Chapter 4 - THE FUNERAL I NEVER QUESTIONED
I had spent most of my adult life believing paranoia kept men alive.
That afternoon, I learned grief can make even paranoid men stupid.
Eight years earlier, when Nicholas “died,” I had questioned everything except the people comforting me.
Victor arranged the identification.
Victor handled the police liaison.
Victor negotiated with the funeral home.
Victor insisted I should not see the body.
“Remember him alive,” he had said.
I accepted that because I wanted to.
Now I sat in the rear of an armored SUV with Nicholas’s letter open across my knees while Milwaukee passed outside the dark glass.
Hannah sat opposite me.
She had refused to remain behind.
Again.
Gabriel drove.
I called estate security.
“Where’s Victor?”
“In the west sitting room.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Who admitted him?”
“Marco.”
Of course.
Marco DeLuca had served as one of my senior captains for six years.
Victor recommended him.
Do not trust anyone Victor placed near you.
Nicholas’s words burned.
“Keep Victor in the sitting room.”
A pause.
“Boss?”
“No one tells him we’re coming.”
“Yes, sir.”
I called Marco next.
He answered immediately.
“Andrew.”
“Victor there?”
“Yeah. Said he heard about the kids.”
“From who?”
A small pause.
“People talk.”
People did.
Still, I heard the pause.
“Tell him I’m twenty minutes away.”
“Sure.”
I ended the call.
Hannah watched me.
“You think Marco is involved.”
“I think I don’t know.”
“That frightens you more.”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
She nodded.
At least someone understood.
We did not enter through the main gate.
Gabriel drove to a service property two blocks east.
An underground access route connected to the estate’s old carriage structure.
Bootleggers built it during Prohibition.
My grandfather modernized it.
Some family traditions were stranger than others.
Before going inside, I looked at Hannah.
“You stay with Gabriel.”
“No.”
“Hannah.”
“You told me not to let you decide what I can handle.”
“I am allowed to evolve.”
“Not this quickly.”
Despite everything, I nearly smiled.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I know.”
Her expression softened.
“Andrew, that man may have taken seven years of my husband’s life from me before I even met him.”
“He also may be dangerous.”
“So are you.”
Fair.
“But I know you.”
The words hit harder than expected.
She knew me.
Not completely.
Perhaps nobody did.
But enough to walk into danger beside me.
We entered through the east corridor.
Two guards met us.
Men I had personally hired.
I trusted them.
At least I thought I did.
That was becoming a dangerous sentence.
Victor sat beside the fireplace drinking my bourbon.
He was seventy-one.
Silver hair.
Perfect dark suit.
The relaxed posture of a man who had spent half a century walking into rooms where other people became nervous.
He smiled when I entered.
“There he is.”
Then he saw Hannah.
His smile faltered for perhaps half a second.
Enough.
“Hannah Carter,” he said.
She stopped.
“You know me.”
Victor recovered.
“Milwaukee has been talking.”
“No,” Hannah said. “You knew before Milwaukee started talking.”
He looked at me.
I closed the doors.
Victor slowly set down his glass.
“Something happened.”
“Yes.”
“Child services?”
“No.”
“The newspapers?”
“Not yet.”
He smiled faintly.
“Then why do you look like you’re deciding where to bury me?”
Hannah inhaled sharply.
I remained still.
“Tell me about Nicholas.”
Victor’s face did not move.
That impressed me.
“What about him?”
“My brother.”
“I know who Nicholas was.”
“Was?”
Silence.
Then Victor leaned back.
“Andrew, if this is grief—”
I placed the recent photograph on the table.
His eyes dropped.
Everything changed.
Not dramatically.
Victor had survived too many dangerous rooms to gasp.
But his right hand stopped moving.
He had been rotating his ring.
A habit.
Now he froze.
Hannah saw it too.
“When was that taken?” he asked.
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know.”
I placed another photograph beside it.
Nicholas at twenty-five.
Victor stared.
“Where did you get the first one?”
“Child services.”
His eyebrows rose.
“That seems unusual.”
“An anonymous envelope.”
Victor looked at Hannah.
“Is Nicholas alive?”
He performed the question well.
Almost perfectly.
But he made one mistake.
He looked at Hannah before asking.
Not me.
He wanted to see whether she knew.
