Chapter 3 - THE BLUE ENVELOPE
The silence in the dining room became deafening. Luca slowly raised his eyes from the plane ticket and looked directly at me. “Emily?” he whispered, the betrayal echoing in his chest. “You’ve only worked here for ten months. Catherine died two years ago.” My mind spun. I stared at the ticket in his hand. “I’ve never seen that before in my life,” I said, my voice shaking. “Mr. Moretti, I swear to you. I didn’t even live in Chicago two years ago!” “It’s a fake,” Eleanor said firmly, standing up from her chair. She pointed a trembling finger at Marcus. “He’s lying. He’s trying to distract you from the watch!” Marcus sneered. “Am I? Check the date on the ticket, Luca. Catherine bought it. She was setting up a new identity. She was going to drain your offshore accounts, take Grace, and vanish using a clean name. Emily Carter.” I felt a wave of nausea. Emily Carter was my real name. But if Catherine had used it two years ago... how was I here now? “He’s lying, Daddy!” Grace cried out, her small fists clenching. “Mommy wasn’t going away! She was trying to hide the blue envelope!” Marcus’s head snapped toward the little girl. For a split second, the polished, calm underboss vanished, replaced by something feral and terrified. “What envelope, Grace?” Luca asked, stepping between his daughter and Marcus. “The one Marcus wanted,” Grace whimpered, burying her face against my apron. “Mommy told me to put it in my dollhouse. She said if anything happened to her, I had to keep it safe until I was big.” Vanessa gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. She looked at Marcus in absolute horror. “You told me you burned it,” she hissed. Marcus shot Vanessa a look so lethal she stumbled backward into a chair. “Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice dangerously calm. “What did he tell you he burned?” Tears streamed down Vanessa’s perfectly powdered cheeks. She looked at the thirty-eight guests, all frozen in shock, and then at the man she was supposed to marry. “I didn’t know she was going to die, Luca,” Vanessa sobbed. “I swear. Marcus told me Catherine was stealing from you. He said he had proof in a blue envelope. He told me to wait at the bottom of the stairs to block her if she tried to run.” Luca’s jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth would shatter. “You were there?” Vanessa shrank back. “I just wanted her gone, Luca! I loved you! Marcus said if we confronted her, she would leave in shame. But they started fighting at the top of the stairs, and... and...” “And I tried to pull her back,” Marcus interrupted, his voice booming through the room. “She slipped, Luca. It was an accident.” “Liars!” Eleanor screamed, clutching her chest. “My daughter never stole a dime!” Luca looked at me. “Emily. Go upstairs. Get the envelope from the dollhouse.” “Don’t do it,” Marcus warned, his hand slipping back into his jacket. This time, there was no mistaking the shape of the heavy pistol beneath the fabric. “Nobody is going upstairs.” The dining room erupted into panic. Guests screamed, shoving their chairs back. But over the chaos, a sharp, metallic click silenced the room. Luca stood at the head of the table, his own firearm drawn and aimed directly at Marcus’s chest. “Go, Emily,” Luca commanded, never taking his eyes off his oldest friend. I didn’t wait. I scooped Grace into my arms and bolted for the grand staircase. Eleanor followed right behind me, her frail legs moving faster than I had ever seen. We reached Grace’s bedroom, slamming and locking the heavy oak door behind us. I set Grace down, my hands shaking uncontrollably. “Where is it, sweetie?” I asked frantically. “Where is the envelope?” Grace ran to the massive, Victorian wooden dollhouse in the corner of her room. She reached up to the miniature attic, her small fingers prying up a false floorboard. She pulled out a thick, dust-covered blue envelope and handed it to me. “Open it,” Eleanor breathed, leaning against the doorframe. I tore the seal. Inside were no bank statements. No plane tickets. It was a stack of 8x10 photographs. I pulled the first one out and gasped. It was a picture of Marcus, standing in a dark alley. But he wasn’t alone. He was handing a massive briefcase to a man wearing a police uniform. And standing right next to the police officer, holding a clipboard and looking directly at the camera, was my younger brother.
