Chapter 4 - THE NAME MY MOTHER WAS AFRAID TO SAY
We didn’t go home that night.
Vincent said our apartment wasn’t safe.
Mom argued.
For eleven minutes.
I counted.
“I’m not staying in some criminal’s house,” she said.
Vincent looked at her.
“You walked into work today owing three months’ rent, carrying a phone full of evidence against a man laundering millions through his restaurant.”
“I did not walk into anything.”
“Your daughter did.”
Mom looked at me.
I pretended to study my shoes.
Vincent continued.
“The SUV outside wasn’t waiting for me.”
“How do you know?”
“My people checked traffic cameras.”
Mom’s face tightened.
“You have access to traffic cameras?”
Vincent looked at Elliot.
Elliot looked away.
“That’s not the important part.”
“It feels important.”
Vincent placed both hands on the table.
“The SUV arrived forty-three minutes before I did.”
Mom stopped talking.
“They were watching the restaurant.”
“For David?”
“Maybe.”
“For me?”
“Maybe.”
She looked at me.
Fear spread across her face.
“No.”
Vincent’s voice softened.
“If somebody thinks you have information about their money, they may want to know what you’ve said.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“David thinks you do.”
“I served tables.”
“You also did deposits.”
Mom looked toward the office.
I remembered her saying that.
Vincent continued.
“You ordered supplies. Managed schedules. Closed the restaurant. Accessed the safe.”
“Because David made me.”
“Exactly.”
Mom sat down.
For the first time, she looked exhausted instead of scared.
“He said I should be grateful.”
Vincent didn’t respond.
Mom laughed once.
Bitterly.
“I worked twelve-hour shifts, took Rory to the emergency room alone, came back to cover dinner service the next day, and he said I should be grateful.”
I crawled into her lap.
She kissed my forehead.
Vincent turned away.
Maybe because he didn’t want us to see his face.
Elliot returned from another phone call.
“We have a name.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Who?”
Elliot glanced at Mom.
“Leon Voss.”
Mom went rigid.
Vincent noticed.
“You know him.”
“No.”
“You reacted.”
“I’ve heard the name.”
“Where?”
She shook her head.
“Megan.”
“I don’t want Rory involved.”
I immediately objected.
“I’m already involved.”
Mom covered my mouth.
Vincent almost smiled.
Then he crouched in front of me.
“Rory, can you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Go with Marco and get hot chocolate.”
I looked at the bodyguard who insisted there were only six guards.
“You’re Marco?”
“Yes.”
“You were number seven.”
He sighed.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Mom held me tighter.
“No.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You need to tell me something you don’t want her hearing.”
Mom stared at him.
Then she whispered against my hair.
“Just hot chocolate.”
I pointed at Marco.
“With marshmallows.”
“Fine.”
“Lots.”
“Fine.”
“And whipped cream.”
Marco looked at Vincent as if he wanted permission to refuse.
Vincent said, “Give her whatever she wants.”
That was how I learned powerful men could be negotiated with.
Marco took me to the restaurant kitchen.
I could still see Mom through the service window.
I couldn’t hear every word.
But I heard one name.
Leon Voss.
Mom had heard it three months earlier.
David had been yelling in his office.
She said she hadn’t meant to listen.
He had left the door partly open.
A man inside told him, “Voss won’t tolerate another shortage.”
David had said, “I’m handling the staff.”
The man replied, “Then handle Carter.”
Mom had frozen outside the door.
I couldn’t hear everything after that.
But I heard Vincent say sharply, “They used your name?”
Mom whispered something.
Then Vincent cursed.
Marco looked at me.
“You hear nothing.”
“I hear lots.”
“Pretend you don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother is trying to protect you.”
I thought about that.
“Who protects her?”
Marco didn’t answer.
That was the question that changed him.
He turned his head toward the dining room.
Mom sat across from Vincent with her arms wrapped around herself.
“She’s done that alone for a while, huh?” Marco asked.
I nodded.
“Since Daddy left.”
Marco looked back at me.
“Where’s your father?”
“Mom says California.”
He paused.
“You know his name?”
“Daniel.”
Mom always got sad when I asked about him.
So I didn’t ask much.
My hot chocolate arrived.
It had four marshmallows.
I asked for seven.
