Chapter 3 - THE CHILD'S DRAWING
I stared at the crayon drawing on the floor. Leo Jr.
Vivienne lunged for it, but Marcus yanked her back by the elbow. Adrian bent down and picked up the fragile piece of paper. He stared at the scribbled blue house and the crooked yellow sun.
“Mommy?” Adrian whispered. He turned his gaze to Vivienne, who was now weeping hysterically against Marcus’s grip.
Answer One: Vivienne wasn’t just a wealthy socialite. She had a child named after Adrian’s murdered brother. Open Two: Where is the child? And was Leo Falcone actually the father?
“It’s a fake!” Vivienne sobbed. “It’s a prop he brought to frame me!”
Adrian looked at Tom. “Did you bring this?”
Tom shook his head. “I’ve never seen it before. But I know Leo had a son. He told me that much.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. He folded the drawing and slid it into his breast pocket. “Get her out of my sight,” he told Marcus.
As they dragged Vivienne away, Adrian turned to me.
“Maggie. Go lock the front gates. Then come to my study.”
I nodded, my heart hammering against my ribs. I practically ran to the front foyer, punching the security code into the keypad to lock down the estate.
When I reached the study, the heavy mahogany door was ajar. I slipped inside.
Adrian was pouring two glasses of amber liquid. He handed one to Tom, who was sitting in a leather wingback chair.
“Sit, Maggie,” Adrian commanded.
I perched on the edge of the sofa. My uniform felt stiff and ridiculous in this room of power and secrets.
“Why did Leo give you the lighter, Tom?” Adrian asked, taking a sip of his drink.
Tom stared at the silver object on Adrian’s desk. “I ran a safe house back then. A quiet place for people who needed to disappear. Leo came to me. He was terrified. He said someone inside the family had sold him out.”
A reversal. The legend was that a rival family killed Leo. But Leo believed it was an inside job.
“He gave me the lighter to hold,” Tom continued. “Said it contained the proof. But he left before I could examine it. He was dead the next morning.”
Adrian picked up the lighter. He pressed the ignition, but no flame appeared. He flipped it over, inspecting the bottom. With a sharp twist, the bottom casing popped off.
It wasn’t just a lighter. It was a hollow compartment.
Adrian pulled out a tiny, tightly rolled piece of microfilm.
He held it up to the desk lamp. I squinted, trying to make out the shapes.
“It’s a bank ledger,” Adrian said, his voice deadly quiet. “Offshore accounts. The money that disappeared the week Leo died.”
He traced a line with his finger. “The account is under the name Whitmore.”
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Before anyone could speak, my radio buzzed at my hip. It was the gate security feed.
“Mr. Falcone,” the guard’s voice crackled. “There’s a woman here at the gate. She says her name is Eleanor Whitmore. And she has a little boy with her.”
