Chapter 3 - THE HIDDEN PAYMENTS
The cherry of Audrey’s cigarette glowed a violent, angry orange in the dark. She stepped forward, her expensive silk evening gown completely out of place on the grease-stained driveway.
I instinctively shoved the gold money clip and the bank receipt deep into the pocket of my apron, kicking the green jacket behind my heels.
“I was just looking for the girl’s coat,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Millie was upset. I thought having something of Anna’s might calm her down.”
Audrey smiled. It was a razor-thin expression that didn’t reach her eyes. She took a slow drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke drift up toward the security cameras mounted on the stone garage.
“You are remarkably brave for a woman who makes twenty dollars an hour, Nell,” Audrey said, stepping into the faint wash of the security light. “Or perhaps just remarkably stupid. Do you know how many nannies Vincenzo went through before you? Four. In six months. They all tried to be Millie’s savior. They all packed their bags by midnight.”
“I’m not trying to be a savior,” I said, holding my ground. “I’m just doing my job. Protecting the child.”
“Protecting her from what? Me?” Audrey laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “You think I’m the wicked stepmother because I want her to let go of a dirty rag doll and a delinquent teenager? Vincenzo’s enemies would use anything to get to him. That foster girl is a liability. She’s a loose end.”
“She’s a sister,” I corrected.
Audrey’s eyes flashed. She flicked her cigarette onto the driveway and crushed it beneath her heel. “You have no idea what you’ve walked into, Nell. Vincenzo might play the loving father now, but he is a monster when crossed. If you value your quiet little life, you’ll walk back upstairs, pack your suitcase, and leave. Because if you stay, and you keep digging, I promise you won’t survive the fallout.”
She didn’t wait for my answer. She turned and walked back toward the mansion, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement.
I stood in the cold for a long time, my fingers curled tightly around the gold money clip in my pocket. She was terrified. Not of Vincenzo, but of what Anna knew.
I scooped up the green jacket, hid it under my apron, and slipped back into the house.
I didn’t pack my bags. Instead, I went straight to Vincenzo’s study.
He was sitting behind his massive oak desk, a glass of amber liquid untouched in front of him. The fire in the hearth was dying down. He looked up as I entered, his eyes heavy with an exhaustion that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.
“How is she?” he asked quietly.
“She’s asleep,” I lied. I walked to the desk and pulled the green jacket from beneath my apron. I laid it on the leather blotter. “I found Anna’s jacket in the trash, Mr. Moretti. But that isn’t all I found.”
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the gold money clip and the folded bank receipt, and placed them in front of him.
Vincenzo’s brow furrowed. He picked up the money clip, his thumb tracing the engraved E.M.
“This was on my desk yesterday,” he murmured. “It was Elena’s.”
“Anna had it in her pocket,” I explained. “But look at what was inside it.”
Vincenzo unfolded the cream-colored paper. I watched his eyes scan the Cayman Islands bank logo, the two-hundred-thousand-dollar deposit, and finally, the signature at the bottom.
The silence in the room stretched so tight I thought it would snap.
When Vincenzo finally spoke, his voice was utterly devoid of emotion. It was the voice of a man who commanded an empire built on blood.
“Audrey told me she came from a working-class family in Boston,” he said slowly, staring at the paper. “She told me she had no assets when we met. This deposit is from four years ago. Two years before I even knew she existed.”
Answer one: Audrey hadn’t been protecting Millie from a bad influence. She was protecting herself. Anna had brought proof of Audrey’s hidden wealth to the house.
“Why would a teenager in the foster system have Audrey’s offshore bank receipt?” Vincenzo asked, looking up at me. His eyes were burning now. “And why wrap it in Elena’s money clip?”
“I don’t know, sir,” I said honestly. “But Audrey is terrified of that girl. She just cornered me in the driveway and told me to pack my bags. She said Anna was a loose end.”
Vincenzo stood up. He walked to the fireplace, leaning his arm against the mantelpiece. He stared into the dying embers.
“Elena died five years ago,” Vincenzo said softly. It was the first time I had ever heard him speak of his late wife. “A car accident. Raining. A truck ran her off a cliff. I didn’t know she was pregnant with Millie. I thought I lost everything that night. It wasn’t until six months ago that a private investigator found out Elena had survived the crash long enough to give birth, and that the hospital placed Millie in the system.”
He turned to face me. “Audrey was the grief counselor the hospital assigned to me after the accident. That’s how we met.”
My stomach dropped.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered. “If Audrey was your grief counselor… and she made a two-hundred-thousand-dollar deposit a year after Elena died…”
Vincenzo didn’t need me to finish the sentence. The realization hit him like a physical blow.
Audrey hadn’t just stumbled into his life. She had been paid.
“We need to find Anna,” Vincenzo said, his voice turning to steel. “Tonight. Before Audrey realizes you gave this to me.”
He grabbed his coat from the chair. “Stay with Millie. Lock her bedroom door. Do not let Audrey inside under any circumstances.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To the foster home,” Vincenzo said. “I’m bringing Anna back.”
He walked out, leaving the study door open.
I ran upstairs, my heart in my throat. I unlocked Millie’s door and stepped inside. The room was dark, lit only by a small princess nightlight plugged into the wall.
I walked to the bed to check on her.
I pulled back the pink duvet.
The bed was empty.
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The mended rag doll was sitting perfectly upright on the pillows. Pinned to the doll’s chest with a safety pin was a small, torn piece of notebook paper.
Cliffhanger: I unpinned the note with trembling fingers. Written in Millie’s clumsy eight-year-old handwriting were three words: Audrey took me.
