Chapter 4 - THE LAURENT CREST
The heavy silver bracelet sat on the white linen tablecloth, the intricate engraving of the Laurent family crest—a hawk clutching a diamond—gleaming under the lights.
Vanessa pressed herself against the wallpaper, her chest heaving as thirty-eight guests stared at her.
“I don't know what that is,” Vanessa stammered, her voice pitching high with panic. “I’ve never seen that bracelet in my life! I’m thirty years old, Adrian! I wasn't even born when Arthur died!”
Adrian picked up the heavy silver jewelry. He traced the hawk crest with his thumb.
“You weren't born,” Adrian agreed, his voice frighteningly calm. “But your father was.”
Julian Laurent.
I knew the name well. Julian had been the chief accountant for the Moretti family for four decades, before dying of a sudden heart attack two years ago. It was Julian’s dying wish that his daughter, Vanessa, marry Adrian to unite their families' wealth.
“My father was an accountant!” Vanessa shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at Victoria. “He didn't kill anyone! Your mother is lying to frame my family!”
Victoria didn't flinch.
“Julian was an accountant,” Victoria said coldly. “And he was Richard’s best friend. Julian handled the payoffs. He handled the bribes. And when I tried to pack my bags that night, it was Julian who walked into my room and held a gun to my head until Richard’s men arrived.”
Edith Bell slumped against the guards holding her, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks.
“You promised me you didn't know who betrayed him, Victoria,” Edith cried, her voice broken. “For thirty-two years, you looked me in the eye and swore you didn't know who tipped them off!”
Victoria’s stoic expression cracked.
“I didn't know, Edith!” Victoria pleaded, her voice trembling. “I didn't know who the bracelet belonged to! I hid it that night, but I didn't recognize the crest. It wasn't until yesterday that I finally understood.”
Adrian frowned. “What happened yesterday?”
Victoria looked directly at Vanessa.
“Yesterday, Emily was polishing the silver in the master suite. I went in to check on her. And I saw Vanessa’s open jewelry box.”
I remembered the moment clearly. I had been dusting the vanity when Victoria walked in. She had stopped dead in her tracks, staring into the velvet box.
“Inside that box,” Victoria continued, “was a matching silver necklace. With the exact same Laurent crest. Julian didn't just drop his bracelet that night. He left it behind because he was rushing to help Richard murder Arthur.”
Richard let out a dark, mocking laugh.
“You’re getting senile, Victoria,” Richard sneered. “You think a piece of silver proves anything? Julian is dead. You have no proof he was in your room, and you have no proof I killed Arthur. It’s the rambling of an old woman.”
Adrian slowly set the bracelet down.
He turned his full, terrifying attention to his uncle.
“Is that right?” Adrian asked softly.
He didn't yell. He didn't threaten. He simply reached out and picked up the rusted iron key that he had cut from Arthur’s coat lining.
“If Arthur was murdered to cover up an escape,” Adrian reasoned aloud, “then he knew he was in danger. He hid this key inside his coat for a reason. He was protecting something.”
Richard’s mocking smile faltered slightly.
“It’s probably the key to a cheap motel room,” Richard dismissed, waving his hand. “Throw it away.”
“No.”
The word came from a small, quiet voice.
Everyone looked down.
Leo had let go of my hand. He walked slowly toward the table, his eyes fixed on the rusted iron key in his father’s hand.
“Leo, go back to Emily,” Adrian instructed gently.
But Leo shook his head. He reached out with his small fingers and touched the jagged teeth of the old key.
“Daddy,” Leo whispered, looking up at Adrian with wide, innocent eyes. “Why does this key look exactly like the one that’s missing from Mommy’s old diary?”
The silence that followed was absolute. It felt as if the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
Adrian froze. The color drained from his face so quickly I thought he might collapse.
Mommy’s old diary.
Clara Moretti. Adrian’s late wife. Leo’s mother.
Three years ago, Clara had died in a horrific car crash on the coastal highway. The police ruled it a tragic accident—brakes failing on a sharp turn in the rain. Adrian had never recovered from the loss.
“Leo,” Adrian whispered, his voice shaking. “What diary?”
“The blue one,” Leo said softly. “The one she used to hide under her mattress. The day before she went to heaven, she was crying. She told me she lost the key to it.”
I felt a cold chill race down my spine.
Clara had lost a key. Arthur had a key hidden in his coat thirty-two years ago.
Adrian looked at the rusted key in his hand. Then he looked at Vanessa.
Vanessa was suddenly trembling so violently she had to hold onto the wall to stay upright.
“Adrian,” Vanessa choked out. “Don't.”
But Adrian was already moving.
He bypassed Vanessa entirely, his long strides eating up the distance to the grand staircase.
“Emily!” Adrian barked over his shoulder. “Bring Leo. Mom, Edith, come with me.”
He pointed a lethal finger at Richard and Vanessa.
“Guards. If either of them moves a single muscle toward the door, shoot them in the legs.”
I scooped Leo up into my arms and followed Adrian up the sweeping marble staircase. Victoria leaned heavily on her cane, aided by Edith, the two women united by a shared, terrifying revelation.
We walked down the long, shadowed hallway of the west wing.
Adrian stopped in front of a pair of heavy oak doors. Clara’s old suite. It had been locked and untouched for three years.
Adrian unlocked the door and pushed it open. The room smelled faintly of lavender and dust.
He walked straight to the four-poster bed and threw the heavy mattress upward.
Underneath the wooden slats rested a small, navy-blue leather diary. It had a heavy brass lock on the front.
Adrian picked it up. His hands were shaking visibly.
He inserted the rusted iron key from Arthur’s coat into the brass lock.
It slid in perfectly.
With a soft click, the diary popped open.
Adrian flipped past the first few pages. Then he stopped.
He read the neat, cursive handwriting of his dead wife in the dim light of the bedroom.
I watched the man who controlled the city’s underworld begin to cry.
“Mr. Moretti?” I whispered, holding Leo tight. “What does it say?”
Adrian looked up, his eyes burning with a rage so profound it terrified me.
“Clara didn't die in an accident,” Adrian whispered, his voice cracking. “She was murdered.”
He turned the diary around so Victoria could see the page.
“She found out the truth about Arthur,” Adrian choked out. “And she wrote: If Richard finds out what I’ve uncovered, he’ll kill me just like he killed Julian Laurent. If anything happens to me, check the antique rosary in the chapel.”
My breath hitched.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, panic rising in my chest.
May you like
Adrian looked at me.
“This morning,” I said, my voice shaking. “I was cleaning the chapel. Richard came in and took the antique rosary from the altar. He told me he was taking it to be repaired.”
