Chapter 4 - The Stolen Identity
I stared at the passport. Helen’s face, pale and unsmiling, stared back at me. But the name printed next to her photograph wasn’t Helen DeLuca. It was Margaret Rossi. My heart hammered against my ribs. I had been a residential caregiver for years. I knew exactly what happened when an elderly person was isolated under a fake name. They lost their medical history. They lost their legal rights. They essentially vanished from the world. Caroline wasn’t just going to dump Helen in an apartment. She was going to steal her identity, move her across the world, and hold her hostage. “Mia,” I said, keeping my voice steady as I tucked the passports into my apron. “Who put these in your bunny?” “Mommy did,” the little girl whispered, sipping the hot chocolate a server had quickly prepared. “She said we had to take the old lady with us because the bad men needed her.” I froze. The bad men. Caroline had sworn to Vincent that she was just a thief. She claimed she was acting alone to save her bankrupt family. But Mia’s words painted a much darker picture. I left Mia with one of the trusted servers and pushed back through the kitchen doors. The living room was tense. Vincent had forced Caroline into a chair. Mark was still on his knees, surrounded by guards. “Vincent,” I said, interrupting his interrogation. He turned, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Nora, I told you to stay in the kitchen.” I walked directly to him and handed over the stack of passports. “I found these hidden in the child’s toy,” I said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Look at the bottom one.” Vincent flipped through the dark blue booklets. When he saw his mother’s photograph with a false name, the irritation vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating fury. He slowly turned to Caroline. “Margaret Rossi,” he read. Caroline squeezed her eyes shut, tears ruining her face. “You were going to kidnap her,” Vincent stated. It wasn’t a question. “I had to!” Caroline sobbed, finally breaking. “I didn’t have a choice, Vincent! They told me if I didn’t get the DeLuca matriarch out of the country tonight, they would kill Mark and Mia.” “Who?” Vincent roared, grabbing the arms of her chair. “Who is giving you orders?” Caroline opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by a sharp, melodic chime. It was Caroline’s cell phone, resting on the coffee table. The caller ID flashed on the screen. It was a restricted number. Vincent picked up the phone. He answered it and put it on speaker, holding it between himself and Caroline. “Is the package in the car?” a harsh, distorted voice asked. Vincent didn’t speak. “Caroline, answer me,” the voice demanded. “If Helen DeLuca isn’t in that apartment by midnight, your husband and your daughter are dead. And I’ll send my men into that engagement party to finish Vincent myself.” Helen let out a quiet gasp. I looked down at her. She wasn’t looking at the phone. She was staring at Caroline’s open designer purse on the floor. When Caroline had been forced into the chair, the bag had tipped over. Spilling out of the silk lining was a heavy, silver rosary. It was unmistakable. The crucifix was missing the right arm. “Where did you get that?” Helen whispered, pointing at the beads. Caroline looked down. “It was sent to me yesterday. As a warning from the men calling me.” Helen looked up at Vincent, her eyes filled with a terror I had never seen before. “Vincent,” she said. “That’s the rosary I buried with your father.”
