Chapter 4 - “Tell Me What You're Looking For”
I expected Luca to fire me.
Instead, he asked me to have a seat.
That somehow felt worse.
We were in a small office beside the basement stairwell. The room held an old desk, two chairs, and framed photographs of ships along the Delaware River.
Luca shut the door.
I remained standing.
“Sit down, Miss Reed.”
“I'd rather stand.”
His eyebrows moved slightly.
“Why?”
“Because I don't know what this is.”
He looked toward the empty chair.
“Neither do I yet.”
That was honest enough to frighten me.
I sat.
He remained across the desk.
No guards.
No threats.
No performance.
Just questions.
“How long have you worked here?”
“Three weeks.”
“Why did you apply?”
“I needed better pay.”
“Why nights?”
“Family.”
“What family?”
“My mother and brother.”
He nodded.
“Your father worked for us.”
I stopped breathing.
“Yes.”
“Daniel Reed.”
“Yes.”
“He died three years ago.”
My hands tightened.
“I know.”
Luca watched me.
Then asked:
“Do you think my family was responsible?”
For one second, I considered lying.
Then I remembered Roarke asking whether I was Daniel Reed's daughter.
His smile.
The freshly scratched lock.
I looked directly at Luca.
“I think somebody lied about how he died.”
The room went silent.
Luca didn't move.
“What makes you believe that?”
“The police report doesn't match what my father said before the accident.”
“What did he say?”
I hesitated.
Too much.
Not enough.
If I told him everything, I might lose my only chance to find proof.
If I told him nothing, he would almost certainly fire me.
Finally, I said:
“He told my mother the route had changed.”
Luca's expression sharpened.
“Which route?”
“I don't know.”
“Who changed it?”
“I don't know.”
“Then how can you be certain—”
“Because my father called home frightened.”
The words came out sharper than I intended.
Luca stopped.
I swallowed.
“My father never sounded frightened when he drove.”
I looked down.
“He drove through blizzards. Highway pileups. Bad neighborhoods. He wasn't easily scared.”
Luca remained quiet.
“But that night he called Mom and said something was wrong.”
“Did he say what?”
“No.”
That was another half-truth.
Mom knew more.
I didn't.
Luca leaned back.
“Why not ask me about his personnel records?”
I almost laughed.
“Would you have shown them to me?”
He didn't answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
“I thought so.”
He studied me.
“You were going to break into the records room.”
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I was trying to find a way to request access without getting fired.”
That was technically closer to the truth.
“By counting doors?”
My face burned.
“I was learning the layout.”
“You were also checking cameras.”
I looked up.
His voice remained calm.
“I'm not an idiot, Miss Reed.”
I swallowed.
“No, sir.”
“Neither are you.”
For the first time, his expression changed.
Not anger.
Curiosity.
“You've spent three weeks doing excellent housekeeping work, taking extra shifts, and trying to learn whether a room contains a file on your dead father.”
I stared.
He continued.
“If you were hired to leak shipping information, you've chosen a very inefficient way to do it.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Luca leaned forward.
“Who told you the records were down here?”
“A former mechanic.”
“Name?”
I hesitated.
“Joe Ferris.”
Luca looked surprised.
“Joe?”
“You know him?”
“He worked with your father.”
“Yes.”
Luca rubbed his jaw.
For a moment, he seemed genuinely troubled.
Then:
“Joe should have come to me.”
“He thinks you wouldn't listen.”
That landed.
Hard.
Luca went still.
“Does he?”
I looked down.
“People say things.”
“What things?”
I hesitated.
“That you've spent three years hunting whoever took your sister.”
His face changed.
“That's true.”
“And that you blame the last person who drove her.”
Silence.
I regretted saying it.
But Luca answered quietly.
“I did.”
My stomach dropped.
“For a long time.”
I looked up.
He continued.
“I thought Daniel took a road he shouldn't have taken.”
“He was given instructions.”
“That's what you're telling me.”
“Yes.”
Luca nodded slowly.
“Then I need to see the instructions.”
My heart jumped.
“Will you show me the file?”
“No.”
I stared.
He raised a hand before I could speak.
“Not until I know what's in it. Old company personnel files may contain information unrelated to your father.”
I felt fury rising.
“You sound exactly like everyone else.”
He accepted that without argument.
“Maybe.”
I stood.
“Then I should go.”
“Miss Reed.”
I stopped.
“You're not fired.”
That surprised me.
“What?”
“You'll continue your normal duties.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't yet know whether you're wrong.”
I looked at him.
“And if I'm right?”
His expression darkened.
“Then somebody in this house owes your father an explanation they can no longer give him.”
I left with my job intact.
But not my peace.
The next evening, the records-room door was locked differently.
A new security seal covered the handle.
I knew Luca had ordered it.
I hated him for that.
Then Mrs. Whitcomb quietly handed me an extra blanket from the laundry room.
“For your brother.”
I stared.
“How did you know?”
“Mr. Varela asked whether the staff welfare fund could help with medical-related transportation.”
My chest tightened.
“What did you tell him?”
“That you'd never accept anything if you thought it came with questions attached.”
She gave me a tired smile.
“I was right, wasn't I?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then she added:
“He didn't authorize a payment. He asked what support was normally available to staff.”
That mattered.
He hadn't sent money to buy my silence.
He'd tried to understand why I needed so many shifts.
I didn't know what to do with that information.
Because it complicated the picture I'd built in my mind.
Luca wasn't the cold-hearted villain I'd expected.
But he was still the man whose family had hidden records after my father's death.
Both things could be true.
On Friday morning, I received a call from Eli's pediatric cardiology office.
His next appointment had been moved forward.
They wanted additional tests before deciding whether a procedure was necessary.
I asked about transportation assistance.
The administrator explained that a social worker might be able to help, but the paperwork would take time.
I asked for more time.
She was kind.
That somehow made the call harder.
By the time I hung up, my hands were shaking.
I leaned against the service corridor wall.
Closed my eyes.
Counted my breaths.
One.
Two.
Three.
When I opened them, Luca stood at the far end of the hallway.
He had heard enough.
Not everything.
But enough.
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then asked:
“Who's sick?”
I tried to answer.
May you like
Nothing came.
And I realized that the man I had spent weeks hiding from was beginning to see the part of my life I'd worked hardest to keep invisible.
