Chapter 9 - WHAT HER MOTHER REALLY LEFT BEHIND
The federal building smelled like coffee and old carpet.
Josie sat in a conference room with Marco on one side and Agent Beckett on the other.
Saint lay beneath the table.
Nobody had managed to convince him to leave.
Josie didn't want them to.
Agent Beckett placed three folders on the table.
“Your mother contacted the FBI in October 2003.”
Josie's fingers tightened around her coffee cup.
“What did she tell you?”
“That several organized-crime groups were laundering money through Chicago municipal contracts.”
Marco remained silent.
Beckett looked at him.
“Some of those businesses were controlled by your father.”
“I assumed.”
“She also named police officers and public officials.”
“Some names appear on Daniel's card.”
“Yes.”
Josie looked between them.
“Then why wasn't anyone arrested twenty-three years ago?”
Beckett's expression tightened.
“Because the investigation was compromised.”
“By who?”
“An agent inside the task force.”
Josie laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
“Megan realized it before we did.”
“So she ran.”
“She tried.”
Agent Beckett opened the first folder.
“Megan arranged to enter witness protection with you.”
Josie's eyes filled.
“She was taking me?”
“Yes.”
The room blurred.
For twenty-three years, Josie had believed she hadn't been wanted.
Now every new piece of evidence seemed to say the opposite.
“What happened?”
“She disappeared thirty-six hours before extraction.”
“Disappeared?”
“Her body was found four days later.”
Josie stared at the table.
Marco's hand rested near hers.
He didn't touch.
Just stayed close.
Beckett continued carefully.
“The official death ruling was changed. We believe Evan Pike arranged it through a compromised medical examiner.”
“Did Evan kill her?”
“We don't know.”
“You have him now.”
“Yes.”
“Make him tell you.”
“We intend to.”
Josie laughed without humor.
“You people have intended to do a lot for twenty-three years.”
Beckett accepted the anger.
“You're right.”
Marco looked at the agent.
“What was in the other copies?”
“Financial ledgers. Audio recordings. Names.”
“Where are they?”
“One was destroyed after a corrupt agent obtained it.”
“And the second?”
“Daniel Reese had it.”
Marco understood.
“The memory card.”
“Yes.”
“And the third?” Josie asked.
Beckett looked at her.
“We don't know.”
Josie's shoulders dropped.
“So we're right back where we started.”
“No.”
Beckett pulled out another document.
“Megan left instructions.”
She slid the paper across.
Josie stared at her mother's handwriting.
If Daniel cannot keep Josie safe, find the place where she first learned not to be afraid of the dark.
Josie read it three times.
“I don't understand.”
Marco watched her.
“Don't force it.”
“I'm not.”
First learned not to be afraid of the dark.
Josie closed her eyes.
Memories came as fragments.
Her mother singing.
Red nails.
Oranges.
The bathtub.
A flashlight.
A closet.
A motel?
Then—
“The library.”
Beckett leaned forward.
“What?”
Josie's eyes opened.
“My mother used to take me to a library.”
“Which library?”
“I don't know.”
She concentrated.
“There was a lion.”
Marco frowned.
“A statue?”
“A stone lion outside.”
“Chicago Public Library?” Beckett asked.
“No.”
Josie shook her head.
“Smaller. Old.”
She remembered sitting beneath a table during a thunderstorm when the power failed.
Megan had given her a flashlight and said darkness was only a room waiting for someone to bring light.
“The first place I stopped being scared of the dark.”
Andre searched old neighborhood maps.
Within minutes he found it.
Wells Memorial Library.
Closed in 2007.
Now used as municipal storage.
They obtained a warrant.
Two hours later, Josie stood inside the abandoned children's section.
Dust covered everything.
Murals faded across the walls.
And there—
A painted moon.
Josie stopped.
“I remember this.”
She walked toward a row of built-in reading benches.
Her fingers moved over the wood.
“Megan used to hide little notes for me.”
Marco watched.
“Where?”
“Under the seats.”
Josie knelt.
The first bench had nothing.
Second.
Nothing.
Third.
A carved letter J beneath the wood.
Her breathing stopped.
“This one.”
Agents removed the bench panel.
Inside the hollow space was a metal box.
Agent Beckett opened it.
