Chapter 4 - THE BROTHER IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
For ten minutes, nobody spoke.
Lorenzo stared at Greg’s frozen video as if force alone could turn the man into someone else.
Nora had seen shock before.
Corporate executives discovering employees had stolen millions.
Families learning a trusted accountant emptied retirement accounts.
Greg realizing she had finally stopped apologizing.
But Lorenzo’s reaction was different.
This was not surprise.
It was grief colliding with suspicion.
“Tell me about Matteo,” Nora said.
Lorenzo did not look at her.
“No.”
“Then I can’t help you.”
“I didn’t ask you to investigate my family.”
“You gave me Greg’s laptop.”
“I allowed you to identify the records.”
“And now the records contain your allegedly dead brother.”
Vincent rubbed both hands over his face.
“She has a point.”
Lorenzo ignored him.
Nora stood carefully.
“If you want to keep playing mysterious king in a dark room, fine. But if someone manipulated Greg using your company, I need context.”
Lorenzo finally looked at her.
“My brother died in a warehouse fire.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
“Body identified?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Dental records.”
“Who handled them?”
He paused.
Nora noticed.
“Who?”
“Family physician.”
“Name?”
“Dr. Stephen March.”
Vincent swore quietly.
“What?”
Lorenzo looked at him.
“March moved to Florida after Matteo died.”
“No,” Vincent said.
“He moved to Europe.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re sure?”
“He sent my mother a Christmas card from Lisbon.”
Nora felt the shape of something growing.
“Anyone verified his location?”
Neither man answered.
“Of course not.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
“This isn’t one of your corporate investigations.”
“No. Corporate investigations usually have better recordkeeping.”
Vincent laughed despite himself.
Lorenzo looked irritated.
Nora pointed at the video.
“If Matteo died six years ago and appears here eight months ago, there are limited explanations. Fake video. Look-alike. Stolen ring. Wrong body. Or Matteo survived.”
Lorenzo’s voice turned cold.
“He would have contacted me.”
“Would he?”
“Yes.”
“You seem extremely certain for a family where people occasionally settle disagreements with warehouse fires.”
Vincent choked.
Lorenzo stared at her.
“That was insensitive.”
“Yes.”
“Accurate.”
“Yes.”
He looked back at the monitor.
“What happened six years ago?” Nora asked.
Lorenzo was silent for a long time.
Then he sat.
“Matteo wanted out.”
“Out of what?”
“The family business.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
Nora took the chair across from him.
“Why?”
“He fell in love with someone my father considered unsuitable.”
“Meaning?”
“She wasn’t Italian. She wasn’t connected. She had no interest in our world.”
“What happened to her?”
“I don’t know.”
Nora blinked.
“You don’t know?”
“Her name was Rachel Monroe. She disappeared after Matteo died.”
“Disappeared?”
“Moved. Changed number. No contact.”
“Did you look for her?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
Nora studied him.
“What did your father think of Matteo leaving?”
“My father was dead by then.”
“Then who objected?”
Lorenzo’s eyes darkened.
“My uncle Michael.”
There it was.
Another connection.
“Michael ran the family at the time?”
“For eight months after my father died.”
“Until you took over?”
“Yes.”
“Did Matteo trust Michael?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
Lorenzo did not answer.
Vincent answered for him.
“Back then, Lorenzo trusted blood.”
Nora looked toward Michael’s image on the screen.
“And now?”
Lorenzo’s gaze met hers.
“Now I trust evidence.”
They began pulling archived records from the night Matteo died.
Warehouse owned by Costa Holdings.
Fire began at 2:13 a.m.
One body recovered.
Vehicle outside registered to Matteo.
Dental identification signed by Dr. Stephen March.
No DNA testing.
Nora frowned.
“Why no DNA?”
Vincent leaned back.
“This was six years ago, not sixty.”
“There should’ve been DNA.”
Lorenzo looked grim.
“The body was badly burned.”
“That doesn’t make DNA impossible.”
Elise nodded.
“She’s right.”
Nora continued.
“Who requested no further identification?”
Elise searched.
Then looked at Lorenzo.
“Michael Costa.”
The room grew colder.
Lorenzo stood.
“Bring Michael here.”
Vincent hesitated.
“He’s at the lake house.”
“Then bring him.”
“What do we tell him?”
“Nothing.”
Vincent left.
Nora leaned back.
“This is going to go badly.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because if Michael knows something, summoning him tells him you know something.”
“I want to see his reaction.”
“You also might send him running.”
“He won’t run.”
“Why?”
“He thinks I still respect him.”
Nora heard bitterness.
“Do you?”
“I did.”
Past tense.
She looked at the image again.
“Where does Greg fit?”
Lorenzo folded his arms.
“He may have stumbled into something much larger than accounting fraud.”
“And the Bertinellis?”
“Michael has hated them for twenty years.”
“Publicly.”
“Yes.”
“Which would make them convenient enemies to secretly work with.”
Lorenzo nodded.
Nora suddenly remembered Greg’s letter.
Do not trust anyone named Costa.
She looked at Lorenzo.
“Greg thought you were involved.”
“He was wrong.”
“You don’t know that.”
His eyes sharpened.
“I know whether I approved fake invoices.”
“Maybe Greg saw something else.”
“What?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Elise searched the folders again.
There was one encrypted archive labeled LC.