I noticed.
“Why did you arrange an empty coffin?”
Victor’s eyes returned to mine.
“What?”
“We opened the grave.”
That broke something.
Only slightly.
He recovered.
“Andrew.”
“No body.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Steel weights.”
His face tightened.
“Animal remains.”
“Who authorized excavation?”
I almost laughed.
“That’s your question?”
“I’m trying to understand what you’ve done.”
“I’m trying to understand what you did.”
Victor stood.
My guards moved subtly.
He noticed.
“All right.”
He spread his hands.
“This is becoming theatrical.”
“Sit down.”
His eyes narrowed.
For decades, almost nobody had ordered Victor Salerno to sit.
He did.
Slowly.
I placed Nicholas’s letter on the table but kept one hand over most of it.
“Why did Nicholas believe I ordered the warehouse hit?”
Victor’s eyes flickered toward the paper.
There.
He knew Nicholas had written something.
“I can’t answer for a dead man.”
“Try.”
“Andrew, Nicholas was unstable before the explosion.”
Hannah stiffened.
I looked at her.
She was furious.
Victor continued.
“He had become suspicious.”
“Of me?”
“Everyone.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Victor exhaled.
“He believed you were pushing him out.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell him I was?”
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“He wrote that you tried to kill both of us.”
Silence.
Victor looked at me.
Then something unexpected happened.
He laughed.
Not loudly.
Not because it was funny.
Because he had decided denial was more useful if it looked offended.
“Nicholas always had imagination.”
Hannah stepped forward.
“My husband was alive.”
Victor looked at her.
“Apparently.”
“For seven years.”
“So you say.”
“He gave me three children.”
Victor’s gaze moved toward the ceiling.
Toward the family wing.
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“Do not look toward my niece and nephews.”
He turned back.
“Niece and nephews?”
“Yes.”
His face became thoughtful.
Too thoughtful.
“Interesting.”
I stood.
“Leave.”
“Andrew.”
“Now.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Probably.”
I walked to the door.
“But I’d rather make it without you drinking my bourbon.”
Victor stood.
He straightened his jacket.
At the door he stopped beside me.
“You know what grief did to you when Nicholas died.”
I said nothing.
“Be careful you don’t let hope do the same thing.”
Then he looked toward Hannah.
“People who live under false names usually have reasons.”
She stared back.
“So do people who bury empty coffins.”
Victor’s mouth tightened.
I almost applauded.
He left.
We watched his car disappear through the gate.
Then Gabriel spoke.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
Hannah turned toward me.
“How can you be sure?”
“He never asked whether the photograph was fake.”
She considered that.
“He immediately accepted Nicholas could be alive.”
“Yes.”
My phone vibrated.
An encrypted message from estate surveillance.
VICTOR CALLED MARCO BEFORE REACHING GATE.
We had mirrored Victor’s outgoing cellular metadata after he entered.
Not content.
Just numbers.
Marco.
Again.
“Bring Marco to the office,” I told Gabriel.
He hesitated.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Marco arrived six minutes later.
He walked in smiling.
“What’s going on?”
I looked at him.
He had eaten at my table.
Held my mother’s coffin.
Played cards with Gabriel.
Once donated blood after one of our drivers was injured.
Trust makes betrayal difficult because the traitor rarely looks different afterward.
“Victor called you.”
Marco’s smile disappeared.
“He calls me all the time.”
“Why?”
“Business.”
“What business?”
“Andrew.”
“Answer.”
Marco looked toward Hannah.
“This isn’t something civilians need to hear.”
She folded her arms.
“I’m developing immunity to that sentence.”
I almost smiled.
“Answer.”
Marco exhaled.
“He wanted to know if you were angry.”
“About?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Did you know Nicholas was alive?”
Marco stared.
“No.”
Too fast.
Gabriel stepped closer.
Marco’s hand twitched near his jacket.
Every guard moved.
“Don’t,” I said.
Marco froze.
“Hands on the table.”
He obeyed.
Gabriel removed his gun.
Then another from his ankle.
Hannah’s face went pale.
I hated that she saw it.
But she did not leave.
“Did you know Nicholas was alive?”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
I placed the photograph before him.
He looked at it.
No recognition.
Maybe.
Then I placed Lila Salerno’s name on a sheet of paper.
