Chapter 2 - THE SILVER WATCH
Vincent Marino didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to.
The silence in the dining room had become absolute.
At the far end of the table, his mother, Silvia, finished folding her linen napkin. She smoothed the edges with arthritic fingers. She was seventy-four, dressed in unassuming black, and usually the quietest presence in the Marino family.
"Mother," Vincent said. The word was heavy, a stone dropped in still water. "Why is the foundation issuing eighteen thousand dollars in consulting fees to your address?"
Silvia looked up. She didn't look at her son. She looked at me.
"Because North Quay Services isn't a company," Silvia said quietly. "It’s a bank account. And I didn't authorize that transfer."
Celia’s chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor. "Vincent, this is absurd. The woman is confused. We shouldn't be discussing this in front of—"
"Sit down, Celia," Vincent said.
Celia froze, her face flushed with a sudden, panicked anger. But she sat.
I gripped my phone. The screen was still illuminated with the proof of my twenty-five thousand dollar check. The money from Robert’s boat. The boat he loved more than anything except me.
"If you didn't authorize the transfer, Mrs. Marino," I said, my voice steadier than my shaking hands, "who did?"
Silvia reached into her black leather purse. The metallic click of the clasp echoed over the clinking of dishes in the kitchen.
She pulled out a small, tarnished object and set it on the white tablecloth.
My breath caught in my throat.
It was a silver pocket watch. The casing was dented near the hinge. It had a braided leather strap, worn dark from sweat and sea salt.
Robert’s watch.
The one he had lost three years ago on the docks. He had torn the house apart looking for it. He’d been devastated.
"Where did you get that?" I whispered, stepping closer to the table.
"Your husband gave it to me," Silvia said gently. "Three years ago. He gave it to me as collateral."
"Collateral for what?" Vincent demanded. "Mother, what is going on?"
Silvia kept her eyes on me. "Robert came to me because he found out what Celia was doing. He found out long before any of us did. He knew she was skimming from the winter meal program to fund her lifestyle. And when he threatened to expose her, Celia didn't just fire back. She went after the one thing Robert was trying to protect."
Silvia slid the watch across the tablecloth toward me.
"He needed eighteen thousand dollars to cover a deficit Celia had created in the neighborhood charity," Silvia explained. "A deficit she was going to frame him for. North Quay Services was the dummy account she used. I loaned him the money to fill the hole, and he gave me the watch to prove he'd pay me back."
I touched the cold silver. The metal felt like a physical blow. Robert had never told me. He had carried that burden alone to protect our family's name.
"That's a lie," Celia hissed. "An absolute fabrication by a senile old woman."
Martin, the accountant, tapped his keyboard. His face was pale in the glow of the laptop screen.
"It's not a lie," Martin said, his voice cracking. "I'm looking at the original routing numbers from three years ago. The deficit was real. But..."
Martin stopped, his eyes widening.
"But what, Martin?" Vincent snapped.
"The routing numbers on the new eighteen thousand dollar transfer—the one we just found," Martin stammered, turning the laptop so Vincent could see. "They don't match Mrs. Marino's account. The address is hers. But the destination account belongs to someone else."
Vincent leaned in. "Who?"
Martin looked terrified. "It belongs to the Bellweather Hotel. It's a second payment for the wedding."
Celia leaped from her chair, snatching her purse. "I am done being interrogated by my own employees!"
"Nobody is leaving," a new voice said.
A young woman in a pale blue dress stood in the archway of the dining room. It was Amelia. Celia’s daughter. The recent bride.
She was holding a manila folder, and her hands were trembling violently.
"Amelia," Celia said, her tone instantly shifting to a sickening sweetness. "Honey, go back upstairs. The adults are handling a minor accounting error."
May you like
Amelia ignored her mother. She walked straight toward me and placed the folder on the table next to Robert’s watch.
"It wasn't just flowers," Amelia said, tears spilling over her eyelashes. "I found this in my mother's home office an hour ago. She didn't just steal from your husband, Mrs. Hale. She stole from my son."
