Chapter 5 - THE MAN WHO SHOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD
Greg was taken to a private hospital under police guard.
Nora did not ride with him.
She could not.
Seeing him injured triggered emotions she did not want.
Concern.
Anger.
Memory.
The reflex to take care of him.
That last one disgusted her most.
Lorenzo noticed.
“You don’t owe him compassion.”
“I know.”
“Knowing and feeling are different.”
She looked at him.
“You’re getting annoyingly perceptive.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By who?”
“No one who survived saying it twice.”
She stared.
He almost smiled.
“Joke.”
“That was a joke?”
“I’m developing range.”
Despite everything, Nora laughed once.
Then immediately winced because of her ribs.
Lorenzo’s expression changed.
“Pain?”
“Manageable.”
“Doctor.”
“No.”
“Nora.”
“Do not start.”
He exhaled.
“Fine.”
They returned to the estate while Vincent remained at the hospital to oversee Greg’s statement.
Nora sat in the library wrapped in a blanket, Greg’s laptop open before her.
Lorenzo stood near the window.
For almost an hour, neither spoke much.
Then Vincent called.
Greg was conscious.
Cooperative.
And terrified.
Lorenzo put the call on speaker.
Greg’s voice came through weakly.
“I found the fake invoices six months ago.”
Nora’s jaw tightened.
Lorenzo asked:
“Who recruited you?”
“Michael Costa.”
“How?”
“He knew Pierce used my firm. Offered me money to alter risk reports so certain containers wouldn’t be flagged.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand at first.”
Nora closed her eyes.
Greg continued.
“Then more.”
“The sixty thousand?”
“That’s what I took after I realized what they were moving.”
“What were they moving?”
Silence.
“Greg.”
“Cash.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“Only cash?”
“No.”
Greg’s breathing changed.
“Documents. Drugs sometimes. But mostly cash.”
“Whose cash?”
“Political money. Payoffs. Bribes.”
Nora looked at Lorenzo.
Costa Atlantic had been used as a laundering corridor.
Lorenzo’s legitimate company had provided perfect camouflage.
“What did the Bertinellis do?” Lorenzo asked.
“They managed the street side. Construction companies, unions, trucking.”
“And Michael?”
“He controlled Costa access.”
“Matteo?”
Greg became silent.
Lorenzo’s voice hardened.
“Where is my brother?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“You said Michael kept him locked away.”
“That’s what Anthony Bertinelli told me.”
“Why?”
“Because Matteo found out.”
Nora leaned closer.
“Found out what?”
“That Michael killed your father.”
Lorenzo’s face changed.
The room became completely still.
Vincent’s voice came through the speaker.
“Greg, repeat that.”
“Michael killed Carlo Costa.”
Lorenzo sat down.
Nora watched him.
His father had died nine years earlier from what every report called a heart attack.
“Proof?” Lorenzo asked.
“Matteo had proof.”
“Then why didn’t he tell me?”
“He tried.”
Greg coughed.
“Michael intercepted him.”
Lorenzo stood again.
“You’re expecting me to believe Michael somehow imprisoned my brother for six years without anyone noticing?”
“He didn’t keep him in Chicago.”
“Where?”
“Wisconsin. Some private medical facility.”
Nora’s skin went cold.
“Medical facility?”
“Matteo was badly hurt in the warehouse fire.”
Nora looked at Lorenzo.
“Then there was a fire.”
“Yes,” Greg said. “But Matteo survived.”
“Whose body was identified as his?” Vincent asked.
“I don’t know.”
That was another crime buried beneath the first.
Greg continued.
“Michael paid Dr. March to identify the body as Matteo. Then moved Matteo before anyone knew he lived.”
“Why not kill him?” Nora asked.
Greg hesitated.
“He needed something.”
“What?”
“A password.”
Lorenzo froze.
“To what?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent spoke.
“Could be your father’s private holdings.”
Lorenzo shook his head.
“No. Matteo didn’t manage those.”
“Maybe Carlo gave him something before he died.”
Greg suddenly said:
“There’s a name.”
“What name?” Lorenzo asked.
“Saint Agnes.”
Nora frowned.
“Church?”
“Facility maybe. Anthony said Michael visited Saint Agnes every month.”
Vincent was already searching.
“There’s a Saint Agnes neurological rehabilitation center in Wisconsin.”
“Private?”
“Very.”
Lorenzo stood.
“We’re going.”
Nora looked at him.
“We?”
“You’re staying here.”
“No.”
“This doesn’t involve you.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Your uncle threatened me because Greg thought I could expose his fraud. The Bertinellis tore apart my apartment. Greg tracked me for almost a year. I think I’m involved.”
“Nora.”
“And if Michael used a fake medical facility to hide Matteo, records will matter. I know compliance systems.”
“You have a concussion.”
“You keep saying that as if it removed my ability to read.”
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Finally:
“You remain in the vehicle unless I say otherwise.”
She smiled faintly.
“You’re adapting.”
“I hate it.”
“Growth is uncomfortable.”
