Chapter 2 - The Dead Sunflower Garden
At 5:42 the following morning, Anthony Moretti stood behind a stone column on the eastern terrace of his estate and watched a three-year-old girl attempt to resurrect a garden that had been dead for three winters.
Emma wore her pink coat.
The cream scarf Sofia wrapped around her each morning nearly swallowed her tiny neck.
In one hand was the old metal cup.
In the other was her father’s photograph.
She stepped carefully between frozen plants.
Anthony had ordered the sunflower garden abandoned after Elena and Claire died.
Elena had planted it when Claire was born.
Every summer, hundreds of yellow flowers once faced Lake Michigan.
Claire called them her “little suns.”
After the funeral, Anthony told the gardeners to leave the entire section untouched.
No planting.
No trimming.
No removing the dead stalks.
He had never explained why.
No one asked.
Now Emma knelt among them.
She set Michael Romano’s photograph against a pale stone.
Then poured water around the base of a dead sunflower stalk.
Anthony watched.
She moved to another.
Then another.
Finally, she returned to the photograph.
“Mommy says flowers don’t grow when it’s cold.”
Emma rubbed her mitten against her nose.
“But Daddy said some things only look dead.”
Anthony’s stomach tightened.
Emma leaned closer to the picture.
“I’m trying.”
Anthony stepped from behind the column.
Snow crunched beneath his shoe.
Emma spun around.
The metal cup fell from her hand.
Water spilled across the frozen earth.
Her eyes widened.
Anthony stopped several yards away.
“You’re not in trouble.”
Emma looked toward the mansion.
“Mommy said I’m supposed to stay by the kitchen.”
“She’s right.”
Emma lowered her head.
“But you’ve been coming here every morning.”
Silence.
“Why?”
Emma picked up the cup.
“Because Daddy liked flowers.”
Anthony glanced at the photograph.
“Your father told you about this garden?”
Emma nodded.
That made no sense.
“Did he come here?”
Another nod.
“When?”
“When I was little.”
“You’re still little.”
Emma frowned seriously.
“When I was littler.”
Despite everything, Anthony almost smiled.
He approached slowly.
“Can I see the photograph?”
Emma hesitated.
Then handed it to him.
Anthony looked down.
The world seemed to stop.
Michael Romano.
He knew that face.
Not well.
But enough.
The young accountant had sat across from Anthony in his office four years earlier with spreadsheets spread across the desk.
Anthony remembered him because Michael had been nervous but stubborn.
“There are irregular transfers,” Michael had said.
Anthony had dismissed the concern.
His organization contained dozens of legitimate businesses, complicated partnerships, holding companies, real estate investments.
Accounting irregularities happened.
But Michael had insisted.
Someone was stealing.
More importantly, someone was moving money through accounts Anthony had never authorized.
Anthony looked at Emma.
“Your father worked here.”
She nodded.
“Daddy said you were scary.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow.
“But good scary.”
He almost laughed.
“What does that mean?”
Emma shrugged.
“Like thunder.”
That time, Anthony did smile.
Only briefly.
Then Emma’s expression became serious.
“Daddy said Mr. Moretti would save us if he learned the truth.”
Every trace of warmth disappeared from Anthony’s face.
“What truth?”
Emma looked down.
“I don’t know.”
“Did your father tell you anything else?”
“He told Mommy.”
Anthony crouched.
“What did he tell her?”
Emma hugged the photograph.
“Mommy cries when I ask.”
Before Anthony could respond, Sofia’s voice came from the terrace.
“Emma!”
She ran down the steps.
Fear covered her face.
Not embarrassment.
Fear.
She grabbed Emma and pulled her behind her.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Moretti.”
Anthony rose.
“She hasn’t damaged anything.”
“I told her not to come here.”
“She said her husband knew this garden.”
Sofia went pale.
Anthony saw it.
“Sofia.”
Her eyes remained fixed on Emma.
“Take Emma inside.”
She swallowed.
“Please.”
Anthony did not move.
“Did Michael work for me?”
Sofia finally looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie.”
Her jaw tightened.
Anthony recognized fear.
He had seen it thousands of times.
But Sofia was not afraid of him.
She was afraid of something else.
“Why did your husband tell Emma I would save you?”
Sofia whispered, “I don’t know.”
Another lie.
Anthony stepped closer.
“Your daughter is skipping meals.”
Sofia froze.
“She waters down milk.”
Her eyes filled instantly.
“She saves food for you.”
“Stop.”
“She thinks you’re starving.”
“Please stop.”
“She is three years old.”
“I know how old my daughter is.”
The words came sharper than Sofia intended.
She immediately looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
Anthony remained silent.
Sofia’s shoulders trembled.
“I’m doing everything I can.”
“I know.”
That answer surprised her.
Anthony continued.
“But someone took everything from you after Michael died.”
Sofia’s face changed.
“How do you know that?”
“I looked.”
“You had no right.”
“No.”
Anthony’s voice remained calm.
“But now I know.”
Sofia grabbed Emma’s hand.
“We should leave.”
“You’re not fired.”
She stopped.
“I didn’t say—”
“You thought it.”
Anthony glanced toward Emma.
“Go inside. Feed her.”
Sofia’s eyes hardened.
“Don’t use my daughter to force me to talk.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Men like you always say that.”
