Chapter 8 - THE VOICE OF A DEAD MOTHER
Bella hadn't heard her mother's voice in six years.
Now it was waiting inside a cassette tape no larger than her palm.
For almost an hour, she sat at Chloe's kitchen table staring at it.
Chloe made tea.
Then more tea.
Finally, she asked, “Are you going to play it?”
Bella traced the handwritten label.
“I'm afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That it'll be her.”
Chloe sat beside her.
Bella's eyes filled.
“I've spent so long trying to remember exactly how she sounded. Sometimes I can hear her laugh, but when I try to remember what she said to me the last morning, it's gone.”
Chloe gently covered Bella's hand.
“Then maybe this is a chance to hear her again.”
Bella nodded.
They found a working cassette player at a twenty-four-hour secondhand electronics store.
The clerk charged them twelve dollars.
Bella would have paid a thousand.
Back at Chloe's apartment, she inserted the tape.
There was a click.
A rush of static.
Then a woman's voice.
“Testing. One, two...”
Bella covered her mouth.
It was Rosa.
Warm.
Slightly breathless.
With the same unmistakable Chicago accent Bella had spent her childhood hearing from the kitchen.
“If you're listening to this, sweetheart, then something has happened that I was trying very hard to prevent.”
Bella began crying.
The recording continued.
“I want you to know that your father and I love you and Luca more than anything in this world. Whatever anyone tells you, whatever happens next, none of this is your fault.”
Chloe reached for Bella's hand.
Rosa paused.
There was a faint sound in the background.
A door closing.
Then her voice became quieter.
“I discovered something at the Bluebird Children's Initiative. The charity has been paying for medication shipments that don't exist. Real medicine is diverted and sold through private distributors, while hospitals receive substituted products or incomplete supplies.”
Bella closed her eyes.
Her mother had found it.
Six years ago.
“I reported it internally. Two days later, somebody broke into my office. My supervisor told me to stop asking questions.”
The tape crackled.
“Adrian Vale signs the grants. Victor Sloane approves the hospital invoices. Salvatore Bianke moves the money. Marco DeLuca controls the warehouse transfers.”
Bella whispered the names.
Four men.
Four pieces of the same machine.
Rosa continued.
“The Moretti warehouses are being used, but I don't know how many people in the family understand what's happening. The older Mr. Moretti has been warned. I never received a response.”
Bella felt sick.
Alessandro's father had known.
Perhaps not everything.
But enough to receive a warning.
Then Rosa said something that made Bella sit straighter.
“There's a physical ledger. The original record. It contains patient names, shipment numbers, account references, and signed authorizations.”
A faint noise interrupted the recording.
Rosa inhaled.
“I've hidden a copy where we used to take you after Sunday dinners. You know the place, Bella. You always begged for one more song.”
Bella's eyes widened.
“The Majestic,” she whispered.
When she was little, her parents had sometimes taken her to a restored movie theater on the South Side.
Her father loved the old pipe organ.
Bella had loved watching its illuminated keys rise from beneath the stage.
The tape continued.
“The blue birds are not a charity logo. They're a tracking code. If you see one, look for the number beside it.”
Another pause.
Then Rosa's voice broke.
“I'm so sorry, sweetheart.”
Bella bent forward.
“Mom...”
“If anything happens, find someone who believes ordinary people deserve justice. Don't try to fight them alone.”
The recording ended with three soft clicks.
Bella sat perfectly still.
Then she pressed rewind.
She played the first sentence again.
And cried until there was nothing left.
The next morning, Bella met Mara Keene at a federal office downtown.
She handed over the cassette.
Mara listened with headphones while a technician prepared a preservation copy.
When the recording ended, the investigator removed the headphones.
“This supports what we've been finding,” she said.
“But?”
Bella already knew there would be a but.
“We still need to authenticate the recording and corroborate the allegations.”
“My mother names them.”
“Yes. And now we have leads to investigate.”
Bella looked toward the window.
