Chapter 5 - THE CHILD’S DRAWING
“Put the gun down, Vanessa,” Adrian said. He didn't raise his hands. He just stepped slightly to the side, placing himself directly between her and me.
“Don't play the tough guy,” Vanessa sneered, stepping into the boathouse. The rain lashed against the tin roof above us. “My father is a weak, pathetic man, but he was right about one thing. I’ve known the truth about your family for a long time.”
“You knew my father was stealing union pensions?” Adrian asked.
“I knew he destroyed my family to protect yours!” Vanessa shouted. “When the FBI started auditing the bakeries in our neighborhood, your father used my dad’s private loan to frame him. He made it look like David’s bakery was washing the stolen pension money. My father almost went to federal prison because of you.”
I looked at the photograph of Sophia and Agent Vance.
“That’s why Sophia met with the FBI,” I realized aloud. “She found out what her father was doing. She made a deal.”
Vanessa laughed harshly. “Oh, Sophia played the hero. She agreed to quietly drain the heritage trust over the next decade to anonymously reimburse the union pensions, keeping your precious father out of jail, and keeping the Moretti name clean. But she didn't know about the cash he hid away before she made the deal.”
Vanessa gestured toward the locker with the barrel of the gun.
“Hand over the child’s drawing, Adrian.”
Adrian looked down at the lockbox. He picked up the piece of paper. It was a crude crayon sketch of a small, white farmhouse with a red door. A bright yellow sun was drawn in the corner.
“This is my drawing,” Adrian said, frowning. “I drew this when I was six years old. We spent a summer at a farmhouse in Vermont. It’s just a memory.”
“It’s not a memory. It’s a map,” Vanessa said, stepping closer. “Your father didn't hide the stolen cash in a bank account. He bought that farmhouse under a shell company, hollowed out the walls, and stuffed it with the stolen pension money. Three million dollars in untraceable bills.”
My mind raced. “If you knew about the farmhouse, why didn't you just go get the money?”
“Because I didn't know where it was!” Vanessa snapped. “Your father used a dozen shell companies. The only document linking the cash to a specific address was hidden in this lockbox. And I couldn't open the box because your meddling mother gave the recipe combination to you, Walter.”
It all made terrible, perfect sense.
Vanessa didn't want to marry Adrian for love. She didn't even want the Moretti estate. She orchestrated the corporate pie deal to force the family to officially dig up Eleanor’s old documents, hoping the recipe combination would surface. When that failed, she tried to bankrupt the trust completely, hoping Sophia would panic and reveal the hidden assets.
“You’ve been playing us for years,” Adrian said, his voice laced with disgust.
“I was taking back what your family owes mine,” Vanessa said. “Now, put the drawing on the crate and kick it over here. Or I swear to God, Adrian, I will shoot you where you stand.”
Adrian slowly lowered the drawing. But he didn't put it on the crate.
He held it over the rusted barrel of an old oil drum sitting beside him.
He pulled a silver lighter from his pocket and flipped the lid. The small flame illuminated his face.
“Adrian, no!” Vanessa screamed.
“You want the map, Vanessa?” Adrian asked. “Then put the gun on the floor. Because if you pull that trigger, I drop this paper into the oil drum, and three million dollars burns in your mind forever.”
Vanessa’s hand shook. She stared at the flame, then at Adrian’s cold, unyielding eyes.
She knew he wasn't bluffing.
Slowly, agonizingly, Vanessa bent down and placed the handgun on the concrete floor. She kicked it away from her.
Adrian snapped the lighter shut and pocketed the drawing.
Before Vanessa could demand the paper, the roar of an engine echoed outside.
Tires screeched on the gravel. The heavy wooden doors of the boathouse were violently kicked open.
The man in the grey suit—Agent Vance—stood in the doorway, a federal badge clipped to his belt and his weapon drawn.
“Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Vance barked. “Nobody move.”
Vanessa backed away, her face twisting in horror. “How did you find us?”
Vance didn't look at her. He looked at Adrian.
“He didn't find us,” Adrian said quietly. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. The screen was illuminated, showing an active phone call that had been running for twenty minutes.
“I called him from the SUV while he was following us,” Adrian said.
May you like
He looked at the open locker, then at the photograph of his sister.
“Sophia isn't the only one who knows how to make a deal.”
