Chapter 7 - EMILY’S LAST RECORDING
The wounded man survived.
That was useful.
He said nothing.
That was expected.
His name was Anthony Rizzo.
Connected to the Moretti organization through cousins and shell companies.
More important, he had entered the Caruso estate using credentials assigned to a temporary security contractor.
Someone gave him access.
Vincent locked down the property.
Daniel remained under guard.
Not chained.
Not free.
A man living in the worst space possible.
Between brother and prisoner.
Claire wanted Lily out.
This time Vincent agreed immediately.
“Where?”
“My aunt’s.”
“No Caruso connection?”
“None.”
“Address?”
Claire stared.
“No.”
Vincent looked offended.
“Claire.”
“You said no prison.”
“I need security.”
“She lives in Connecticut.”
“Wonderful.”
“I am not giving you her address until I speak to her.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Then he nodded.
“Fine.”
Growth, apparently.
Lily packed Snow the rabbit.
Three dresses.
Twenty crayons.
No practical clothing.
Claire corrected.
Before leaving, Lily found Vincent in the study.
Daniel was elsewhere.
“You come?”
Vincent looked at her.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I have work.”
“You always work.”
The observation landed.
Vincent crouched.
“I need to find out what happened to Grace.”
Lily nodded.
Then handed him something.
A new drawing.
Pink butterfly.
Three stick figures.
One small figure had wings.
Vincent stopped breathing.
“Who is that?”
“Grace.”
“And?”
“You.”
A tall figure.
“And Mommy?”
Claire stood in the doorway.
Lily pointed to another.
Then she added a fourth small figure.
“Me.”
Vincent stared.
“You never met Grace.”
“No.”
“Then why are you all together?”
Lily looked confused.
“Pictures can do that.”
Simple.
Cruel.
Beautiful.
Vincent took the drawing.
“Thank you.”
“Frame.”
He almost smiled.
“You are very demanding.”
“Promise?”
He looked at her.
“I promise.”
Lily hugged him.
Without warning.
Vincent froze.
Claire almost stopped her.
Then didn’t.
Slowly, Vincent placed one hand against Lily’s back.
Careful.
Terrified.
She released him.
“Bye.”
Then left.
Vincent remained crouched after she disappeared.
Claire said:
“You okay?”
“No.”
Good answer.
She came closer.
“Thank you for letting us leave.”
“I dislike it.”
“I noticed.”
“It is safer.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll call.”
Claire raised an eyebrow.
“That sounded like a command.”
Vincent exhaled.
“Please call.”
“Better.”
Their eyes met.
Something existed there now.
Not romance yet.
Too much grief.
Too much danger.
Recognition.
Claire touched his sleeve briefly.
“Find the truth.”
Then left.
That evening, Vincent played the remaining files from Emily’s memory card.
Most were financial.
One was personal.
An audio recording saved at 6:42 p.m. on his birthday.
Less than two hours before Emily and Grace died.
Emily’s voice:
“Daniel, this is the last time I’m asking.”
Daniel:
“You picked a hell of a night.”
“I didn’t pick anything.”
“You’re going to ruin Vince’s birthday over accounting?”
“You stole from him.”
“I borrowed.”
“Stop calling theft a loan.”
Silence.
Then Daniel:
“If you tell him tonight, people die.”
Vincent went completely still.
Marco looked at him.
The recording continued.
Emily:
“Is that a threat?”
“No.”
Daniel sounded exhausted.
“It’s a prediction.”
“What does that mean?”
“The money didn’t stay with me.”
Vincent leaned forward.
Daniel:
“I moved some through Moretti-controlled accounts.”
Emily:
“Why?”
“Because I needed liquidity.”
“You laundered Vincent’s money through his enemy?”
“I didn’t know whose entities they were at first.”
“Daniel.”
“By the time I understood, they owned me.”
Silence.
Vincent’s skin went cold.
Daniel had stolen money.
Then used Moretti accounts.
The Morettis discovered it.
Now they had leverage over Vincent’s closest friend.
Emily asked:
“What do they want?”
Daniel did not answer.
Then:
“They asked about Vincent’s schedule.”
Marco swore.
Emily’s voice changed.
“You told them?”
“No.”
“Daniel.”
“Not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
“I gave them shipping information.”
“Security rotations?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Not at first.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Daniel had been compromised before the birthday.
Emily continued:
“You are going to tell him.”
“I can’t.”
“You will.”
“They’ll kill me.”
“If you keep hiding this, someone else will die.”
The recording ended.
Vincent sat motionless.
Marco whispered:
“Jesus.”
Daniel had warned her.
Someone else will die.