“What about the ledger?”
“Where is this theater?”
“The old Majestic. My parents used to take us there.”
Mara opened her laptop.
“It's been closed for renovations.”
“Then the key might still work.”
“We'll arrange authorized access and document whatever we find.”
Bella shook her head.
“I want to go.”
“Bella—”
“My mother left it for me.”
Mara considered her.
“Then you'll come with us. But you'll follow instructions.”
The Majestic Theater smelled of dust, old velvet, and wet plaster.
Its lobby was dark.
The brass railings had dulled with age.
Bella remembered walking through those doors holding her father's hand.
She remembered the enormous chandeliers.
The red seats.
The sound of music filling the room like sunlight.
Now there were construction tarps over the orchestra pit.
A building supervisor unlocked the auditorium for the investigators.
Bella walked slowly down the center aisle.
“Where did you sit?” Mara asked.
“Row H. My father liked the middle.”
Bella looked toward the stage.
The great organ console was still there, covered by a protective cloth.
Her mother had said where the music stopped.
Bella approached the side of the stage.
A narrow passage led to the old organ maintenance room.
Its door had a brass lock.
Her key fit.
Bella's pulse quickened.
Mara photographed the door before allowing the locksmith and technician to proceed.
Inside stood shelves of sheet music, old theater programs, and a wooden cabinet.
On the cabinet was a faded blue bird painted beside the number 17.
Bella pointed.
“There.”
The investigator opened the cabinet after documenting its condition.
Inside was a metal cash box.
The brass key turned in its lock.
Bella held her breath.
Mara lifted the lid.
There were three notebooks, a bundle of carbon-copy receipts, and a small digital storage device.
The first notebook had dozens of pages filled with patient names.
Beside each name was a date, an invoice amount, and a shipment code.
Bella turned one page.
Then another.
There were hundreds of names.
Some had red marks beside them.
She recognized one immediately.
EMILY HART — AGE 7.
Elena had mentioned a child who died in February.
Bella felt a wave of nausea.
“These are children.”
Mara's face hardened.
“Yes.”
Bella continued turning the pages.
Then she stopped.
There was a second Rossi listed in the ledger.
Not Luca.
Not Bella.
The entry read:
ROSA ROSSI — AUDIT TERMINATION AUTHORIZATION.
Beside it was a handwritten signature.
Marco DeLuca.
Bella stared at the page.
Her mother's name was in the same ledger as the stolen medicine.
Except Rosa's entry had no treatment amount.
Instead, it had a payment reference.
One hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
Bella looked up.
“What is that?”
Mara studied the entry.
“I don't know yet.”
Bella pointed to the final column.
There was another signature.
A Moretti.
Her hands began to shake.
The first name had been abbreviated.
A. MORETTI.
That evening, Bella waited for Alessandro in the private office above Luchia's.
He arrived expecting to discuss the ledger.
Instead, he found her standing beside the window.
A photocopy lay on the desk.
“Is that yours?” she asked.
He looked at the signature.
His face changed.
“Yes.”
Bella felt her heart crack.
“You signed the authorization.”
Alessandro moved closer.
“Bella, let me explain.”
“My mother's name. A payment. Your signature.”
“I signed hundreds of corporate authorizations during that period.”
“That doesn't answer me.”
He stared at the document.
“I don't remember this specific transaction.”
“Try.”
His jaw tightened.
“This was part of an account migration my father ordered.”
“And what was my mother's life worth?”
He looked at her sharply.
“What?”
“One hundred and eighty thousand dollars.”
Alessandro went pale.
Bella stepped back.
“My mother trusted the wrong people. I won't make the same mistake.”
She walked toward the door.
“Bella—”
“Don't follow me.”
He stopped.
She turned once more.
“You asked me to judge you by what you do.”
Her eyes filled.
“Then give the investigators every record carrying your signature.”
May you like
She left before he could answer.
And Alessandro remained alone with a document that might prove his family's empire had financed a murder.
