Chapter 4 - THE MUSIC BOX MY FATHER LEFT BEHINDBy midnight, my entire world had become a list of things I no longer understood.
My father hadn't died the way I'd been told.
Luca Moretti had hired me because he knew my name.
His fiancée had been meeting with a man responsible for two murders.
And the little wooden music box I had treasured since childhood was apparently valuable enough to make armed men invade one of the most heavily guarded houses in Chicago.
I sat in the back seat of Luca's armored SUV, pressing a cold compress against my swollen cheek.
Rain streaked the windows.
The city lights blurred into long ribbons of gold and red.
Beside me, Luca spoke quietly into his phone.
"Two officers outside the building. No uniforms until we know who's compromised."
He listened.
"Yes, Detective. I understand."
A pause.
"No one touches the box until you arrive."
He ended the call.
I stared at him.
"Are you taking me to my mother's apartment?"
"Yes."
"My mother doesn't know anything about this."
"Then we'll keep it that way until we can explain what's happening safely."
I shook my head.
"You don't understand. She has a heart condition. If men with guns show up outside her apartment, she'll panic."
Luca studied me.
"You're right."
The admission surprised me.
He leaned forward and spoke to the driver.
"Stop two blocks away."
Then he turned back.
"We'll approach quietly. Detective Price is already coordinating with a small team she trusts."
I looked at his hands.
He wore an expensive watch.
His knuckles were scarred.
The same hands that had commanded an entire room of powerful people now rested loosely on his knees.
"Why didn't you tell me about my father?" I asked.
His expression changed.
"I wanted to."
"That's not an answer."
"No."
He looked toward the rain.
"It isn't."
I waited.
Finally, he said, "After the warehouse fire, Victor disappeared. The police believed he died overseas. I spent years trying to uncover who helped him. When I learned Thomas Hayes had children, I wanted to make sure his family was safe."
"So you tracked us?"
"Initially, yes."
I felt sick.
"For eleven years?"
"Not constantly. I received occasional updates through an investigator."
"That's disturbing."
"I know."
He didn't attempt to defend himself.
That made it harder to stay angry.
"Why hire me?"
"Your mother was facing eviction. Your brother had applied to college. You'd been working sixty-hour weeks."
I looked away.
"So you decided to rescue us."
"No. I decided to offer you work you were capable of doing."
"Without telling me who you were."
"Without making you feel obligated to accept charity from a stranger."
I rubbed my forehead.
"You could have told me the truth."
"Yes."
"Instead, you lied for nine months."
He was silent.
Then he said, "I'm sorry, Olivia."
The words were simple.
No excuses.
No demand that I forgive him.
I wasn't ready to.
But I believed he meant them.
We arrived near my mother's apartment shortly after midnight.
The building stood on a quiet street lined with aging brick houses and maple trees.
It wasn't fancy.
The elevator broke twice a month.
The laundry room smelled like damp concrete.
And the woman in apartment 3B still complained whenever my brother played music too loudly.
But it was home.
As we approached the entrance, Luca stopped.
"Do you see that?"
I followed his gaze.
A black sedan was parked across the street.
Its windows were tinted.
The engine was running.
My stomach tightened.
"Is that one of your security cars?"
"No."
He gently moved me behind a parked vehicle.
"Stay here."
Before I could protest, a second SUV turned the corner.
Two plainclothes officers stepped out.
A tall woman with dark skin and closely cropped hair approached us.
"Detective Eleanor Price," she said.
I recognized her name from the news.
She had led several major organized-crime investigations and had a reputation for refusing favors from wealthy suspects.
Her gaze moved to my bruised face.
"Olivia Hayes?"
I nodded.
"I'm sorry about what happened tonight."
She looked toward Luca.
"We have officers covering the rear entrance."
"What about the sedan?" he asked.
"We're checking it."
Eleanor turned back to me.
"Before we go upstairs, I need to ask something. Has anyone contacted your family today?"
"My mother called this morning."
"Anyone unusual?"
I thought carefully.
"My brother texted around five."
"What did he say?"
I pulled out my phone.
Noah's last message appeared on the screen.
Some guy came to campus asking about Dad. Weird, right? Call me when you can.
My blood ran cold.
I showed Eleanor.
She read it.
Then looked at Luca.
"Does your brother live on campus?"
"Yes. Northwestern. He's twenty."
Eleanor immediately called another officer.
"Get someone to check on Noah Hayes. Quietly. Confirm his location."
I felt a terrible pressure in my chest.
"They know about Noah."
Luca's face hardened.
"Victor knows everything about your family."
I stared at him.
"Then why didn't you warn us?"
He had no answer.
Eleanor stepped between us.
"Right now, assigning blame won't keep anyone safe. We need the box."
We entered the building through the rear stairwell.
By the time we reached the third floor, my hands were shaking.
I unlocked my mother's apartment.
The smell of cinnamon tea greeted me.
A small lamp glowed beside the couch.
My mother, Margaret Hayes, stood in the hallway wearing a faded blue robe.
"Olivia?"
Then she saw my face.
Her expression collapsed.
"Oh, sweetheart."
She hurried forward.
"What happened to you?"
"I'm okay, Mom."
"You're bleeding!"
"Not anymore."
She reached toward my cheek, then stopped, afraid to hurt me.
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Who did this?"
I glanced toward Luca.
