Chapter 2 - THE GUEST AT THE END OF THE TABLE
The dining room felt as if the air had been sucked out of it.
The security technician didn’t flinch when Luca called him out. He simply set his wine glass down, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. He wore a tailored suit now, not the blue coveralls he’d been wearing three hours ago.
“His name is Marcus,” Vanessa said, her voice trembling slightly, though she kept her chin high. “He’s my brother.”
A murmur ripped through the twenty guests.
Luca didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “Your brother. The one you told me died in a boating accident five years ago.”
“He had to disappear, Luca,” Vanessa pleaded, stepping toward the head of the table. “Your brother, Marco, was coming after him. Marcus owed Marco money. When Marco vanished, we thought it was safe for Marcus to come back. I brought him here tonight to explain everything.”
“By having him pose as a technician to turn off my cameras?” Luca asked, his voice dropping an octave. “By having him photograph my private ledgers?”
I stood frozen near the table, the sharp, broken pieces of my father’s watch biting into my palm. Ben tugged at my apron. I looked down.
He is lying, Ben signed, his small hands sharp and precise. He didn’t take a picture. He took the whole book.
I looked at Luca. “Ben says Marcus took the actual ledger, not just a photo.”
Marcus pushed his chair back, his face darkening. “The deaf kid doesn’t know what he saw.”
Luca’s hand moved so fast I barely registered it. He grabbed a silver steak knife and slammed it point-down into the mahogany table, less than an inch from Marcus’s hand. The wood splintered.
“You do not speak about my son,” Luca whispered.
Vanessa shrieked. “Luca, stop! He took the ledger for your own good! To show you the truth about your brother!”
“Where is it?” Luca demanded, ignoring her.
Marcus slowly reached into his suit jacket. He pulled out a small, blue-leather notebook and tossed it onto the table. The gold lettering on the cover was faded. It was Marco’s handwriting. Luca’s older brother had vanished two years ago, presumed dead after his car was found abandoned on a bridge.
“Open it,” Marcus sneered, rubbing his wrist. “Look at the payments Marco was making the month before he disappeared. Look who he was paying.”
Luca opened the blue cover. He scanned the first page. His eyes narrowed, moving down the columns of numbers. Then, he stopped.
He looked up, directly at me.
“Emily,” Luca said, his voice stripped of its usual calm. “What was your father’s name?”
“Arthur,” I said, my heart pounding against my ribs. “Arthur Hayes.”
Luca turned the ledger around and pushed it across the table.
There, written in blue ink, were three payments of fifty thousand dollars. Next to each payment was a name: Arthur Hayes - City Transit.
My father. My honest, hardworking father who packed a thermos of black coffee every morning and drove a city bus for thirty years. He had taken a hundred and fifty thousand dollars from the Chicago mob.
“That’s impossible,” I breathed, staring at the ink. “He didn’t have any money. When he died, he left us nothing but debt and his watch.”
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Marcus let out a cruel, barking laugh. He looked at Vanessa, then at Luca.
“Why do you think the maid is really here, Luca?” Marcus asked, pointing at me. “She didn’t answer an ad. She’s looking for the rest of the money your brother stole.”
