She stared at him.
"Why didn't you contact me?"
Lorenzo did not look away.
"Because I believed he had fled."
"You said you searched."
"I did."
"Then you should have found me."
He accepted the accusation.
"I should have."
Elena stood and walked toward the window.
The grounds were dark.
A few lights illuminated the stone path leading to the gate.
"My mother died believing he had abandoned us."
Lorenzo said nothing.
"She spent years waiting for a telephone call. Every time it rang, she thought it might be him."
Her voice cracked.
"She never stopped setting a place for him at Christmas."
Lorenzo looked down.
"I am sorry."
Elena turned.
"Sorry doesn't bring him back."
"No."
"Sorry doesn't give my mother those years back."
"No."
She wiped her face.
"Then what exactly can you give me?"
Lorenzo stood.
"The truth."
She laughed bitterly.
"Everyone keeps promising me that."
"Then let me be the first person who proves it."
He opened the metal box and placed the second key on the desk.
"Your father left something else."
Elena picked it up.
"What does it open?"
"I don't know."
"Then how do you know it's important?"
"Because he gave it to me personally."
She turned the key over.
A small number had been engraved into the metal.
417.
Lorenzo studied it.
"Matteo."
The security chief appeared at the doorway.
"Sir?"
"Find every storage facility, bank deposit box, and private archive associated with Daniel Marin. Start with the number 417."
Matteo nodded.
"Understood."
Elena looked at Lorenzo.
"What happens if we find him?"
Lorenzo met her eyes.
"Then you decide what happens next."
***
The following morning, Adrian Voss arrived at his private office before his employees.
He disliked mornings.
They reminded him of the years when he had been forced to work for other people.
He preferred nights.
At night, decisions were made quietly.
At night, nobody asked unnecessary questions.
His assistant had placed three folders on his desk.
The first contained documents relating to a construction project.
The second contained financial statements.
The third was marked with a single name.
ELENA MARIN.
Adrian opened it.
Inside were photographs of Elena leaving her apartment, entering her workplace, and visiting the storage unit in Queens.
There was also a photograph of Lorenzo Moretti.
Adrian studied it.
He had underestimated the situation.
That was his first mistake.
His second had been allowing Elena to reach the old records.
He called his private investigator.
"Where is the original ledger?"
"Still missing."
"Who has it?"
"We're checking."
"Check faster."
The investigator hesitated.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"The storage facility was registered under a company connected to Vittorio Moretti."
Adrian closed his eyes.
Of course.
The old man had kept the final copy.
Even after death, Vittorio continued to complicate things.
"Find the key."
"We believe Elena has it."
Adrian stared at the file.
"Then find Elena."
"Moretti has her."
"I know."
"Should we wait?"
Adrian's expression hardened.
"No."
He ended the call.
Then he opened a drawer and removed an old photograph.
It showed three men standing in front of a warehouse.
Daniel Marin.
Vittorio Moretti.
And Adrian Voss.
The photograph had been taken eleven years earlier.
All three men had been smiling.
Only one of them had understood what the others were planning.
Adrian placed the photograph face down.
He picked up his telephone again.
"Arrange a meeting."
"With whom?"
"The people who still owe me favors."
***
At nine that morning, Elena woke in a guest bedroom at the Moretti estate.
She had slept for barely four hours.
The room was larger than her entire apartment. A balcony overlooked the gardens. Fresh flowers stood beside the bed.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then she remembered the gala.
Adrian.
The photograph.
The note.
Her father.
She sat up.
A knock came at the door.
"Come in."
A woman in her late fifties entered carrying a breakfast tray.
She had silver hair, kind eyes, and the composed manner of someone who had worked in wealthy households for many years.
"Good morning."
Elena pulled the blanket over her knees.
"Good morning."
"My name is Teresa. Mr. Moretti asked me to bring you breakfast."
"Thank you."
Teresa placed the tray on a small table.
"Would you like coffee?"
"Please."
Teresa poured a cup.
Then she looked at Elena.
"You remind me of someone."
Elena frowned.
"Who?"
"Your mother."
The cup stopped halfway to Elena's mouth.
"You knew my mother?"
Teresa smiled sadly.
"Not well. But I met her once."
"When?"
"Eleven years ago."
Elena put the coffee down.
"Where?"
Teresa looked toward the door.
"Here."
Elena stared at her.
"My mother came here?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Teresa hesitated.
"She was looking for Mr. Vittorio."
Elena's heart began beating faster.
"What did she want?"
"I don't know. But she was frightened."
"Did she speak to him?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
Teresa lowered her voice.
"Your mother left with a small envelope."
Elena stood.
"What was inside?"
"I don't know."
"Did she say anything?"
Teresa considered the question.
"She said that if anything happened to her, someone needed to make sure you never came here."
Elena felt the room tilt.
"Why?"
Teresa shook her head.
"I never understood."
Elena looked at the breakfast tray.
She no longer felt hungry.
"Does Lorenzo know?"
"I don't think so."
"Can you take me to him?"
Teresa nodded.
"Of course."
***