Chapter 3 - THE VINTAGE WATCH
The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway sounded like a time bomb counting down.
Vincent Moretti stared at his uncle, his massive shoulders rigid with a violence that was barely contained. For five years, Vincent had believed his father, Carlo, was killed by a random street thug in a botched robbery.
But the faded photograph proved otherwise.
“Vincent, please,” Richard wept, sliding out of his chair and dropping to his knees on the hardwood floor. “I didn't kill him! I swear on my mother’s grave, I didn't kill Carlo!”
“Then how did you get the watch?” Vincent demanded, taking a slow, menacing step toward the older man.
Richard squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face.
“I found his body before the police did,” Richard choked out. “I was supposed to meet Carlo that night to ask for a loan to cover my gambling debts. When I got to the alley, he was already dead. He was bleeding on the pavement. But his briefcase was open, and the cash was gone.”
Richard looked up, his face twisted in pathetic shame.
“I was desperate, Vincent. The syndicate was going to kill me. I saw the silver watch on his wrist. It was worth fifty thousand dollars. So I… I unbuckled it. I took it off his body before calling the cops. I pawned it to a private buyer to save my own life.”
Disgust radiated from every person in the room. Even the wealthy investors looked physically sick.
“You robbed your own brother’s corpse,” Vincent whispered, the betrayal slicing deeper than a knife.
“And Vanessa bought it back,” Richard cried, pointing a shaking finger at the woman in the red dress. “She tracked down the buyer! She bought the watch and used it to blackmail me! She told me if I didn't introduce her to you, and if I didn't help her steal the foundation money, she would tell you I murdered your father!”
Vincent turned his dead eyes toward Vanessa.
Vanessa was pressed against the mahogany sideboard, her chest heaving. But as the silence stretched, the panic on her face slowly morphed into a cold, calculated smirk.
She wasn't a victim. She was a predator who had just been forced into the light.
“Oh, stop crying, Richard,” Vanessa sneered, rolling her eyes. “You’re pathetic.”
She looked at Vincent, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Yes, I blackmailed him,” Vanessa admitted smoothly. “I knew Richard was stealing from the 1998 fund. I knew he took the watch. But I didn't infiltrate your family for money, Vincent. I infiltrated your family because of your mother.”
Vincent froze. “Leave my mother out of this.”
“I can’t,” Vanessa smiled a wicked, bitter smile. “Because your precious, saintly mother wasn't the angel this city thought she was. Eleanor knew exactly what Richard was doing. And she didn't care.”
“Liar!” Florence shouted, her frail voice echoing with sudden strength. “Eleanor loved those families! She would never allow anyone to steal from them!”
Vanessa laughed. She reached into the bodice of her scarlet gown and pulled out a small, stiff piece of paper. She threw it onto the dining table.
“Look at it, Vincent,” Vanessa commanded.
Vincent reached down and picked up the paper. It was an old, faded train ticket.
“Your mother didn't die of a heart attack in her sleep fourteen months ago,” Vanessa said, her voice dripping with venom. “She packed her bags. She emptied a secret offshore account. And she bought a one-way ticket to Switzerland under a fake name.”
Vincent stared at the ticket. His hands began to tremble.
“She was running away,” Vanessa continued, reveling in his pain. “She found out the foundation was bankrupt, she knew the feds were closing in on Richard, and she was abandoning you to deal with the fallout. She was a coward.”
I watched Vincent’s face crumble. The untouchable mafia boss, the man who had built a fortress around his heart, was shattering. He worshipped his mother. The idea that she had been planning to abandon him in the middle of the night was destroying him.
“It’s not true,” I whispered, stepping forward.
Vanessa whipped her head toward me. “I told you to shut your mouth, maid!”
“I won’t,” I said, my voice gaining strength. I looked directly at Vincent. “Mr. Vincent, look at the ticket. Look at the date.”
Vincent blinked, forcing his eyes to focus on the faded ink.
“It’s dated October 14th,” I said.
“So what?” Vanessa snapped.
“So,” I said, my heart pounding in my ears, “Eleanor died on October 12th. She had already been dead for two days when this ticket was purchased.”
Vanessa’s face went completely ash white.
“Someone bought this ticket after she died to make it look like she was planning to run away,” I explained, my eyes locking onto Vanessa. “Someone was trying to build a false narrative.”
Before Vanessa could formulate another lie, Florence tugged urgently on my sleeve. The elderly widow was pointing a shaking finger at Vanessa’s right wrist.
“Anna,” Florence whispered in horror. “Look at her arm.”
I looked.
Resting on Vanessa’s wrist, glittering under the chandelier, was a massive, custom-made emerald and gold bracelet.
“Answer one,” I said, the pieces violently shifting in my mind. “Vanessa faked the train ticket to frame Eleanor.”
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I took a step toward the fiancée.
“Open two: Why are you wearing the emerald bracelet Eleanor supposedly took with her to the grave?”
