Chapter 2 - The Box She Wouldn't Let Go
I brought Wren and Button to my house without telling my uncle.
That sounds simpler than it was. The Ferraro estate had gates, cameras, armed guards, and a household staff accustomed to pretending nothing surprised them. The sight of me coming through the side entrance carrying a sleepy girl wrapped in my overcoat, followed by a starving dog and my bewildered driver, tested everyone’s discipline.
My housekeeper, Rosa, took one look and said, “Kitchen first.”
She did not ask permission. I had never been so grateful for her lack of interest in my authority.
Wren refused to put the blue tin down. Even when Rosa offered a bowl of soup, she balanced it on her lap. Button wedged himself beneath her chair and waited for scraps until Rosa gave him chicken of his own.
“You're eating like someone might take it away,” Rosa said gently.
Wren froze with a spoon halfway to her mouth.
Rosa realized what she'd said and lowered herself into the neighboring chair. “No one will. There's more in the pot.”
I stood by the door pretending to read a message, because Wren seemed more comfortable with people who weren't watching every bite. In reality I was looking at the photograph of Ada on my phone. I had taken a picture of the original with Wren's permission. My sister had been twenty-nine in it. She had a baby. She had built a life. And I, who could find men on two continents when they owed me money, had failed to find my own sister.
I called my attorney, Helena Ortiz, a woman I trusted precisely because she was never impressed by me.
“Matteo,” she answered, “you sound strange.”
“I need records on Ada. Real records. Not anything Victor's office collected.”
A pause. “Has something happened?”
“I found a child.”
“Yours?”
“My sister's, I think.”
The silence on the line lasted long enough to embarrass us both.
“Tell me everything,” she said.
I didn't. Not over the telephone. I asked her to come before noon, and she agreed.
When I returned to the kitchen, Wren had finished half her soup and was hiding a roll in her coat pocket. I pretended not to see until she noticed my gaze.
“For later,” she said.
“You can have one later too.”
She considered that. “For Button, then.”
“He has a whole bowl of chicken.”
“He gets hungry faster when he's scared.”
“So do people,” Rosa said, setting a second roll beside her plate.
Wren looked near tears again. She ate the bread instead of hiding it.
I asked if she wanted to show me what was in the tin. She thought carefully, then placed it between us. Inside were a photograph, the brass compass charm Ada had given me years ago, and a square of paper folded into a hard little knot. Nothing more.
I touched the charm. One needle-shaped arm was broken, precisely as I remembered.
“Ada gave this to me,” I said. “When we were kids, she took it back because she said I wasn't using it properly.”
Wren looked up. “How do you use a compass wrong?”
“You pretend you know where you're going when you don't.”
That earned a small, solemn nod. Apparently it sounded plausible.
The note was in a man's handwriting: If they come, leave through the blue gate. Find Matteo. Never give Victor the ledger. I love you, starling. — Dad.
Victor.
The name on that paper was my uncle's, and I wished it weren't.
I put the note down. Wren watched every movement.
“What is a ledger?” she asked.
“A book of records.”
“Then why do people want it so much?”
“Sometimes records show things people want hidden.”
She nodded as though I'd confirmed something she already knew.
“My dad works with buildings. He says paper is how buildings tell the truth.”
“What does he do exactly?”
“Checks if they're safe. He went to the harbor after supper. Then he called me and told me to run.”
I asked whether she heard anything in the background. Wren closed her eyes, trying to remember. “An alarm. And somebody saying the trucks had to move before morning.”
When she opened her eyes, she looked exhausted.
“Is my dad dead?”
I had lied to presidents of banks and men carrying guns. Lying to this girl seemed suddenly impossible.
“I don't know,” I said. “But we're going to look for him.”
“Promise?”
I nearly said yes. Then I stopped. People had evidently promised Wren too many things they hadn't controlled.
“I promise I'll try with everything I have. And I'll tell you what I learn.”
She held out her little finger. I shook it instead of laughing at the gesture.
By noon Helena arrived, followed by my security chief, Owen Beck. I handed Helena the picture, the note, and the details of the warehouse fire. She was already calling a colleague for property records when Owen returned from a private check of the address.
“Daniel Hart,” he said. “Municipal building safety consultant. Widower. One daughter. His apartment was marked vacant in a property transfer filed last month.”
“He was living there yesterday,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Who filed the transfer?”
Owen looked uncomfortable. “A holding company associated with Harbor Renewal.”
My company.
Or part of it. Harbor Renewal was one of the cleaner divisions my family liked to advertise, though I'd left its daily work to Victor for years. We claimed to buy unsafe buildings, repair them, and rent them affordably again. My name stood on the promotional brochures.
“Get me the transfer documents,” I said.
“And something else,” Owen added. “The fire investigators say the warehouse was empty.”
“Was it?”
“There were at least two night-shift workers. Their families reported them missing.”
I felt the old anger rise, that familiar urge to settle things quickly and privately. But Wren stood at the kitchen door, listening. I made myself breathe before speaking.
“Bring the information to Helena. Nothing disappears. No intimidation, no shortcuts.”
Owen gave me a searching look. “Understood.”
After he left, Wren approached holding the little brass compass. She did not know what a property transfer was, but she knew the adults were worried.
“Uncle Matteo?” she said, testing the word.
The room became very quiet.
“Yes?”
“Did my mom really know you?”
I sat down so we were eye level.
“She did. We grew up together. She used to hide my shoes when I made her angry.”
That surprised a laugh out of her. “She hid my dad's keys.”
“Sounds right.”
Wren looked at the broken compass in her palm.
“Then why did she say you couldn't come to her funeral?”
Every muscle in my body went cold.
“I didn't know there was a funeral.”
She frowned, honestly confused. “Dad said your uncle sent flowers.”
I looked toward the hallway where the portrait of my father hung.
Victor had told me Ada was dead. He had told me nothing about a child, a husband, or a funeral. And apparently he had known enough to send flowers.
May you like
The person who had kept me from my sister for nine years was not missing.
He was coming to dinner at my house that very night.
