Chapter 7 - The Empty Grave

Nico did not sleep.

At sunrise, he stood outside the cemetery.

Small town in Mississippi.

Samuel beside him.

Anna too.

Victoria came with Eleanor.

Isabella arrived last.

Nico had not wanted her there.

Then changed his mind.

No more deciding for other people.

The cemetery manager opened the records.

RICARDO GREENE.

Buried six years ago.

Death certificate:

Pancreatic cancer.

Funeral home:

Closed.

Doctor:

Dead.

Witness:

Anna Greene.

Nico looked at Anna.

“You witnessed his death?”

She shook her head.

“I witnessed paperwork.”

“What does that mean?”

“Ricardo was sick.”

“So he was dying.”

“Yes.”

“Did you see his body?”

“No.”

Nico stared.

“You told me he died.”

“I believed he did.”

Samuel said:

“I found one more document.”

A transfer from the hospice.

Patient moved.

Two days before the recorded death.

To:

St. Gabriel Monastery.

Isabella whispered:

“That is in northern Arkansas.”

Nico looked at her.

“You know it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She touched her locket.

“Your father once talked about it.”

“When?”

“Before we married.”

Ricardo had spent time there as a young man.

Not as a monk.

As a volunteer.

Nico’s face changed.

“He might have gone there.”

Anna nodded.

“I called.”

“And?”

“They would not give patient information.”

Nico drove.

Six hours.

No one stopped him.

At St. Gabriel, an old priest met them.

Father Paul.

Eighty-two.

He looked at Nico for a long time.

“You are Ricardo’s son.”

Nico stopped.

“He was here.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Six years ago.”

“Did he die here?”

Father Paul hesitated.

Nico’s jaw tightened.

“Please.”

The priest looked at Isabella.

Then at Samuel.

Then Nico.

“No.”

Isabella grabbed the bench.

Nico whispered:

“He lived.”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Three years.”

Nico stared.

“He died three years ago?”

Father Paul shook his head.

“No.”

Silence.

Nico stepped closer.

“Is he alive?”

The priest’s eyes filled.

“Yes.”

Isabella covered her mouth.

Victoria whispered:

“Oh my God.”

Nico could not speak.

Samuel sat down.

Anna stared at the floor.

Nico finally asked:

“Where?”

Father Paul answered:

“Here.”

No one moved.

The priest continued.

“He is very ill.”

Nico’s voice broke.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know who I am?”

“He has known every day.”

That hurt more than expected.

“Then why didn’t he come back?”

Father Paul looked at Isabella.

“Because he believed she was married.”

Eleanor started crying again.

Nico looked away.

Father Paul continued.

“And because he believed Nico hated him.”

Nico turned.

“What?”

The priest brought out a box.

Letters.

Dozens.

Supposedly from Nico.

Same pattern.

YOU LEFT ME.

DO NOT CONTACT ME.

YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER.

Nico stared.

“I never wrote these.”

Father Paul nodded.

“Ricardo realized that last year.”

“How?”

“One letter referred to your engagement.”

Nico frowned.

“I wasn’t engaged last year.”

“Exactly.”

Nico looked at Eleanor.

She shook her head.

“Not me.”

Samuel picked up a letter.

The paper was recent.

Anna examined the handwriting.

Then went still.

“I know this.”

“Whose?”

She looked at Victoria.

“Your grandfather’s secretary.”

Victoria stared.

“Margaret Cole?”

Anna nodded.

“She handled Henry’s private correspondence for thirty years.”

Eleanor whispered:

“She is still alive.”

Nico asked:

“Where?”

Victoria answered.

“Connecticut.”

Father Paul spoke.

“Ricardo asked me not to tell anyone he survived.”

Nico looked at him.

“Why?”

“He wanted proof before returning.”

“What proof?”

The priest smiled sadly.

“That his son never hated him.”

Nico’s eyes filled.

“You could have called me.”

“I tried.”

“When?”

“Six months ago.”

Nico frowned.

“I never got a call.”

Father Paul looked toward Victoria.

Not accusing.

Confused.

“Your fiancée answered.”

Silence.

Nico slowly turned.

Victoria went pale.

He stared.

“You spoke to him.”

She started crying.

“Nico.”

“When?”

“Six months ago.”

“You knew my father was alive.”

“No.”

Father Paul looked surprised.

Victoria continued quickly.

“I knew a priest wanted to discuss Ricardo. I thought it was about his grave.”

Nico asked:

“What did you do?”

“I gave the number to my grandfather.”

Silence.

“Why?”

“Because I was afraid it connected to the ledgers.”

Nico closed his eyes.

Again.

Her family.

The evidence.

The relationship.

Victoria whispered:

“I never knew Ricardo was alive.”

Father Paul nodded.

“That part is true. I never told her.”

Nico opened his eyes.

“But you handed the call to the same family that lied to him.”

“Yes.”

She cried.

“I am sorry.”

Nico looked toward the monastery hallway.

Then at Father Paul.

“Take me to him.”

The priest nodded.

Isabella stood.

Nico looked at her.

She was trembling.

“You too.”

She started crying.

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And together they walked toward the room where a man had spent twenty-five years believing his family chose life without him.

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