Chapter 4 - THE RECEIPT
The words hung in the air, suffocating and heavy. Vanessa cut the brake lines. She hadn't just orchestrated a robbery. She hadn't just plotted a kidnapping. She had murdered Catherine and her own brother to cover her tracks. And for the last three years, she had been sleeping in the bed of the man whose wife she killed. “Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, stepping between him and Leo instinctively. “Where is she?” Luca stood up, his face hardening into something terrifying. “She’s in my office. The door is locked from the outside. I’ve called the police.” Teresa clutched her rosary beads, her knuckles white. “Luca, she is a desperate woman. Desperate people do not sit quietly and wait for the police.” Before Luca could answer, the lights in the mansion suddenly went dark. Leo cried out. I scooped him up immediately, pressing him into the corner of the room. The only light came from the moon filtering through the heavy drapes. “Stay here,” Luca commanded, his voice tight. “Lock the door behind me.” “No!” Teresa cried. “Luca, don't go out there!” “She cut the main breaker, Mom. I have to make sure she hasn't left the house. The police are ten minutes away.” He stepped into the dark hallway and pulled the door shut. I immediately turned the deadbolt, my hands shaking so badly I scraped my knuckles on the brass. The silence in the room was deafening. I could hear Leo’s ragged breathing against my neck. “Hannah,” Teresa whispered from the darkness. “My bedside table. The top drawer. There is a flashlight.” I moved carefully, keeping one arm wrapped securely around the little boy. I fumbled with the drawer handle, sliding it open. My fingers brushed against a heavy metal object before finding the plastic casing of the flashlight. I clicked it on. The beam illuminated Teresa’s pale, terrified face. “What was that?” I asked, pointing the light into the drawer. Teresa didn't look. “My husband’s revolver. Leave it. We won't need it.” I wasn't so sure. We waited. One minute. Two. The sheer size of the Moretti mansion meant sound didn't travel well. If Luca was fighting Vanessa in the west wing, we wouldn't hear it. Then, a soft sound came from outside the window. Crunch. Footsteps on the gravel path that ran alongside the ground-floor suites. I clicked the flashlight off instantly. Total darkness swallowed us again. “What is it?” Teresa breathed. I put my finger to my lips, though she couldn't see me. I crept toward the window, peering through a narrow gap in the curtains. A shadow was moving quickly past the rose bushes. It was Vanessa. She had broken a ground-floor window to escape the locked office and was heading for the garage. “She’s outside,” I whispered. “She’s going for the cars.” “She doesn't have her keys,” Teresa said. “Luca took them.” “The spare keys hang in the mudroom,” I realized with a jolt of panic. “If she gets in a car, she’ll be gone before the police arrive. She’ll disappear.” Teresa gripped the wheels of her chair. “We cannot let her leave, Hannah. If she runs, she will find a way to avoid justice. For Catherine. For my son.” I looked down at Leo. He was trembling. I couldn't leave him. But I couldn't let the woman who murdered his mother walk away. I made a decision. “Mrs. Moretti, lock the door after I leave. Do not open it for anyone but the police or Luca.” “Hannah, no!” I opened the drawer, took the heavy revolver, and slipped it into the deep pocket of my uniform apron. I had never held a gun in my life, but the cold metal gave me a fraction of courage. I unlocked the bedroom door, slipped into the dark hallway, and ran toward the back of the house. The kitchen was pitch black. I navigated by memory, sliding past the marble island and heading for the mudroom door. Through the glass panes, I saw the motion-sensor lights in the garage flick on. Vanessa was frantically pulling keys from the pegboard. I pushed the door open. “Stop.” Vanessa spun around, a set of keys clutched in her fist. Her hair was disheveled, her expensive red dress torn at the shoulder. She looked feral. When she saw it was only me, she laughed. It was a horrible, hollow sound. “Get out of my way, Hannah. You’ve done enough damage for one night.” “The police are almost here,” I said, blocking the door leading to the driveway. “Let them come. By the time they figure out what those receipts mean, I’ll be out of the state.” She took a step toward me. “Move.” I reached into my apron and pulled out the revolver. It was incredibly heavy. I pointed it at her chest. Vanessa froze. Her eyes darted from the barrel to my face. “You won't shoot me,” she sneered, though her voice wavered. “You’re a maid. You wipe baseboards for minimum wage. You don't have the stomach for this.” “I wipe baseboards to pay for my mother’s stroke therapy,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “And I listen. I listened when you threatened an old woman. I listened when you terrified a five-year-old boy. I’m not moving.” Vanessa’s eyes narrowed. She slowly lowered the keys. “You think you’re a hero?” she whispered. “You think Luca is going to reward you? He’s a broken man. He’ll never look at you as anything more than the help.” “I don't care how he looks at me,” I said. “I care that Catherine gets justice.” Suddenly, the garage door began to rattle. Someone was pulling on the handle from the outside. Vanessa lunged at me. She slammed into my shoulder. The gun slipped from my sweating hands and clattered onto the concrete floor. She shoved me hard against the doorframe and bolted for the sleek black SUV in the center bay. I scrambled for the gun, but she was already opening the car door. Then, a blinding spotlight hit the garage window. Red and blue lights flashed across the walls. Sirens wailed, practically in the driveway. Vanessa screamed in frustration. She slammed the car door and looked around wildly. Her eyes landed on a heavy metal tire iron resting on a workbench. She grabbed it and turned toward me, her face twisted in pure rage. “If I’m going down,” she hissed, raising the iron, “I’m taking you with me.” She swung.