Vincent returned two hours later.
Greg had revealed enough for law enforcement to obtain warrants connected to Dock 17.
The Bertinelli brothers had indeed been found dead in an industrial property registered to a shell company tied to Michael.
The situation had shifted completely.
Michael was no longer simply a suspect inside Lorenzo’s world.
He was a fugitive.
The drive to Wisconsin took nearly three hours.
Nora slept for part of it.
When she woke, a folded coat supported her head.
Lorenzo sat across from her in the SUV.
“Did you do this?”
“The coat?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Vincent looked from the front.
“He did.”
Lorenzo stared at him.
Vincent smiled.
“Transparency.”
Nora touched the coat.
“Thank you.”
Lorenzo looked out the window.
“You were sleeping against glass.”
“How tragic.”
“It was annoying.”
“Of course.”
Saint Agnes looked less like a hospital than a country estate.
Gray stone.
Pine trees.
No visible signs except a small brass plaque.
The administrator denied knowing anyone named Matteo Costa.
Then Lorenzo showed a photograph.
The woman’s face changed.
Nora saw it.
“You know him.”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
The administrator looked toward the door.
Vincent stepped in front of it.
Lorenzo remained calm.
“We have law enforcement fifteen minutes behind us and evidence connecting Michael Costa to this property. This is the moment where cooperation matters.”
The woman swallowed.
“His name here is Matthew Cole.”
Lorenzo stopped breathing.
“Where?”
“West building.”
They followed her through locked corridors.
Nora stayed close.
Rooms passed.
Patients.
Staff.
Then the administrator stopped outside room 214.
“He’s been here six years.”
“Condition?” Nora asked.
“Traumatic brain injury. Severe burns originally. Memory problems. Mobility improved over time.”
Lorenzo reached for the handle.
His hand shook.
Nora noticed.
Without thinking, she touched his wrist.
He looked at her.
“You don’t have to walk in alone.”
For once, he did not reject the help.
He opened the door.
A man sat by the window.
Older than the video.
Thin.
A scar along one side of his face.
But the resemblance was unmistakable.
He turned.
His eyes met Lorenzo’s.
For several seconds, neither brother moved.
Then the man whispered:
“Renzo?”
Lorenzo’s face broke.
Matteo stood too quickly.
His cane fell.
Lorenzo crossed the room and caught him.
The brothers held each other in silence.
Nora turned away.
Some moments did not belong to witnesses.
Then Matteo started laughing and crying at once.
“You took long enough.”
Lorenzo pulled back.
“You’re alive.”
“Apparently.”
“Why didn’t you contact me?”
Matteo’s expression changed.
“I tried.”
“When?”
“For years.”
“What?”
Matteo pointed toward the bedside table.
“Michael controlled my calls.”
Lorenzo looked at the administrator.
She lowered her eyes.
“He paid privately.”
“You imprisoned my brother.”
“We were told he had severe paranoia and dangerous family connections.”
Matteo laughed bitterly.
“Technically accurate.”
Nora moved closer.
“What did Michael want from you?”
Matteo looked at her.
“Who are you?”
“Nora Hayes.”
He looked at Lorenzo.
“Girlfriend?”
“No,” both answered immediately.
Matteo smiled faintly.
“Sure.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“What did Michael want?”
Matteo’s face hardened.
“My father’s ledger.”
“What ledger?”
“The one proving Michael had been stealing from him for twelve years.”
Lorenzo stared.
“Where is it?”
Matteo tapped his temple.
“Not a physical ledger.”
“Then what?”
“Encrypted archive.”
“Password?”
“I’m the only one who knows it.”
“Where’s the archive?”
Matteo smiled without humor.
“Inside Costa Atlantic.”
Nora felt cold.
“Where?”
“Buried in old accounting backups.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
Nora understood immediately.
If Michael had been using the company for years, the evidence might still exist in historical systems.
Matteo continued.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Dad didn’t die of a heart attack.”
“Greg told us.”
Matteo looked surprised.
“Greg Fowler?”
“You know him?”
“He visited me.”
Nora froze.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Greg knew where you were?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he tell Lorenzo?”
Matteo looked at her.
“He said he couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Michael was watching you.”
Nora’s blood ran cold.
“He told me if he spoke openly, you would be killed.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
Matteo reached beneath his pillow.
He pulled out an envelope.
“Greg gave me this.”
Nora took it.
Her name was written across the front.
She opened it.
Inside was a flash drive.
And one sentence.
Nora, if I fail, give this only to someone you trust more than you ever trusted me.
She looked at Lorenzo.
Matteo spoke quietly.
“Whatever is on that drive…”
He looked at his brother.
“…Michael killed your father to keep it hidden.”
Then alarms began ringing through the facility.
The administrator looked toward the hallway.
Smoke drifted beneath the door.
Vincent swore.
“That’s not a drill.”
Lorenzo grabbed Matteo.
Nora looked out the window.
A black SUV was speeding away through the trees.
May you like
Michael Costa had found them.
And he had set Saint Agnes on fire.