Lorenzo Costa.
Nora felt tension change in the room.
“Can you open it?”
“Eventually.”
“Try my birthday,” Lorenzo said.
Nora looked at him.
“You really think Greg used your birthday?”
“No. I want to know whether someone who knows me created it.”
The password failed.
His father’s birthday failed.
Costa Atlantic founding date failed.
Matteo’s birthday failed.
Then Nora looked at the label.
“LC could mean something else.”
“Such as?” Elise asked.
“Le Clovis.”
The restaurant.
Everyone stopped.
Greg had assaulted Nora there.
Had he chosen it deliberately?
She typed the restaurant’s opening date.
The folder opened.
Vincent returned just in time to see.
“Oh, that’s bad.”
Inside were dozens of photographs taken inside Le Clovis.
Meetings.
Private tables.
People Lorenzo clearly recognized.
Politicians.
Lawyers.
Port officials.
Michael Costa.
Bertinelli representatives.
Greg had been documenting meetings.
Then Nora saw herself.
One photograph from two months earlier.
She was sitting at the bar waiting for Greg.
Behind her, reflected in the mirror, Lorenzo stood on the mezzanine.
She felt uneasy.
“Why photograph me?”
Elise opened the next image.
Greg and Michael speaking outside the restaurant.
Next.
Greg handing Michael an envelope.
Next.
Michael grabbing Greg by the collar.
Then the final file.
Audio.
Greg’s voice.
“I did what you wanted. The payments are inside Costa accounts.”
Michael answered.
“And Lorenzo?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“He doesn’t need to know.”
Nora looked at Lorenzo.
Greg had known he was innocent.
At least then.
The recording continued.
Greg said:
“You told me nobody gets hurt.”
Michael laughed.
“Your girlfriend is compliance. If she starts asking questions, she becomes a problem.”
Nora stopped breathing.
Greg’s voice changed.
“She doesn’t know anything.”
“She knows you.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Keep it that way.”
The audio ended.
Nora stared at the screen.
For months, Greg had not only been controlling her.
He had been trying to prevent her from discovering something that could get her killed.
It did not excuse what he did.
Nothing could.
But suddenly his paranoia had context.
Lorenzo was watching her.
“What?”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m angry.”
“That too.”
“No.”
She stood.
“I’m angry because part of me just tried to make what Greg did more understandable.”
Lorenzo’s expression softened.
“Understanding why someone harms you does not erase the harm.”
She looked at him.
“That sounded personal.”
“It is.”
Before she could ask, Vincent’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What?”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
Vincent lowered the phone.
“Michael never reached the lake house.”
“When did anyone last see him?”
“Last night.”
“Where?”
Vincent looked toward Nora.
“Le Clovis.”
Nora’s stomach turned.
“During the incident?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Private dining room upstairs.”
Lorenzo went very still.
“You’re telling me my uncle was inside my restaurant when Greg attacked Nora?”
Vincent nodded.
Security footage confirmed it.
At 10:41 p.m., one minute before Greg struck Nora, Michael Costa left the private dining room.
At 10:42, he stood at the mezzanine railing.
Watching.
At 10:43, Lorenzo gave the order:
Bring her to me.
Then Michael immediately left through a rear exit.
Nora stared at the screen.
“He wasn’t watching Greg.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“No.”
“He was watching you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lorenzo’s face became cold.
“To see what I would do.”
Nora felt a terrible certainty.
Greg’s assault had not happened randomly inside Lorenzo’s restaurant.
Michael had known Greg would be there.
Perhaps even arranged it.
Then Elise spoke.
“I found something else.”
She opened a calendar file Greg had copied from Michael’s phone.
A meeting scheduled for that morning.
8:30 a.m.
BERTINELLI / FOWLER / FINAL TRANSFER.
Location:
COSTA ATLANTIC — DOCK 17.
Vincent checked his watch.
“It’s eight twenty-two.”
Lorenzo was already moving.
Nora stood.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Greg may be there.”
“Exactly.”
“I need to hear what he says.”
Lorenzo stopped.
For several seconds, they stared at each other.
Then he nodded once.
“Vehicle only.”
“Agreed.”
They arrived at Dock 17 at 8:47.
Too late.
A black sedan sat abandoned.
The passenger door stood open.
Blood marked the pavement.
Nora’s heart stopped.
Then one of Lorenzo’s men called from behind a container.
“We found someone.”
They ran.
Greg Fowler lay against the concrete wall.
Alive.
Barely conscious.
His face swollen.
Hands shaking.
Nora stopped ten feet away.
Greg saw her.
For one second, relief appeared.
Then fear.
“Nora.”
She did not move closer.
“Who did this?”
Greg looked at Lorenzo.
Then toward the container stacks.
“Michael.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“Where is he?”
Greg coughed.
“Gone.”
“With the Bertinellis?”
“No.”
He looked terrified.
“The Bertinellis are dead.”
Everyone froze.
“What?” Vincent asked.
Greg struggled to breathe.
“Michael killed them.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“Why?”
Greg looked directly at him.
“Because they were going to tell you the truth.”
“What truth?”
Greg’s eyes moved toward Nora.
Then he whispered:
“Your brother Matteo never died.”
Lorenzo went completely still.
May you like
Greg swallowed.
“And Michael has kept him locked away for six years.”
