Chapter 3 - CLAIRE’S LAST SECRETAmelia did not sleep.
At four in the morning, she sat upright in the hospital bed while Chicago glowed beyond the window.
Her entire life was rearranging itself.
Her mother had a family.
Her uncle had spent years searching for her.
Raymond had been watching her long before their supposed first meeting.
And somewhere inside those facts was the reason Claire Hayes had spent her entire adult life running.
At 4:17 a.m., Dominic returned with coffee.
He held up both cups.
“I didn’t know how you take it.”
“Black.”
“So did Claire.”
Amelia accepted one.
For several minutes neither spoke.
Then Amelia asked, “Did my mother ever tell you who killed Vincent?”
“No.”
“But you said she knew.”
“I said I believe she knew.”
“Why?”
Dominic sat.
“Because three days after Vincent died, Claire called me.”
“What did she say?”
Dominic's eyes focused somewhere far away.
“She was crying. She said Vincent had shown her something before he was killed. She told me I needed to leave Chicago.”
“What something?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
“And you ignored her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was twenty-eight and angry. I believed whoever killed my brother should be afraid of me, not the other way around.”
Amelia studied him.
“Were you dangerous?”
Dominic almost smiled.
“Depends who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
“I did things I’m not proud of.”
“What kind of things?”
“I enforced debts. Broke up strikes that threatened contracts. Used intimidation when negotiation failed.”
“So the rumors aren't completely invented.”
“No.”
Amelia appreciated the answer.
Dominic continued.
“But I never murdered my brother.”
“Why did people believe you did?”
“Because Vincent and I fought publicly the night before his death.”
“About what?”
“Our father.”
Dominic explained that their father, Salvatore Moretti, had been dying from cancer. Vincent wanted to sell several businesses and leave Chicago. Dominic wanted to preserve the company.
Their argument became physical.
Witnesses remembered Dominic shouting, “You’ll destroy this family before I let you destroy the company.”
The next morning Vincent was dead.
“It looked terrible,” Dominic said.
“Did the police investigate anyone else?”
“A few people.”
“Who?”
Dominic took out a notebook.
“Business partners. Employees. Competitors.”
“And?”
“One name kept appearing.”
He wrote it.
EDWARD VALE.
Amelia read it twice.
“Who is Edward Vale?”
“Back then? An accountant.”
“And now?”
“The chairman of Vale Capital.”
Amelia knew that name.
Everyone did.
Vale Capital financed luxury developments throughout the Midwest.
Edward Vale appeared at charity events, universities, hospitals.
His face belonged on magazine covers.
Dominic continued.
“He handled several Moretti accounts when Vincent discovered the missing money.”
“Then why wasn’t he arrested?”
“Because his records were perfect.”
“Too perfect?”
“Exactly.”
Amelia remembered something.
“Raymond worked in finance.”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“I had someone investigate him after tonight.”
“You already investigated him?”
“I have efficient employees.”
“What did you find?”
“Raymond worked for a subsidiary of Vale Capital before meeting you.”
Amelia's fingers tightened around the coffee.
Everything connected.
Her mother.
Vincent.
Dominic.
Raymond.
Edward Vale.
“But why me?”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Because Claire took something when she left Chicago.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve had twenty-four years.”
“I know.”
“That's not very reassuring.”
“No.”
A nurse entered and reminded Amelia she needed rest.
She waited until the nurse left.
“Where did my mother go immediately after leaving Chicago?”
Dominic frowned.
“Milwaukee first.”
“After that?”
“Different cities.”
“Did she ever go to Iowa?”
Dominic froze.
“Why?”
Amelia felt suddenly alert.
“When I was little, Mom used to talk about Iowa.”
“What did she say?”
“Almost nothing. But every year, on my birthday, we received a card.”
“From whom?”
“I thought some distant friend.”
“Do you remember the name?”
“Aunt Ruth.”
Dominic stood so quickly his chair scraped the floor.
“What?”
“Dominic?”
“Claire had a friend named Ruth Callahan.”
“From Iowa?”
“Yes.”
Amelia stared at him.
“Is she alive?”
Dominic pulled out his phone.
“I don’t know.”
By sunrise, they had an address.
Ruth Callahan, seventy-one, Cedar Falls, Iowa.
Dominic insisted Amelia remain in Chicago.
