Chapter 4 - The Dead Woman Who Still Owned Half the City

Marco's mother had been dead twelve years.

At least publicly.

Cancer.

Private clinic.

Closed casket.

Sera had learned enough in forty-eight hours to distrust every funeral mentioned around these people.

Marco sat at the long table.

Rafe stood near the wall.

Neither looked at her.

"Name?" Sera asked.

Marco answered.

"Elena Cavallo."

"How dead?"

Rafe frowned.

Sera looked at him.

"Body?"

"No."

"Hospital records?"

"Sealed."

"Who identified her?"

Marco said, "My father."

Sera leaned back.

"There it is."

Marco's eyes sharpened.

"Don't."

"What?"

"Make this simple."

"I haven't."

"You think everyone lies because they're criminals."

"No."

She looked at him.

"I think everyone lies because they're people."

That quieted the room.

Marco opened a drawer.

Took out an old photograph.

Elena Cavallo stood in a garden.

Dark hair.

White blouse.

One hand on Marco's shoulder.

He was maybe sixteen.

Behind them stood another boy.

Nico.

Sera looked.

"She raised both of you?"

Marco nodded.

"Nico's father died when he was eight."

"So she was his aunt."

"Yes."

Rafe said, "And the company was hers."

Marco looked at him.

Sera noticed.

"You didn't know?"

Marco's jaw tightened.

"I knew she owned shares."

Rafe continued.

"Forty-nine percent."

Silence.

Marco stared.

"Where did you hear that?"

"Nico."

"Yesterday?"

"Yes."

Sera looked between them.

"And Marco owns?"

"Fifty-one," Marco said.

"Convenient."

Rafe shook his head.

"No. Marco's father transferred Elena's shares after her death."

Sera looked at him.

"Transferred to who?"

"Nico's father’s estate."

Marco stood.

"No."

Rafe looked at him.

"I saw the filing."

"When?"

"This morning."

Marco's face hardened.

"Why?"

"I checked after Nico called."

Sera stood too.

"Show us."

The filing was twenty years old.

Not twelve.

That mattered.

Elena had transferred forty-nine percent of Cavallo Hospitality into a family trust years before her supposed death.

Beneficiary:

Nico Cavallo.

Marco read it twice.

Then a third time.

"Why did my father never tell me?"

Rafe answered quietly.

"Maybe because your mother never died."

Marco looked at him.

Rafe pulled out his phone.

One more photo.

A woman leaving a private bank in Toronto.

Two weeks old.

Older.

Gray in her hair.

Same posture.

Same face.

Elena.

Marco sat back down.

Sera watched him.

He did not speak for almost a minute.

Then:

"Who took this?"

"Nico."

"Why send it to you?"

"He wanted me to help arrange a meeting."

Marco laughed once.

"With my dead mother."

"Yes."

"Without telling me."

Rafe said nothing.

Marco turned toward Sera.

"You were right."

"About what?"

"Everyone lying."

She shook her head.

"No."

He frowned.

"Rafe told you."

"Late."

Rafe looked annoyed.

Sera continued.

"Nico told Rafe something dangerous enough to make him hide it from you. That means Nico understands how Rafe thinks."

Rafe's expression changed.

Marco listened.

"And if Nico wanted Rafe discredited?"

"He'd feed him something true," Sera said.

Silence.

Marco looked at the photo again.

"Mother being alive is true."

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"A photo is not a conversation."

Marco's mouth tightened.

Sera pointed at the background.

"Bank name."

Rafe zoomed.

"Dominion Private."

"Who banks there?"

Marco said, "Half of Toronto."

"Who in your family?"

Silence.

Then Rafe:

"Nico."

Sera looked at Marco.

"Then the photo may not be about your mother."

"What is it about?"

"Showing Rafe she exists."

"Why?"

"To move him."

Rafe crossed his arms.

"I don't move easily."

Sera looked at him.

"You hid evidence from your boss in under twelve hours."

He stared.

She continued.

"He moved you."

That landed.

Marco looked at the photo.

Then the old trust filing.

"If Nico owns forty-nine percent, why steal routes?"

"Maybe he isn't stealing from you," Sera said.

Marco looked up.

"Maybe someone is stealing from both of you."

The office door opened.

Nico stood there.

No knock.

He looked at the documents.

Then at Rafe.

"You showed him."

Rafe's face hardened.

Marco stood.

"Come in."

Nico did.

Slowly.

He looked at Marco.

"Your mother called me three weeks ago."

Marco stared.

"What did she want?"

"To warn me."

"About?"

Nico looked at Sera.

Then back at Marco.

"Her."

Silence.

Sera did not move.

Marco's eyes narrowed.

"Why would my mother know Sera?"

Nico reached into his coat.

Rafe's hand moved toward his weapon.

Nico stopped.

"Relax."

He removed a photograph.

Placed it on the table.

Sera looked down.

Her own face.

Sixteen years old.

Bruised cheek.

Short hair.

Standing outside a foster home in Indiana.

Beside her was Elena Cavallo.

Sera stopped breathing.

She had never seen the photograph before.

But she remembered the woman.

Not the name.

Just the voice.

Calm.

Italian accent.

A woman who had once told a sixteen-year-old girl:

You don't have to become what hurt you.

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Marco looked at Sera.

For the first time since meeting her, he had no idea what to say.