Chapter 3 - The Voice on the Memory Card

Lucian reached the door first.

He did not open it.

“Who is it?”

No answer.

Another three knocks.

Walter moved toward the side aisle.

“There’s another exit behind the sacristy.”

Marianne shook her head.

“If it’s Vincent, running is what he expects.”

Lucian looked at her.

“You’ve been running for twenty-one years.”

“Yes.”

Her voice became harder.

“And I’m tired.”

Lucian opened the door.

Serena stood outside.

Alone.

Snow covered her dark red gown.

In her hand was a phone.

“Your father is gone,” Lucian said.

Serena nodded.

“He left the gala through the kitchen.”

Walter frowned.

“How do you know?”

“Because his driver called me.”

“Where is he going?”

“I don’t know.”

Lucian stared at her.

“That answer is becoming a habit.”

Serena flinched.

Then she held out the phone.

“You should hear this.”

It was a voicemail.

Vincent’s voice.

Calm.

Too calm.

“Serena. Come home. Do not stay with Vescari. Do not speak to Marianne. Everything can still be contained.”

The message ended.

Lucian looked at her.

“Contained.”

Serena nodded.

“That’s how he talks when he’s afraid.”

Walter removed the memory card from the ledger.

The church office had an old laptop.

It took ten minutes to find an adapter.

It felt like an hour.

There were nine audio files.

All dated between 2007 and 2009.

Walter opened the first.

Lucian’s grandfather spoke first.

Lorenzo Vescari.

His voice was deep.

Controlled.

Then Vincent answered.

Younger.

Angrier.

Lorenzo said:

“Matteo is dead because you wanted him silent.”

Vincent replied:

“You have no proof.”

“I have Marianne.”

A pause.

Then Vincent laughed.

“Marianne saw an argument.”

“She saw enough.”

“Then keep her hidden.”

“I intend to.”

Lucian gripped the edge of the desk.

The recording continued.

Vincent said:

“You protect her, I protect the boy.”

Lucian’s head lifted.

Lorenzo’s voice became quiet.

“If you ever touch Lucian, I will bury you with every account you opened through our companies.”

The file ended.

No one spoke.

Serena looked sick.

Lucian opened the second recording.

Vincent again.

This time with someone else.

A man none of us recognized.

They discussed a mechanic.

A payment.

And a brake line.

Lucian closed his eyes.

Matteo’s crash had not been an accident.

The third recording contained something stranger.

Lorenzo spoke to Sarah Hayes.

My mother.

Her voice was younger than I remembered.

But it was hers.

I knew immediately.

Lorenzo said:

“You cannot go home yet.”

My mother answered:

“My daughter is six.”

My knees almost gave out.

I had been six in 2007.

Lorenzo continued:

“If Bellini knows you saw the second car, he’ll use Claire to control you.”

My mother said:

“Then get Marianne out first.”

Marianne covered her mouth.

I stared at the laptop.

My mother had lied to me for the rest of her life.

Not about loving me.

About who she had been.

The recording continued.

Sarah said:

“I wrote down the plate number.”

Lorenzo asked:

“Where?”

“In the blue book.”

“What blue book?”

“The one Claire thinks is a recipe book.”

My heart stopped.

I knew exactly where it was.

In my apartment above the estate garage.

I had brought it with me when I moved into staff housing.

My mother’s old blue notebook.

Half recipes.

Half grocery lists.

I had never read every page.

Lucian turned to me.

“Claire.”

“I have it.”

Walter stood quickly.

“Then we need to get back before Vincent realizes what Sarah left behind.”

Serena looked at me.

“My father knows who you are.”

I felt cold.

“What?”

“He asked about you when Lucian hired you.”

Lucian looked at her.

“You knew that too?”

“I thought he was checking staff.”

“No.”

Marianne stepped closer to me.

“He was checking whether Sarah’s daughter had found the book.”

My phone buzzed.

A security alert from the estate.

The camera outside my staff apartment had gone offline.

Then another alert appeared.

Door opened.

Lucian read it over my shoulder.

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His face went completely still.

Someone was already inside my room.