Chapter 9 - What Was Really Buried Seventeen Years Ago

Victor survived.

He talked after three days.

Not because he regretted anything.

Because the government showed him Elise’s recording.

Marco’s tapes.

Henri’s accounts.

And the ledger.

He understood the mathematics.

Silence no longer bought him enough.

Marco’s remains were exhumed.

Digitalis.

Confirmed.

Victor had poisoned him.

Elise’s medical records showed the same substance in smaller amounts twelve years earlier.

She survived because Henri reached her before the dose finished its work.

Henri had saved her.

Then lied to Celeste.

Both things were true.

Nicolas struggled with truths like that.

They did not fit neatly.

Diana came back to the Moretti house.

Not permanently.

Not yet.

She walked through rooms she had not seen in seventeen years.

Stopped in Nicolas’s childhood bedroom.

His old baseball glove remained on a shelf.

She touched it.

“You kept this?”

Nicolas stood in the doorway.

“My father did.”

Diana nodded.

She looked at a photograph of Marco.

“I hated him.”

Nicolas did not answer.

“For years.”

She touched the frame.

“I thought he chose the business over me.”

“He chose badly.”

“Yes.”

“He also tried to save you.”

“Yes.”

Both things were true.

That became a phrase in the house.

Celeste moved out of Henri’s estate.

She rented an apartment downtown.

She visited Elise every day.

Sometimes Henri came.

Sometimes Elise let him in.

Sometimes she did not.

He waited outside when she did not.

For the first time in his life, Henri learned that waiting was not the same as controlling.

Edwin reopened his flower shop.

Business tripled after the scandal.

He hated that.

“People buy roses because they heard about the empty funeral.”

I smiled.

“You could raise prices.”

He stared at me.

“Grace.”

“What?”

“I am seventy-nine, not immoral.”

Nicolas laughed when I told him.

It was the first easy laugh I heard from him in weeks.

Then came the final discovery.

One letter.

Hidden inside Marco’s ledger.

Addressed to Diana.

Never sent.

Nicolas found it late one night.

He called her.

She came immediately.

They sat in the library.

I brought tea.

Then tried to leave.

Diana stopped me.

“Stay.”

Nicolas opened the letter.

Diana,

If this works, you will hate me.

If it fails, you may die.

I am choosing your anger.

Diana covered her mouth.

Nicolas continued.

Victor believes you took the ledger.

Henri will help stage your death.

I will keep Nico with me because moving both of you makes you easier to track.

Diana started crying.

Marco’s letter continued.

I know what this costs you.

I know what it costs him.

I also know Victor has already placed men near his school.

Nicolas stared at the page.

That explained her funeral.

Not completely.

But enough.

Then the final lines.

When Victor is gone, I will bring you home.

If I die first, tell Nico I was trying to become a man worthy of the father he thought I already was.

Diana sobbed.

Nicolas folded the letter.

He sat beside her.

For a moment, they said nothing.

Then Diana whispered:

“He never got to become that man.”

Nicolas looked at Marco’s photograph.

“Maybe trying mattered.”

Diana looked at him.

“It does.”

The next morning, Nicolas visited Marco’s grave.

Diana came.

So did Edwin.

I stayed several steps away.

There were no white roses.

Nicolas brought red ones.

The flowers Diana actually loved.

He placed them beside the stone.

Then looked at his mother.

“Why red?”

She smiled.

“Because white roses were your father’s favorite.”

Nicolas laughed.

“All these years everyone thought they were yours.”

“No.”

She looked at the flowers.

“The funeral flowers were his choice.”

Nicolas stared.

“Even his own fake funeral?”

Diana smiled through tears.

“Yes.”

A strange silence passed between them.

Then Nicolas looked at the grave.

“You made everything complicated, Dad.”

Diana answered:

“He had help.”

Nicolas smiled.

Then his phone rang.

Celeste.

He stared at the screen.

Diana noticed.

“You should answer.”

He looked at her.

“Why?”

“Because choosing for yourself also means deciding when not to hide.”

Nicolas answered.

“Hello.”

Celeste’s voice was quiet.

“Can we talk?”

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He looked at the red roses.

“Yes.”