Marco gave me three more.
When we returned, Mom looked like she had been crying.
Vincent looked angry.
Not at her.
At the room.
At David.
Maybe at the entire city.
“What happens now?” Mom asked.
“Now you give a statement to Detective Bell.”
“I already did.”
“A complete one.”
“And then?”
“Then I get you and Rory somewhere safe.”
Mom shook her head.
“No.”
“Megan.”
“I have an apartment.”
“You also have an eviction notice taped to your door.”
She stared at him.
“How do you know that?”
Vincent’s silence answered.
She stood.
“You sent someone to my home?”
“To make sure nobody else had.”
“That is not normal.”
“Neither is laundering two million dollars through a bistro.”
“You don’t get to investigate my life.”
“Somebody already did.”
He placed a photograph on the table.
Mom sat back down.
The photograph showed our apartment building.
Me and Mom were walking out the front entrance.
I was wearing my yellow rain boots.
Mom looked at the picture.
“When was this taken?”
“Three days ago.”
Her fingers started trembling.
“Who took it?”
“We don’t know.”
A second photograph.
Me getting into Mom’s old Honda.
A third.
Mom walking me into preschool.
A fourth.
Our kitchen window.
I stared at the picture.
“That’s my bunny.”
My stuffed rabbit sat against the glass.
Mom covered her mouth.
Vincent spoke quietly.
“These were found on a phone belonging to a man my people identified near the restaurant this afternoon.”
“Where is he?”
“He left before we could speak to him.”
“Speak?”
Marco coughed.
Vincent ignored him.
Mom looked at the photographs again.
Then at me.
“All right.”
Vincent nodded.
“I have a guest residence—”
“No mansion.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“I am not taking my four-year-old daughter into some mansion full of armed men.”
“Four and a half,” I corrected.
Mom closed her eyes.
Vincent said, “There’s a protected apartment above one of my legitimate businesses.”
“What business?”
“A bakery.”
Mom stared at him.
“You own a bakery?”
“No.”
Marco said, “His sister does.”
Vincent gave him a look.
Marco shrugged.
“She asked.”
We went to the bakery.
It was called Elena’s.
It smelled like cinnamon and bread.
A woman with dark hair opened the door after closing time.
She looked at Vincent.
Then at Mom.
Then at me.
“You brought me a child?”
Vincent sighed.
“Elena.”
She ignored him and crouched.
“What’s your name?”
“Rory Carter.”
“How old?”
“Four and a half.”
Elena smiled.
“A serious age.”
I liked her immediately.
The apartment upstairs was small but beautiful.
Two bedrooms.
A kitchen.
Yellow curtains.
No marble floors.
No scary statues.
Mom relaxed by maybe one percent.
Vincent stood at the door.
“Marco stays downstairs.”
“No armed men in the apartment,” Mom said.
“Agreed.”
“No listening devices.”
He looked offended.
“Why would I—”
“Because apparently you have traffic cameras.”
Elliot looked away again.
Vincent sighed.
“No listening devices.”
“And tomorrow I go home.”
“We’ll discuss it.”
“That means no.”
“That means we’ll discuss it.”
Mom crossed her arms.
I whispered to Elena, “They’re fighting.”
“They’ll do that a lot.”
Mom heard.
Her face went red.
Vincent didn’t react.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What happened?”
We all stopped.
Vincent listened.
“Is he alive?”
Mom’s face went pale.
“Who?”
Vincent held up a hand.
“Where?”
Another pause.
Then he slowly lowered the phone.
“David Sterling was being transferred from the district station.”
Mom gripped the counter.
“And?”
“The police vehicle was hit.”
“Hit?”
“Run off the road.”
My mother stared at him.
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“David is gone.”
“Escaped?”
“No.”
Vincent looked toward me and chose his next words carefully.
“Someone took him.”
Mom whispered, “Voss.”
Vincent said nothing.
His phone buzzed again.
A message.
He looked down.
Then handed the phone to Mom.
Her knees nearly gave out.
On the screen was a photograph.
Our apartment.
The front door stood open.
Across the living room wall, someone had painted three words in red.
GIVE IT BACK.
Mom stared at the message.
“I don’t have anything.”
May you like
Vincent looked at her.
“Apparently Leon Voss believes you do.”