Anthony absorbed the insult without reacting.
Then Sofia walked away.
Emma looked back once.
Anthony remained among the dead sunflowers.
Vincent arrived twenty minutes later carrying an old file.
“I found Romano.”
Anthony opened it.
Michael Romano had uncovered financial discrepancies linked to several Moretti-controlled companies.
The investigation ended abruptly.
Date?
Three years and two months earlier.
Anthony stared at it.
That was six weeks before Elena and Claire died.
“Who closed this?”
Vincent leaned over.
“Looks like Daniel Mercer.”
Anthony’s eyes lifted.
Daniel Mercer had been Anthony’s financial adviser for twelve years.
More than that.
He had been one of Anthony’s closest friends.
After Elena died, Daniel helped restructure Anthony’s businesses.
He sat beside Anthony at the funeral.
He carried Claire’s coffin.
Anthony looked again at the file.
“Where is Michael’s final report?”
“Missing.”
“Find it.”
Vincent nodded.
Anthony turned another page.
There was a handwritten notation.
M. ROMANO REQUESTED PRIVATE MEETING WITH A. MORETTI.
The meeting had never occurred.
Anthony remembered being told Michael canceled.
Now he wondered whether that had been true.
His phone vibrated.
The estate manager.
Anthony answered.
“What?”
A pause.
Then his expression changed.
“What do you mean she’s leaving?”
He walked quickly toward the mansion.
Sofia stood near the servants’ entrance with Emma and their single suitcase.
“You’re quitting.”
Sofia looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I found another position.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Where?”
“That isn’t your concern.”
Anthony studied her.
“Someone called you.”
Sofia’s face betrayed her.
He knew.
“Who?”
“No one.”
“Who called you, Sofia?”
She pulled Emma closer.
Anthony softened his voice.
“I’m not keeping you here. You can walk out that door. But if someone frightened you because I asked questions about Michael, I need to know.”
Sofia’s eyes filled.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
She looked toward Emma.
Anthony understood.
“Because of her.”
Sofia said nothing.
Anthony crouched beside Emma.
“Would you like Mrs. Parker to make you hot chocolate?”
Emma looked at Sofia.
Sofia hesitated.
Then nodded.
Emma left with the housekeeper.
The moment the door closed, Sofia whispered, “Michael told me never to trust anyone connected to your organization.”
Anthony’s face hardened.
“Yet you came to work in my house.”
“I had no choice.”
“You chose this house specifically.”
Silence.
Anthony stepped closer.
“You were looking for something.”
Sofia began crying.
Quietly.
“Yes.”
“What?”
She looked toward the staircase.
“Michael left something here.”
Anthony felt cold.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“Then how—”
“He called me the night before he died.”
Anthony stopped.
Sofia wiped her cheek.
“He sounded terrified. He said he had discovered who ordered the bomb that killed your family.”
Anthony did not move.
For several seconds, the only sound was the wind outside.
Then he said, “My family died eleven months before Michael.”
“I know.”
“He knew who did it?”
“He said he finally had proof.”
Anthony’s voice dropped.
“Where?”
“He wouldn’t tell me on the phone.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Sofia closed her eyes, remembering.
“He said, ‘If anything happens to me, get to Moretti. Tell him the garden remembers what the house forgot.’”
Anthony looked toward the windows.
The sunflower garden.
Sofia continued.
“Michael died the next morning.”
Anthony felt his pulse pounding.
“And you waited eleven months?”
“I was scared.”
“So you took a housekeeping job here.”
“Yes.”
“To search the house.”
“Yes.”
“Did you find anything?”
“No.”
Anthony turned toward the garden.
The garden remembers what the house forgot.
Then another memory surfaced.
Claire.
Running through sunflowers.
Her tiny hands muddy.
“Daddy, Mommy let me bury treasure!”
Anthony had laughed.
“What treasure?”
“Secret treasure.”
He had forgotten about it completely.
Until now.
He looked at Sofia.
“What did Michael know about Claire?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Anthony walked toward the terrace doors.
“Where are you going?”
“To the garden.”
Sofia followed.
They reached the frozen flower beds.
Emma’s footprints remained in the snow.
Anthony stared at the stone where she always placed Michael’s photograph.
Then he saw something.
A tiny carving.
Almost hidden beneath moss.
A crooked letter C.
Claire.
Anthony dropped to one knee.
He began moving frozen soil with his hands.
Sofia stared.
“What are you doing?”
Anthony did not answer.
Several inches down, his fingers struck metal.
His breathing stopped.
Vincent arrived with a shovel.
Minutes later, they pulled a rusted yellow tin box from the earth.
Anthony recognized it immediately.
Claire’s old treasure box.
His daughter had painted blue stars across the lid.
His hands trembled as he opened it.
Inside were childhood trinkets.
A plastic bracelet.
Two seashells.
A toy horse.
And beneath them—
a sealed waterproof envelope.
It had Michael Romano’s handwriting on it.
ANTHONY MORETTI ONLY.
Sofia covered her mouth.
Anthony stared at the envelope.
Three years of grief suddenly seemed to gather around him.
Michael had hidden something in his daughter’s treasure box.
Something important enough to die for.
Anthony slid one finger beneath the seal.
And before he opened it, he knew one thing with terrifying certainty.
May you like
The explosion that killed Elena and Claire had never been the whole story.
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