Chapter 4 - The Name Lorenzo Moretti
Lorenzo arrived twenty minutes later.
He came alone.
That surprised Mom.
“You could have brought an army.”
“If I brought men, your daughter would think she was surrounded.”
He looked toward me.
He remembered.
That mattered.
Mom showed him the photograph.
Lorenzo’s expression hardened.
“Michael’s copy,” he murmured.
“You know what they mean.”
“I have an idea.”
He explained that years earlier, money had disappeared from several Moretti-controlled legitimate companies. Antonio Moretti suspected someone close to him but died before proving who.
Michael Carter had been the accountant who first noticed the discrepancies.
Lorenzo had always believed Michael died because of what he knew.
“Who killed him?” I asked.
Mom snapped my name.
But Lorenzo didn’t lie to me.
“I don't know.”
“Do you think you did?”
His eyes met mine.
“No.”
“Do you expect me to believe you?”
“No. I expect you to decide based on what I do next.”
That answer stayed with me.
Lorenzo suggested we move temporarily to a secure apartment owned by one of his legitimate companies.
Mom refused.
Then a car passed Aunt Lisa’s building for the third time.
Same gray sedan.
Lorenzo looked through the blinds.
“Sarah.”
Mom saw his face.
That ended the argument.
We left through the rear entrance.
No dramatic chase followed.
No gunshots.
No screaming.
That somehow made it worse.
The danger felt patient.
At the apartment, Lorenzo had groceries delivered.
Mom confronted him.
“We are not charity.”
“I know.”
“Then stop treating us like it.”
He considered that.
“All right. Sarah, I need help auditing old business records. Legitimate records. You're good with numbers?”
Mom blinked.
“I clean houses.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Years earlier, before Dad died, Mom had studied bookkeeping.
She had abandoned school when she became a single mother.
Lorenzo offered her temporary paid work.
Mom nearly refused from pride.
Then she looked at Noah.
“I'll work for every dollar.”
“I expected you to.”
Over the next week, Mom reviewed old files.
I went to school.
Noah stayed with Aunt Lisa.
For the first time in months, the refrigerator remained full.
But Mom wasn’t just earning money.
She was searching.
One night she came home carrying an old ledger.
“Emily.”
She placed it on the table.
“Your father used to mark important numbers with blue ink.”
Inside the ledger were tiny blue circles beside several transaction codes.
Mom copied them.
When she arranged the numbers as dates, one stood out.
My birthday.
Another was our old house number.
The final sequence looked like a bank box number.
Lorenzo stared at it.
“Michael hid something.”
The next morning, Mom and Lorenzo went to a bank where Dad had once held an account.
The box still existed.
Mom had legal authority as his widow.
Inside was a small flash drive, several documents, and a sealed letter.
The envelope said:
SARAH — IF YOU EVER NEED THE TRUTH.
Mom's hands trembled.
She opened it.
Dad had written that he had discovered the person stealing from the Moretti businesses.
He had copied everything.
He had also written one name.
Mom read it.
Lorenzo went completely still.
“That's impossible.”
“What?” I asked.
He took the letter.
The name belonged to a man who had worked beside Lorenzo for more than twenty years.
A man Lorenzo trusted.
A man who knew where we were staying.
Vincent Russo.
Lorenzo’s driver.
May you like
And downstairs, at that exact moment, Vincent was waiting beside the black sedan.
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