Amelia refused.
“You’ve been involved for twelve hours.”
“I’ve been involved for thirty years. I just didn’t know it.”
The doctor wanted her observed until afternoon anyway.
By five that evening, Amelia was discharged.
Dominic arranged a vehicle and driver.
Detective Alvarez strongly advised against leaving the city.
Amelia promised to remain available.
She and Dominic reached Cedar Falls shortly before midnight.
Ruth Callahan lived in a modest blue house at the end of a quiet street.
Lights were on.
Dominic approached first.
He knocked.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Amelia noticed the door was slightly open.
“Dominic.”
He saw it.
“Stay behind me.”
They entered.
The living room was empty.
A lamp burned beside a chair.
A cup of tea sat on the table.
Still warm.
“Ruth?” Dominic called.
No response.
They searched the downstairs.
Nothing.
Then Amelia heard movement upstairs.
Dominic raised one hand, signaling her to remain back.
He climbed slowly.
Amelia ignored the instruction and followed.
At the end of the upstairs hallway, a bedroom door stood open.
An elderly woman sat on the floor beside her bed.
Her hands were tied.
Tape covered her mouth.
Amelia rushed forward.
Dominic stopped her.
“Wait.”
He checked the room.
Empty.
They freed Ruth.
The woman gasped.
“Oh, thank God.”
Amelia knelt beside her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Who did this?”
Ruth looked at Dominic.
She recognized him immediately.
“Dominic Moretti.”
He crouched.
“Ruth.”
Her eyes moved to Amelia.
Tears appeared.
“You look exactly like Claire.”
Amelia’s throat tightened.
“You knew my mother.”
“I loved your mother.”
“Why were you tied up?”
Ruth began shaking.
“A man came tonight.”
“What man?”
“He wanted the key.”
Dominic looked at Amelia.
“What key?”
Ruth pointed toward an old framed photograph on the dresser.
Dominic removed it.
Behind the photograph was a small brass key taped to the backing.
Ruth started crying.
“I told Claire I would never give it to anyone.”
Amelia took the key.
“What does it open?”
Ruth looked at her.
“A train station locker.”
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
Dominic inhaled sharply.
Ruth continued.
“Your mother put something there twenty-four years ago.”
“Why didn’t she retrieve it?”
“She was afraid.”
“Of Edward Vale?”
Ruth’s expression answered before her words did.
“Yes.”
Dominic stood.
Amelia asked the question that had followed her across two states.
“What did my mother hide?”
Ruth wiped her face.
“A ledger.”
Dominic went completely still.
“What kind of ledger?”
“The one Vincent Moretti gave Claire two nights before he died.”
Amelia could hear her heartbeat.
Ruth looked directly at Dominic.
“Vincent discovered that Edward Vale wasn’t just stealing money.”
“What was he doing?”
“He was laundering it through Moretti companies.”
“For whom?”
Ruth shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“What else?”
Ruth looked frightened again.
“The ledger contained names. Judges. Police officers. Contractors. Politicians. People Vale was paying.”
Dominic cursed under his breath.
Amelia stared at the brass key.
Twenty-four years.
People had lied.
Killed.
Watched her.
Controlled her.
All because of something hidden inside a train station locker.
Then Ruth said something worse.
“Claire told me never to give you that key unless she died.”
Amelia frowned.
“My mother died fourteen years ago.”
Ruth nodded.
“So why didn’t you contact me?”
“Because someone called me the day after her funeral.”
“Who?”
“A man.”
“What did he say?”
Ruth swallowed.
“He said they had Amelia.”
The room went silent.
“I was seventeen,” Amelia whispered.
“Yes.”
“They threatened me?”
Ruth nodded.
“They knew your foster home address.”
Dominic looked murderous.
Ruth continued.
“They told me if the key ever left this house, you would die.”
Amelia slowly looked down at the tiny piece of brass in her palm.
The threat had worked for fourteen years.
Until tonight.
Dominic stared toward the dark window.
“Vale knows we’re coming.”
Amelia closed her fingers around the key.
“Good.”
Dominic turned.
For the first time, Amelia saw something of her mother in herself reflected through his expression.
Determination.
Anger.
Defiance.
May you like
“He spent my whole life making everyone afraid to open that locker,” she said.
“So tomorrow, we open it.”
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