My mother followed my gaze.
And suddenly froze.
"Alessandro?"
The name escaped her lips in a whisper.
Luca went still.
"Mrs. Hayes?"
She stared at him.
Then shook her head.
"No. Of course not. You're too young."
Luca stepped forward.
"I'm Luca Moretti."
Her face turned white.
"Alessandro's son."
"Yes."
My mother clutched the edge of the doorway.
"Why are you here?"
Eleanor quickly introduced herself.
"Mrs. Hayes, we're investigating an old case involving your husband."
My mother's hands began trembling.
"Thomas?"
I moved closer.
"Mom, there's something we need to ask you."
She barely seemed to hear me.
Her eyes remained fixed on Luca.
"You have your father's eyes," she whispered.
Luca said nothing.
Then my mother looked at the detective.
"After eleven years, someone finally wants to talk about what happened?"
Eleanor's attention sharpened.
"What do you mean?"
Mom laughed bitterly.
"Nobody cared when I told them Thomas was frightened before he disappeared."
My heart stopped.
"Mom?"
She looked at me.
"Your father came home two nights before the fire. He said people at work were doing terrible things. He said he'd seen papers that could put powerful men in prison."
"Why didn't you tell us?"
"You were seventeen, Olivia. Noah was nine. What was I supposed to do? Frighten you both?"
I swallowed.
"What else did he say?"
My mother lowered herself onto the couch.
"He said if anything happened, I should trust the music."
Luca and I exchanged a look.
"The music box," he said.
She nodded.
"Thomas gave it to Olivia the morning he disappeared."
I remembered that morning perfectly.
Dad had been wearing his old green work jacket.
He'd handed me the little walnut box wrapped in newspaper.
"Happy early birthday, pumpkin."
My birthday was still three weeks away.
I'd laughed and asked why he was giving me a present so soon.
He'd kissed my forehead.
"Because some things are too important to wait for."
For eleven years, I'd believed he was simply being sentimental.
Now I understood that he might have known he was in danger.
"Where's the box?" Eleanor asked.
My mother pointed toward her bedroom.
"On the dresser."
I rushed inside.
The room smelled of lavender.
Family photographs covered the walls.
Dad's old watch sat beside Mom's reading glasses.
And there, beneath a framed photograph of our family at Navy Pier, stood the little wooden music box.
I lifted it carefully.
Its surface was smooth from years of handling.
A tiny brass moon decorated the lid.
I opened it.
The familiar melody began.
Moon River.
My father's favorite song.
My throat tightened.
"I don't understand," I whispered. "I've looked inside this thing hundreds of times."
Luca approached.
"May I?"
I hesitated.
Then handed it over.
He examined the lid.
The hinges.
The small brass key.
Finally, he turned the box upside down.
There was a tiny inscription carved into the wood.
The river always keeps its promises.
He traced the words with his thumb.
"Your father told me that before he saved my life."
Mom began crying.
Eleanor took out a pair of gloves.
"Let's examine it carefully."
Luca placed the box on the dining table.
He wound the brass key.
The melody played.
Then stopped.
He wound it again.
Nothing unusual happened.
Eleanor frowned.
"Maybe there's a false bottom."
I shook my head.
"I checked when I was little. I thought Dad might have hidden candy in there."
Luca smiled faintly.
For one brief second, the tension softened.
Then my mother spoke.
"Thomas always told Olivia not to play the last note."
We all looked at her.
"What?" I asked.
She wiped her eyes.
"He used to say, 'When the river stops singing, turn back before the last note.'"
Luca stared at the box.
"Turn back."
He gently rotated the winding key in the opposite direction.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
A tiny click sounded.
The bottom panel shifted.
I gasped.
Luca lifted it.
Inside was a narrow hidden compartment.
And resting within it was a small brass key attached to a folded piece of paper.
My hands began shaking.
Eleanor carefully removed the paper.
She unfolded it.
My father's handwriting covered one side.
Only seven words.
Olivia, forgive me for what comes next.
Below the message was a number.
417.
Eleanor looked at Luca.
"Storage unit?"
"Maybe."
But I knew that number.
I'd known it since childhood.
"Dad's old apartment," I whispered.
Luca turned.
"What?"
"Before he married Mom, he lived in a building on West Jackson Boulevard. Apartment 417."
My mother nodded slowly.
"He kept the lease for years after we moved. Said he used it for storage."
Eleanor's phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Then her expression changed.
"Are you certain?"
A pause.
"Send me the photograph."
She ended the call.
I felt dread settle in my stomach.
"What happened?"
Eleanor looked at me.
"We found your brother."
Relief surged through me.
"Is he okay?"
She hesitated.
"He's alive."
Those two words destroyed the relief instantly.
"What do you mean?"
She turned her phone toward me.
A photograph filled the screen.
Noah sat in a chair inside what looked like an abandoned office.
His wrists were tied.
There was tape across his mouth.
And someone had placed a handwritten sign against his chest.
Bring the key.
I couldn't breathe.
Below the photograph was a message.
Midnight tomorrow. Mercer Terminal. Come alone, Olivia.
Luca took one look at the picture.
Then he said something that made the room go silent.
"Victor doesn't want the ledger anymore."
Eleanor looked at him.
"What does he want?"
May you like
Luca stared at me.
"He wants Thomas Hayes's daughter."
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