Chapter 2 - THE MISSING TWELVE MINUTES
-2
By midnight, Luca was asleep under hospital observation.
Vittorio was not.
The preliminary report confirmed what Dr. Patel had suspected.
The substance in Luca’s system was not something that belonged in food or tea.
The exact formulation required further laboratory testing, but one thing was already clear.
It had been deliberately introduced.
Vittorio remained beside his son until Marco arrived at the hospital shortly after twelve-thirty.
He carried no laptop.
No documents.
Only a black encrypted drive in his coat pocket.
“That bad?” Vittorio asked.
Marco looked through the glass toward Luca.
“Worse.”
Vittorio kissed his sleeping son’s forehead, told the nurse he would be down the hall, and followed Marco into an empty family consultation room.
Marco locked the door.
“What did you recover?”
“Enough to know somebody has been manipulating the archive for years.”
“Who had access?”
“Three people.”
“Names.”
“Myself. The estate systems administrator, Kevin Park. And your mother.”
Vittorio looked up sharply.
“My mother had security access?”
“Administrator-level.”
“Since when?”
Marco hesitated.
“Before I took over.”
That meant before Sofia died.
“Why?”
“Your father authorized it.”
“My father hated cameras.”
“He also hated surprises.”
Marco connected the drive to the wall monitor.
A grainy image appeared.
Date stamp:
October 14.
Three years earlier.
The night Sofia died.
The kitchen looked exactly as Vittorio remembered it.
White marble.
Copper pans.
A bowl of lemons Sofia insisted on keeping beneath the window.
At 10:43 p.m., Bernadette entered.
She was younger, but only slightly.
Same posture.
Same controlled walk.
Same habit of keeping one hand on her handbag strap.
“She told everyone she stayed at the gala until midnight,” Vittorio said.
“She appears on gala photographs at 10:15 and again at 11:42.”
“She left.”
“Apparently.”
Bernadette placed her handbag on the island.
She opened a cabinet.
Took down a glass.
Then stepped partially outside the camera frame.
When she returned, she carried a pitcher.
Vittorio leaned closer.
“Red tea.”
Marco nodded.
Bernadette poured one glass.
Then another.
At 10:48, Sofia entered.
Even after three years, seeing his wife alive without warning knocked the breath from Vittorio.
Sofia wore gray sweatpants and one of his old university sweatshirts.
Her dark hair was pinned carelessly behind her head.
She looked tired.
Beautiful.
Alive.
Vittorio gripped the table.
“Stop.”
Marco paused the recording.
Vittorio stared at her.
He had hundreds of photographs.
Dozens of videos.
Yet security footage was different.
Sofia was not smiling for anyone.
Not performing for a camera.
She was simply walking through her kitchen.
Living.
Vittorio swallowed.
“Keep going.”
The footage resumed.
Sofia appeared startled to see Bernadette.
They spoke.
No audio.
Bernadette pushed one glass toward her.
Sofia did not touch it.
They argued.
Sofia pointed toward the hallway.
Bernadette remained calm.
Then Sofia turned away.
While her back was turned, Bernadette reached into her handbag.
The camera glitched.
The image jumped forward twenty-seven seconds.
When it returned, Bernadette was closing her purse.
Sofia picked up the glass.
Vittorio stopped breathing.
“No.”
She drank.
Once.
Twice.
Then carried the glass toward the living room.
Bernadette followed several minutes later.
The recovered footage ended.
“That’s all?”
“For that camera.”
“Other angles?”
“We’re working on them.”
Vittorio stood abruptly.
“She brought the tea.”
“Yes.”
“She lied about being there.”
“Yes.”
“She reached into the same purse.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t the police see this?”
Marco’s expression tightened.
“Because the original footage wasn’t there when they requested it.”
“Who provided the archive?”
Marco looked at him.
“Your mother.”
Vittorio turned away.
He remembered Sofia’s funeral.
Bernadette had held his arm while he stood beside the coffin.
She had whispered, You have to stay strong for Luca.
Luca had been five.
Vittorio had barely been able to breathe.
Bernadette arranged the flowers.
Spoke to reporters.
Handled the private memorial.
Stayed at Vittorio’s house for nearly a month afterward.
She had even packed Sofia’s clothes because Vittorio could not bear to enter the closet.
The thought suddenly made him nauseated.
“Show me today.”
Marco changed files.
The garden appeared.
Children running.
Staff carrying trays.
Bernadette seated beneath a cream umbrella.
Luca approached with a handmade gift—a small wooden birdhouse he had painted himself.
Vittorio remembered the moment.
Bernadette had looked at it with irritation.
Luca had tried to explain that bluebirds were supposed to bring happiness.
Bernadette knocked it from the table after he spilled a little lemonade.
The public cruelty had enraged Vittorio.
Now it seemed almost irrelevant.
Onscreen, Bernadette called Luca back.
A server placed hibiscus tea beside her.
Bernadette opened her purse.
Removed something tiny.
Her body blocked the camera briefly.
Then she stirred Luca’s glass.
Vittorio felt cold.
“How much time between that and his first complaint?”
“Seventeen minutes.”
“Where did she go afterward?”
“She stayed outside.”
“And the missing twelve minutes?”