Documents.
Photographs.
Three cassette tapes.
And a letter addressed in faded ink.
For Josie.
Josie covered her mouth.
Nobody spoke.
She took the letter.
Her hands shook so badly Marco finally asked, “Do you want me to read it?”
Josie nodded.
They stepped away from the others.
Marco unfolded the page.
“Dear Jo.”
His voice softened.
Josie closed her eyes.
Marco continued.
Megan wrote that if Josie ever found the letter, it meant she had failed to come home.
She wrote that Josie had never been a burden.
Never been unwanted.
Never been the reason her mother was afraid.
She said fear had come from knowing powerful people would hurt anyone to protect themselves.
She apologized for trusting the wrong institutions.
For believing evidence automatically led to justice.
Then Marco reached the final paragraph.
He stopped.
“What?”
Josie looked at him.
“What does it say?”
Marco handed her the letter.
“You should read that part.”
Josie looked down.
Most of all, Jo, never let anybody convince you that being soft makes you weak. The strongest thing I ever saw you do was carry an injured pigeon home in your coat when you were three because you couldn't stand the idea of something suffering alone. Hold on to that. The world will spend years trying to beat kindness out of you. Don't let it.
Josie couldn't breathe.
An injured pigeon.
Her coat.
Twenty-four years later, a dying dog.
She sank onto the bench.
Marco sat beside her.
This time, when he touched her hand, she didn't flinch.
She held on.
For a long time.
The third cache changed everything.
The tapes contained recorded conversations.
One included Marco's father.
Another involved senior city officials.
A third had Evan Pike discussing “taking care of Megan.”
It wasn't a direct confession.
But it was enough to build a case.
Within forty-eight hours, arrests began.
Three retired officers.
A sitting judge.
Two contractors.
A former deputy mayor.
Victor Lang.
Evan Pike.
More followed.
News helicopters surrounded Marco's businesses.
Reporters shouted questions.
The old DeSantis empire became front-page news.
Marco's attorneys begged him not to speak.
He did anyway.
Standing outside federal court, he admitted his father's companies had participated in illegal financial schemes.
He announced that all records under his control would be turned over.
Then he announced something that stunned even Josie.
Any business proven to have profited from stolen city funds would return the money.
Carlo nearly fainted when he heard the number.
Hundreds of millions.
Later that night, Josie found Marco alone on the terrace.
“You're giving away most of your fortune.”
“Returning isn't giving.”
“You sound annoyingly ethical for a mob boss.”
Marco looked at her.
“Former mob boss, according to my lawyers.”
She smiled.
“What happens to you?”
“I cooperate.”
“Could you go to prison?”
“Yes.”
Josie's smile disappeared.
“For your father's crimes?”
“No.”
“For yours.”
She looked at him.
“What did you do?”
“Things I'm not proud of.”
“Did you kill people?”
Marco met her eyes.
“I've been responsible for violence.”
It wasn't a clean answer.
But it was truthful.
Josie looked away.
“I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that.”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“You don't owe me forgiveness.”
The sentence hit harder than he intended.
Because she had spent her entire life around people who treated kindness like debt.
“You saved Ruthie.”
“I helped.”
“You saved me.”
“So did Saint.”
“You gave up your own people to the FBI.”
“They betrayed people who trusted them.”
Josie looked at him.
“You're complicated.”
“So are you.”
“No, I'm poor. That's different.”
Marco laughed.
Actually laughed.
Saint raised his head.
Josie smiled.
Then her phone rang.
Agent Beckett.
Josie answered.
The agent's voice was urgent.
“Josie, where are you?”
“At Marco's.”
“Is Saint there?”
Josie looked down.
“Yes.”
“Get him inside.”
“Why?”
“We just finished interviewing Evan Pike.”
Josie felt cold.
“What did he say?”
A long pause.
Then Beckett answered.
“Your mother wasn't his final target.”
Josie's grip tightened.
“Who was?”
“He says somebody paid him twenty-three years ago to kill Megan and take you.”
Marco stood.
Josie's voice became barely audible.
“Take me where?”
“He won't say.”
“Who paid him?”
“That,” Beckett said, “is why I'm calling.”
May you like
Josie waited.
“The person who paid him is still alive.”
