Chapter 2 - The Woman Waiting Behind Door 807

Adrian did not return to the ballroom.

Neither did I.

Mrs. Eleanor Reed came with us.

The hotel was twenty minutes from the estate.

No one spoke in the car.

Adrian held the music box on his lap.

The melody had stopped.

But he kept staring at it.

Like it might start again by itself.

When we reached the eighth floor, Eleanor stopped outside Room 807.

Adrian looked at her.

“She’s inside?”

“Yes.”

He did not move.

Twenty years.

That was how long he had believed his mother was dead.

Eleanor touched his sleeve.

“She is afraid too.”

Adrian gave a short laugh.

“She left a twelve-year-old boy behind.”

“She left because men were watching that boy.”

His face hardened.

“What men?”

Eleanor looked at the door.

“Ask her.”

Adrian knocked.

Nothing.

Then the lock clicked.

The woman who opened the door was sixty-one.

Silver threaded through dark hair.

Thin face.

Green eyes.

Adrian’s eyes.

Margaret Vale stared at her son.

He stared back.

Neither spoke.

Then Margaret whispered:

“You still stand like your father.”

Adrian’s jaw moved.

“You know what I look like?”

“I know everything I was allowed to know.”

His expression changed.

“Allowed?”

Margaret looked at Eleanor.

Then at me.

“Come inside.”

The suite was small.

No guards.

No luggage except one black suitcase.

Adrian stayed near the door.

Margaret looked at the music box in his hands.

“You remembered the song.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes filled.

“I used to sing it when you couldn’t sleep.”

“I remember.”

Silence.

Then Adrian asked:

“Why did you leave me?”

Margaret closed her eyes.

“Because your grandfather told me that if I stayed, you would disappear next.”

Adrian frowned.

“My grandfather?”

“Your father’s father.”

“Giovanni Vale?”

“Yes.”

Adrian stepped closer.

“He died when I was sixteen.”

Margaret nodded.

“And before he died, he spent four years making sure no one could find me.”

Adrian’s voice became colder.

“Why?”

She looked directly at him.

“Because I found the Moretti accounts.”

Adrian took out the chapel key.

“The ledger?”

“No.”

Margaret shook her head.

“The ledger is proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“That the Vale companies were not merely being used to move money.”

She paused.

“They were being used to hide ownership.”

Adrian frowned.

“Of what?”

“Ports.”

“Which ports?”

“Three.”

“Where?”

“New York. Halifax. Baltimore.”

Adrian looked at Eleanor.

Then back at Margaret.

“And Thomas Moretti?”

“He signed documents.”

“Bianca says he was forced.”

Margaret’s face became tired.

“At first, he was.”

Adrian noticed the wording.

“At first.”

“Yes.”

“What happened later?”

“He realized being forced was profitable.”

The room became silent.

Adrian looked toward the window.

“Did Bianca know?”

Margaret did not answer immediately.

That was enough.

Adrian turned back.

“How much did she know?”

“More than she told you.”

His face became still.

“How much?”

Margaret opened the black suitcase.

Inside were folders.

Photographs.

Copies of bank statements.

And one white envelope.

She handed it to him.

On the front was written:

BIANCA.

Adrian opened it.

Inside was a photograph.

Bianca.

Thomas.

And a man I had never seen.

Taken outside St. Catherine’s.

Date stamped eight months earlier.

Adrian stared.

“Who is he?”

Margaret answered:

“Gabriel Moretti.”

Adrian frowned.

“Bianca’s uncle died twelve years ago.”

“No.”

“Then who died?”

“A man buried under his name.”

Adrian looked at Bianca’s photograph again.

“She met him?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Eight months ago.”

The same month Bianca said she learned Margaret was alive.

Adrian’s voice dropped.

“She didn’t just find out about you.”

“No.”

“She found him.”

“Yes.”

“What does Gabriel want?”

Margaret looked at the music box.

“The ledger.”

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t only show what the Morettis stole.”

She looked at Adrian.

“It shows what the Vales agreed to give them.”

Adrian did not move.

“My family agreed?”

“Your grandfather did.”

“What about my father?”

“He discovered it later.”

“And you?”

“I discovered why.”

Adrian waited.

Margaret’s eyes filled again.

“Your grandfather was not paying the Morettis.”

“Then what was he doing?”

“He was paying for your life.”

Silence.

Adrian stared at her.

Margaret continued.

“When you were eleven, someone tried to take you from school.”

Adrian’s face changed.

“I remember a man following the car.”

“That man worked for Gabriel.”

“Why would he want me?”

“Because your father had decided to stop the arrangement.”

Adrian looked down.

“So my grandfather paid them?”

“Yes.”

“To leave me alone?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you disappear?”

Margaret’s voice shook.

“Because I learned they were never going to leave you alone.”

Adrian looked up.

“What were they waiting for?”

She took one more document from the suitcase.

A trust agreement.

Adrian read the name.

Then stopped.

“The Vale Maritime Trust.”

Margaret nodded.

“What about it?”

“You became sole beneficiary at thirty.”

Adrian looked confused.

“I know.”

Margaret whispered:

“So did Gabriel.”

Adrian’s face emptied.

“He was waiting for me to inherit everything.”

“Yes.”

“And Bianca?”

Margaret looked toward the floor.

“She was supposed to marry you before you discovered why.”

The room went completely silent.

Adrian held the photograph tighter.

Then asked the question none of us wanted to hear.

“Was Bianca part of it?”

Margaret looked at him.

“I don’t know.”

Adrian’s eyes hardened.

“You brought me here to tell me you don’t know?”

“No.”

She stepped closer.

“I brought you here because tonight is the first time in twenty years that every person who lied to you is in the same city.”

Adrian stared at her.

“Who else is here?”

Margaret looked toward the hallway.

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Then whispered:

“Your father.”