This time he reacted.
Tiny.
But enough.
“Where is Lila?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know her?”
“Of course. Victor’s daughter.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Months.”
“When?”
“Christmas.”
Lie.
I had security logs.
Lila visited a legitimate accounting office tied to Marco six weeks earlier.
We had found the record on the drive back.
“Try again.”
Marco looked at me.
I watched calculation happen.
Then something changed in his shoulders.
He gave up.
“Three weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“She wanted money.”
“For?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
“Did you give it?”
“Yes.”
“Whose money?”
“Mine.”
“Why?”
“Because she was scared.”
I leaned closer.
“Of Victor?”
Marco closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
The room changed.
“You’re working for Victor.”
“No.”
“He placed you here.”
“Yes.”
“Did you help fake Nicholas’s death?”
“No.”
“Did you know?”
“Not until two years ago.”
Hannah’s breath caught.
Gabriel swore under his breath.
I remained still.
“How?”
Marco looked at the table.
“Victor got drunk.”
“Victor doesn’t get drunk.”
“He did the night his wife died.”
That was two years earlier.
“He said he had buried one Whitaker and raised the other.”
My blood chilled.
“What does that mean?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to live.”
I stood.
“You should have told me.”
“I know.”
“You had two years.”
“I know.”
“Where is Lila?”
“I don’t know.”
“Marco.”
“I swear.”
He finally looked at me.
“She contacted me because she wanted cash, a burner phone, and a bus ticket. She said her father had found out she was helping someone named Daniel.”
Hannah went still.
“Daniel.”
Marco nodded.
“She told me if anything happened, make sure Andrew was at Kosciuszko Market on March twelfth between two and three.”
I stared.
The grocery store.
The day Sophie found me.
“Why?”
“She didn’t say.”
“You arranged my trip there.”
“Yes.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“You told us the store manager had a security issue.”
“There was no issue.”
I remembered.
Marco had insisted I go personally because the owner was an old family friend.
Sophie had been led directly to me without knowing it.
“Who told Sophie to go there?”
Marco shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Hannah spoke.
“Mrs. Novak.”
Her elderly neighbor.
“She told Sophie the store manager would help if we ran out of formula.”
We all looked at each other.
Lila had used the neighbor.
Marco had used me.
A public grocery store.
No weapons drawn.
No private meeting.
A six-year-old child walking between two worlds without knowing it.
Nicholas had designed a bridge.
“Why?” I asked.
Marco swallowed.
“I think Daniel wanted to know what kind of man you had become.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Lila said if you turned Sophie away, she was taking Hannah and the kids out of Wisconsin.”
The room became silent.
“And if I helped?”
“She’d contact you.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Hannah’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice spoke.
Hannah’s eyes widened.
She put the call on speaker.
“Hannah, it’s Lila.”
Everyone froze.
“Where are you?” Hannah asked.
“Not safe.”
“Daniel?”
A pause.
“Alive.”
Hannah covered her mouth.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Lila.”
“Victor found him three weeks ago.”
I stepped forward.
“This is Andrew Whitaker.”
Silence.
Then Lila said, “I know.”
“Where’s my brother?”
“He’s trying to get back to Milwaukee.”
“From where?”
“I can’t say on this line.”
“Then give me a line you trust.”
Another pause.
“I’ll send instructions.”
“Lila.”
“Yes?”
“Why the CPS photographs?”
Her breathing changed.
“To make the children visible.”
“What does that mean?”
“My father makes problems disappear when nobody official is watching.”
Hannah went pale.
Lila continued.
“I needed Sophie, Mason, and Noah inside a government file. Public. Documented. With people outside your organization asking where they were.”
My anger rose.
“You risked them being removed.”
“I know.”
“You terrified Sophie.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because Victor would never touch children while half of Milwaukee County was watching them.”
I looked toward the family wing.
She had used child services as armor.
Ugly.
Risky.
Possibly brilliant.
Lila lowered her voice.
“Andrew, listen carefully.”
“I’m listening.”
“The photograph of Nicholas and Hannah isn’t the important part.”
I looked at it.
“What is?”
“The original photograph wasn’t cropped.”
My skin went cold.
“Who else is in it?”
Lila answered.
May you like
“My father.”
Then the call ended.