Then Emily and Grace did.
Was that foresight?
Or knowledge?
Vincent had Daniel brought in.
No gun this time.
Just the recording.
He played it.
Daniel closed his eyes.
When it finished, he looked twenty years older.
“I was going to tell you.”
Vincent laughed once.
“When?”
“After the party.”
“Everyone loves after.”
Daniel looked down.
“Moretti had me.”
“How?”
“They found the transfers.”
“And?”
“They threatened exposure.”
“You could have come to me.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Daniel looked up.
“Because I had spent fifteen years being the brother you didn’t have.”
His voice cracked.
“The competent one.”
“The loyal one.”
“The man you trusted when blood failed.”
“I couldn’t walk into your office and tell you I had lost money, stolen from you, and handed your enemies leverage.”
Vincent stared.
“So you handed them information instead.”
“At first harmless.”
“There is no harmless information to an enemy.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
Daniel had no answer.
Vincent continued.
“What did they ask before the birthday?”
Daniel swallowed.
“Service access.”
Marco leaned forward.
“What?”
“Which vendors entered the estate.”
“Who handled food.”
“Security blind spots.”
Vincent’s voice became almost inaudible.
“And the glassware?”
Daniel’s face went white.
There.
Everyone saw.
“Daniel.”
“They asked whether you still used monogrammed crystal.”
Silence.
Vincent stood.
“You knew.”
“No.”
“You knew they were considering poison.”
“No!”
Daniel stood too.
“I thought they were planning theft.”
“What kind of theft requires knowing what glass I drink from?”
“I don’t know!”
Vincent crossed the room.
Marco moved slightly.
Not intervening yet.
Daniel’s eyes filled.
“I swear to you.”
Vincent stopped inches away.
“Did you tell them?”
Long silence.
Then Daniel whispered:
“Yes.”
Vincent hit him.
Once.
Hard.
Daniel fell against the chair.
Marco did not move.
Vincent stood over him breathing heavily.
Daniel touched blood at his lip.
“I deserved that.”
“Do not decide what you deserve.”
Vincent’s voice shook.
“Did you tell them where my glasses were stored?”
“Yes.”
“Who carried them?”
“Yes.”
“Which door Thomas used?”
“Yes.”
Every answer became another knife.
Vincent stepped back.
“You gave them the map.”
Daniel’s face crumpled.
“I didn’t know what they would do.”
“No.”
“You simply made sure they could.”
Daniel started crying.
Not loudly.
“Emily found out.”
“Yes.”
“She told you to confess.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Then she died.”
Daniel covered his face.
“I know.”
Vincent wanted to kill him.
Claire was not there to tell him not to.
Lily was in Connecticut.
Grace was dead.
Emily was dead.
His best friend had handed their killers access.
Maybe without knowing the final plan.
Maybe enough.
Vincent looked toward Marco.
“Get him out.”
Daniel lowered his hands.
“Where?”
“Guest room.”
Daniel stared.
“You’re not—”
“No.”
Vincent understood the unfinished question.
Not killing him.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
“Dead men are convenient.”
Daniel looked shocked.
Vincent continued.
“I want inconvenient truth.”
Marco escorted him away.
At midnight, Claire called.
Vincent answered.
“Lily asleep?”
“Yes.”
“How are you?”
He almost lied.
Then remembered the woman who had asked him to find truth.
“Bad.”
Silence.
“Daniel?”
“Compromised.”
“Did he kill them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he help the people who did?”
“Yes.”
Claire was quiet.
Then:
“I’m sorry.”
Vincent looked toward Grace’s drawing.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Does it help?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll stop.”
He almost smiled.
“Good.”
She continued.
“Vincent?”
“Yes?”
“Lily asked if Grace would have liked her.”
His throat tightened.
“What did you say?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Grace sounds like she liked people who broke rules.”
He laughed.
Unexpected.
Claire heard.
“There.”
“What?”
“You did it again.”
“Did what?”
“Sound alive.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
For three years, Emily’s final command had haunted him.
Keep living.
He had treated living like biological compliance.
Breathe.
Eat.
Work.
Survive.
Claire and Lily were beginning to make the word mean something else.
That terrified him.
Then Marco entered urgently.
Vincent straightened.
“What?”
Marco held up a phone.
“We found Thomas Keene’s daughter.”
Claire heard through the call.
“Where?”
Marco’s face hardened.
“In a hospital.”
“What happened?”
“She was attacked two months ago.”
The same week Lily bought the barrette.
She had survived.
And according to the detective who finally connected her name—
May you like
the last thing she remembered before losing consciousness was a man asking one question:
Where is the butterfly?
