stepped forward.

“You knew after.”

“Yes.”

“And helped hide it.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because Robert was useful.”

Vivienne covered her mouth.

Marco looked at Adrian.

“So you didn’t kill her.”

“No.”

“You just protected the man who did.”

“Yes.”

No excuse.

That answer was almost worse.

A metal beam cracked overhead.

Fire spread along the records room.

Marco looked toward the cabinets.

“What are you burning?”

Adrian smiled.

“Mostly copies.”

Lorenzo frowned.

“Where are the originals?”

Adrian looked at Marco’s old jacket.

Vivienne held it.

His expression changed.

Marco saw it.

“You thought the originals were in there.”

Adrian said nothing.

“That is why Vivienne was told to throw it away.”

Vivienne turned.

“My father told me.”

Adrian nodded.

“Because I told him the jacket mattered.”

Marco stepped closer.

“You spent fifteen years looking for it.”

“Yes.”

“And Joseph kept it.”

“Yes.”

Lorenzo looked at the flames.

“So what is really here?”

Adrian answered:

“Transfer ledgers.”

“Fake ones.”

“Useful ones.”

Marco’s jaw tightened.

Then a sprinkler finally activated.

Water poured from the ceiling.

The flames weakened.

Adrian looked annoyed.

Marco almost smiled.

“You should have maintained the building.”

Adrian stared.

Then sirens sounded outside.

Vivienne looked at Marco.

“You called the fire department?”

“No.”

Lorenzo did.

“When?”

“On the way.”

Adrian’s calm cracked.

Not much.

Enough.

Marco looked at him.

“Where are the originals?”

Adrian said nothing.

Lorenzo whispered:

“Elena hid them.”

Marco turned.

His father’s face had changed.

“You know.”

Lorenzo nodded.

“Not where.”

Marco remembered the photograph.

The tailor shop.

Elena.

Robert.

Adrian.

Then the new jacket.

Then the old jacket.

Then his mother’s habit.

He looked at Lorenzo.

“Mom sewed.”

Lorenzo stared.

“Yes.”

“Better than Joseph?”

Joseph would have been offended.

Lorenzo almost smiled.

“Almost.”

Marco looked at the old jacket in Vivienne’s hands.

He took it.

Cut open the opposite side of the lining.

Nothing.

Then the collar.

A thin strip of paper slid out.

Adrian’s face changed.

Marco unfolded it.

A bank box number.

One address.

One name.

ELENA DELUCA.

Lorenzo whispered:

“She hid the originals in a safe-deposit box.”

Adrian stepped forward.

Marco looked up.

“Now I know why you never burned the jacket yourself.”

Silence.

“You didn’t know where she hid it either.”

Adrian stared.

Marco folded the paper.

“For fifteen years, you controlled everyone.”

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He looked toward the sirens.

“And one tailor’s seam just ended it.”