Chapter 3 - The Woman Rebecca Buried

Rebecca arrived at the hotel thirty-two minutes later.

Not alone.

Her father came with her.

Victor Vaughn was sixty-eight.

Silver hair.

Black tuxedo.

He looked tired now.

Older than he had at the gala.

Rebecca entered first.

She had removed her diamond earrings.

Her eyes were red.

She saw Isabella.

Stopped.

Then whispered:

“You came back.”

Isabella looked at her.

“You knew I would.”

Victor stepped inside.

His face changed when he saw the recorder.

“Where did you get that?”

Matteo answered:

“My mother kept better records than your family expected.”

Victor looked at him.

“Matteo, this is complicated.”

“Eighteen years is a long time to use that sentence.”

Rebecca said:

“Please.”

Matteo turned to her.

“You knew my mother was alive.”

“Yes.”

“You knew my father was alive.”

Rebecca looked down.

“Yes.”

“You stood beside me at both funerals.”

She began crying.

“I know.”

Matteo did not raise his voice.

That made it worse.

“Sit.”

Rebecca sat.

Victor remained standing.

Isabella pressed play.

The recorder clicked.

Victor’s younger voice came first.

“We should go to the police.”

Then Rebecca’s mother.

Elena Vaughn.

“No.”

“Anthony is dead.”

“He was alive when I left.”

“He was bleeding.”

“He was alive.”

Then Victor:

“What did you do?”

Elena’s voice shook.

“I hit him.”

“With what?”

“The fireplace iron.”

Silence on the recording.

Then Elena said:

“He was holding Isabella down.”

Matteo looked at his mother.

Isabella’s hands trembled.

The recording continued.

Victor:

“Where is Carlo?”

Elena:

“Outside with Isabella.”

Victor:

“And Anthony?”

A long pause.

Then:

“In the study.”

Victor:

“Alive?”

Elena:

“Yes.”

Another voice entered the recording.

Male.

Weak.

Angry.

Anthony.

“Victor.”

Everyone in the hotel room froze.

The recording continued.

Anthony said:

“You always choose cowards.”

Victor:

“Sit down.”

Anthony laughed.

Then a crash.

Then Elena screamed.

The recording ended.

Matteo stared at Victor.

“What happened after that?”

Victor looked at the floor.

Rebecca stood.

“Dad?”

He did not answer.

“Dad.”

Victor finally said:

“Anthony attacked me.”

Matteo’s voice was quiet.

“And?”

“I pushed him.”

“Where?”

“Near the staircase.”

“And?”

Victor looked at Isabella.

“He fell.”

Rebecca covered her mouth.

Matteo asked:

“Did he die?”

Victor shook his head.

“Not immediately.”

Mr. Lawson stepped forward.

“You told police you had not seen your brother in months.”

Victor nodded.

“I lied.”

“Why?”

“Because Elena was there.”

Rebecca stared at him.

“My mother.”

“Yes.”

“You told me she died in a car crash.”

Victor’s eyes filled.

“She did not.”

Rebecca stepped backward.

“Where is she?”

Victor looked at Isabella.

Isabella answered:

“Quebec.”

Rebecca stared.

“You’ve seen her?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Last winter.”

Rebecca laughed once.

Then started crying.

“You all knew.”

No one answered.

She turned to Matteo.

“I didn’t know this.”

Matteo looked at her.

“Did you know she was alive?”

Rebecca hesitated.

That was enough.

Matteo’s expression changed.

“You did.”

“I learned three years ago.”

“Three years.”

“My father told me she left because she was sick.”

Victor whispered:

“She was sick.”

Isabella shook her head.

“No.”

Victor looked at her.

“She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat.”

“That is not why she left.”

Rebecca wiped her face.

“Then why?”

Isabella said:

“Because Anthony did not die at the bottom of that staircase.”

Victor went still.

Matteo looked at him.

“What?”

Isabella continued.

“When Carlo and I left, Anthony was alive.”

“Victor said that.”

“Yes.”

“But the next morning, the house was empty.”

Victor stared at her.

“No.”

Isabella looked at him.

“You never told them?”

“Tell us what?”

Matteo asked.

Isabella looked at Rebecca.

“Your mother returned to the house.”

Rebecca’s face lost its color.

“Why?”

“To finish something.”

Victor whispered:

“No.”

“She told me herself.”

“When?”

“Last year.”

Victor grabbed the back of a chair.

Isabella continued.

“Elena said Anthony was gone when she arrived.”

Matteo frowned.

“Gone where?”

“No one knew.”

Rebecca looked at her father.

“You buried an empty story.”

Victor sat down.

For the first time, he looked afraid.

Matteo said:

“Anthony survived.”

Isabella nodded.

“And he vanished on his own?”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

She reached for the suitcase again.

This time she removed a folded newspaper clipping.

The date was sixteen years ago.

Two years after Isabella vanished.

A grainy photograph showed a man leaving a courthouse in Marseille.

Beard.

Sunglasses.

Older.

But unmistakable.

Anthony Vaughn.

Rebecca stared.

“My uncle was alive.”

“Yes.”

Matteo looked at Isabella.

“Then why did he never come back?”

Isabella answered:

“Because someone paid him not to.”

“Who?”

She looked at Victor.

Victor shook his head.

“It wasn’t me.”

Isabella said:

“I know.”

Matteo waited.

“Then who?”

Mr. Lawson answered.

“Carlo Rinaldi.”

Matteo turned slowly toward him.

“My father paid Anthony to disappear?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Mr. Lawson looked at Isabella.

She said:

“Because your father believed money could solve what fear had started.”

Matteo’s voice became cold.

“How much?”

“Ten million dollars.”

Rebecca stared.

“From where?”

Mr. Lawson answered:

“Anthony’s own companies.”

Matteo frowned.

“How?”

The lawyer took out another document.

“A transfer authorization.”

Matteo read the signature.

Then looked up.

“That isn’t Anthony’s signature.”

“No.”

“Whose is it?”

Mr. Lawson said:

“Your mother’s.”

Matteo looked at Isabella.

She did not look away.

“I signed it.”

“Why?”

“To make him leave us alone.”

Matteo lowered the paper.

“And did he?”

Isabella’s face changed.

“For sixteen years.”

“Until?”

A phone rang.

Not Matteo’s.

Not Rebecca’s.

Victor’s.

He looked at the screen.

His hand began to shake.

Matteo noticed.

“Who is it?”

Victor did not answer.

The phone stopped.

Then a message appeared.

Victor read it.

He sat very still.

Rebecca stepped closer.

“What does it say?”

Victor turned the screen toward them.

One sentence.

YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT ISABELLA BURIED.

Matteo looked at the number.

Unknown.

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