Marco moved to another file.
“This is what concerns me.”
The video showed Bernadette walking into the house while the children played.
The timestamp read 3:08 p.m.
Then the image disappeared.
Black screen.
At 3:20, the camera resumed.
“What happened during those twelve minutes?”
“We don’t know.”
“Was that deletion made today?”
“Yes.”
“Before or after Luca got sick?”
Marco paused.
“Before.”
Vittorio looked at him.
“So she planned to erase something.”
“Or someone else did.”
“Who was logged into the system?”
“That’s the strange part.”
Marco produced a printed sheet.
“The deletion was initiated from your old study.”
“No one uses that room.”
“Exactly.”
“The computer isn’t even connected to the main network.”
“It apparently was.”
Vittorio stared at the log.
3:14 p.m.
Six minutes after Bernadette entered the house.
“What is inside the study now?”
“Mostly your father’s old books.”
“My mother still has a key.”
“Yes.”
Vittorio’s phone buzzed.
A hospital nurse.
Luca had awakened.
He returned immediately.
The boy asked for water.
Vittorio helped him drink.
“Feeling better?”
“A little.”
“Do you remember going inside Grandma’s house today?”
Luca nodded.
“When?”
“Before cake.”
“Why?”
“Grandma told me to get her blue box.”
Vittorio’s pulse quickened.
“What blue box?”
“The one from Grandpa Enzo.”
“Where was it?”
“In the old room.”
“My study?”
“Maybe.”
“What did it look like?”
“Small. Blue. It had gold lines.”
“Did you open it?”
Luca shook his head.
“Grandma said never open it.”
“What happened when you gave it to her?”
“She got mad.”
“Why?”
“Because I told her it was already open.”
Vittorio looked at Marco.
“Already open?”
Luca nodded.
“When I found it, the lid was up.”
“Was anything inside?”
“A bunch of papers.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Anything else?”
Luca thought.
“A picture.”
“Of who?”
“Mommy.”
Vittorio’s chest tightened.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Was she alone?”
“No.”
“Who was with her?”
“Grandpa Enzo.”
Vittorio looked at Marco again.
Sofia had known Enzo only briefly before Enzo’s death.
They had never been close.
At least that was what Vittorio had believed.
“What were they doing?”
“Talking.”
“In the picture?”
Luca shook his head impatiently.
“No. The picture was behind them.”
Vittorio frowned.
“You mean it wasn’t a photograph of them?”
“No.”
“What was it?”
“A camera picture.”
“A security still?”
Luca shrugged.
“Maybe.”
“What was Mommy doing?”
“She was giving Grandpa something.”
“What?”
“A letter.”
Vittorio’s hands went still.
“What did Grandma do when you told her the box was open?”
“She grabbed it.”
“Did she say anything?”
Luca hesitated.
“She said I wasn’t supposed to see that.”
A nurse entered to check the monitor.
Vittorio thanked her and waited until she left.
“What happened next?”
“Grandma made me go back outside.”
“Then the tea?”
Luca nodded.
“She said I was being disrespectful.”
Vittorio suddenly understood the timing.
The tea had not simply been punishment.
Luca had seen something Bernadette believed was dangerous.
“What was written on the papers?”
“I didn’t read them.”
“That’s okay.”
“But one had your name.”
Vittorio leaned closer.
“My name?”
“And Mommy’s.”
“Anything else?”
Luca frowned.
“A word.”
“What word?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
Luca squeezed his eyes shut.
Then opened them.
“Trust.”
Vittorio’s mind raced.
A trust document.
Hidden by Enzo.
Connected to Sofia.
Possibly to Vittorio.
“Marco.”
“Yes.”
“Search the study.”
“I already have men there.”
“Tell them to find that blue box.”
Marco stepped into the hallway and made the call.
He returned three minutes later.
His expression told Vittorio enough.
“It’s gone.”
“Of course.”
“But they found something else.”
“What?”
“A false panel behind your father’s bookshelf.”
Vittorio stood.
“What’s inside?”
“Nothing now.”
“Now?”
“There are dust outlines. Something large was stored there for years.”
“What kind of thing?”
“Files, maybe. Or binders.”
“And?”
“One envelope remained behind.”
“Addressed to who?”
Marco looked directly at him.
“Sofia.”
The hospital room seemed colder.
“What does it say?”
“It’s sealed.”
“Bring it.”
“I can.”
“No.”
Vittorio looked at his sleeping son.
“Photograph it. Lock the original somewhere my mother cannot reach.”
“Understood.”
Marco turned to leave.
“Wait.”
“Yes?”
“Recover footage from the day my father died.”
“We’re already working on it.”
“And Marco?”
“Yes?”
“Find out whether Sofia ever contacted my father privately.”
Marco nodded.
After he left, Vittorio sat beside Luca.
Outside the hospital window, Manhattan glowed beneath a black sky.
His son breathed softly.
A child nearly harmed because he had opened the wrong box.
Vittorio thought about Sofia.
His father.
Bernadette.
The missing footage.
Then his phone vibrated with an image from Marco.
A yellowed envelope.
Enzo DeLuca’s handwriting.
TO SOFIA.
May you like
Below it, smaller words.
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, DO NOT TRUST MY WIFE.
