Chapter 3 - ORCHARD SEVENTEENWORD NUMBER - 3
Abigail did not remember sitting down.
One second she was standing.
The next she was gripping the edge of a kitchen chair while Matteo’s words repeated inside her mind.
Your father may not have died.
Six years.
Six birthdays.
Six Christmases.
Six years of placing flowers beneath a headstone containing nothing but a name.
“My mother identified his belongings,” Abigail whispered.
Matteo crouched across from her.
“A watch and a ring?”
She stared at him.
“How did you know?”
“Because that was the method.”
Dante turned sharply.
“The method?”
Matteo looked at his brother.
“When someone needed to disappear, personal effects were planted.”
“You knew this existed?”
“I knew pieces.”
“How many pieces?”
“Enough to hate myself.”
Dante stepped closer.
“Not an answer.”
Matteo stood.
“Father never explained everything. He compartmentalized. People disappeared. Businesses changed ownership. Debts vanished from one book and appeared in another.”
“And you accepted that?”
“I was twenty-six and trying to survive him.”
“That excuse gets weaker every year.”
“I know.”
Abigail barely heard them.
“My father could be alive.”
No one answered.
She looked at Dante.
“Can we find Orchard Seventeen?”
“Yes.”
Matteo interrupted.
“Not tonight.”
Dante stared.
“Why?”
“Because if someone is still operating the old network, moving against that property will warn them.”
Abigail stood.
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“He is my father.”
“And if he is there, going blindly could get him moved before we arrive.”
That stopped her.
Dante looked toward Russo.
“Find the property.”
Russo hesitated.
“What?”
“Carlo.”
Russo rubbed his forehead.
“Orchard Seventeen was sold twelve years ago.”
“To whom?”
“A holding company.”
“Which?”
“I don’t remember.”
Dante almost smiled.
Carlo Russo remembered everything.
“You don’t remember?”
Russo’s expression tightened.
“I would need records.”
“Get them.”
Russo reached for the ledger.
Dante placed his hand over it.
“This stays with me.”
A brief silence followed.
Then Russo nodded.
“Of course.”
He walked out.
Abigail watched him leave.
Something about his reaction bothered her.
She could not explain why.
Dante noticed her looking.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Say it.”
“He was afraid before Matteo came in.”
Matteo looked toward the doorway.
Dante’s face showed nothing.
But Abigail had spent years learning to read powerful men because reading them early kept her safe.
Dante had heard her.
And he agreed.
At five in the morning, Abigail was driven to her mother’s apartment in a black SUV with Dante sitting beside her and two security vehicles following.
She had argued.
Dante had ignored her.
When they reached Fulton Street, the building entrance was locked.
No lights showed in Lucia Vega’s third-floor apartment.
Abigail’s heart began pounding.
“My mother wakes at four-thirty.”
Dante looked at the windows.
“You’re sure?”
“She worked hospital laundry for twenty-five years. She still wakes before sunrise.”
Dante opened the door.
“Stay behind me.”
Abigail did not.
She ran.
They reached the apartment within minutes.
The door was unlocked.
Abigail stopped.
Her mother never left it unlocked.
“Mom?”
Nothing.
She pushed inside.
The apartment looked normal.
Then she noticed the kitchen chair lying on its side.
“Mom!”
Dante moved quickly through the rooms.
Bedroom.
Bathroom.
Closet.
Empty.
Abigail grabbed her phone.
Twenty-three missed calls.
All from an unknown number.
A message had arrived three minutes earlier.
YOU WERE TOLD TO PAY.
Her knees almost failed.
Dante took the phone gently.
His face hardened.
A second message appeared.
DEBTS ARE INHERITED.
Then a photograph loaded.
Lucia Vega sat in what appeared to be a storage room.
She was alive.
Terrified.
A newspaper lay beside her.
Today’s date was visible.
Abigail made a sound Dante had never heard from her.
Not a scream.
Something smaller.
More broken.
He caught her before she collapsed.
“They took her because of me.”
“No.”
“I told you not to get involved.”
“They took her because whoever is behind this realized the ledger had been found.”
“How?”
Dante looked around the apartment.
Then at the ceiling.
He walked toward a smoke detector.
Removed it.
Inside was a miniature transmitter.
Abigail stared.
“They were listening?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
Dante examined the device.
“Long enough.”
Matteo entered moments later with Marco and additional security.
When Dante showed him the transmitter, Matteo swore.
Abigail turned toward him.
“Find my mother.”
“We will.”
“That is what people say when they don’t know where someone is.”
Matteo met her gaze.
“You’re right.”
Dante looked at Marco.
“Building cameras.”
“Already checking.”
“Traffic feeds.”
“Working on it.”
“Plate readers.”
Marco nodded.
Abigail walked into her mother’s bedroom.
Something had changed.
The room was too neat.
The bed perfectly made.
Her mother had been taken quickly, yet someone had spent time afterward arranging things.
Why?
She opened the closet.
Shoes aligned.
Coats hanging.
Then she noticed a small cedar jewelry box on the top shelf.
Her mother never kept jewelry there.
Abigail lifted it down.
Inside were three photographs.
The first showed Abigail as a baby.
The second showed Rafael and Lucia on their wedding day.
The third made her sit down.
Her father stood outside his repair shop beside three men.
One was Lorenzo Moretti.
A younger Matteo stood near him.
And beside them stood Carlo Russo.
On the back, someone had written:
THE FOUR WHO KNEW.
Abigail carried it into the living room.
Dante took one look at the photograph.
“Carlo said he barely knew your father.”
Matteo’s face hardened.
“That photograph says otherwise.”
Marco entered.
“We found the vehicle that took Lucia.”
“Where?”
“Traffic camera caught it heading north.”
Abigail’s heartbeat accelerated.
“North where?”
Marco looked at Dante.
“The plate belongs to a company registered to Orchard Renewal Holdings.”
Matteo swore.
“Orchard.”
Dante turned toward Abigail.
“We’re going.”
Matteo grabbed his arm.
“You cannot walk into that property.”
“I’m not asking permission.”
“Dante, think.”
“I am thinking.”
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Dante lowered his voice.
“They took her mother from her home.”
“And that is exactly why they want you moving fast.”
Abigail stared at the photograph.
Carlo.
Her father.
Lorenzo.
Matteo.
Four who knew.
She looked again at the back.
There was another line beneath the first.
Almost faded.
She held it toward the window.
Then her blood ran cold.
The complete message read:
THE FOUR WHO KNEW.
ONLY ONE OF THEM TOLD THE TRUTH.
Abigail looked at Matteo.
He read the line.
His face emptied.
Dante saw it too.
Then his phone rang.
Carlo Russo.
Dante answered.
“Where are you?”
Russo’s breathing was heavy.
“Dante, listen to me carefully.”
“Where are you?”
“Do not go to Orchard Seventeen.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
A sound came through the phone.
A door slamming.
Then Russo whispered:
“Because Orchard Seventeen was never your father’s prison.”
A pause.
“It was his evidence room.”
Dante went still.
Russo continued.
“And Abigail’s father wasn’t a prisoner there.”
Abigail stepped closer to the phone.
“What was he?”
Carlo inhaled.
Then said:
May you like
“He was the man keeping the ledger.”
The connection died.
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