Chapter 6 - The Secret in Beatrice’s PastBeatrice had not entered her mother’s apartment in three years.
After the funeral, she had been unable to empty it. She paid the rent from her wages and told herself she would return when grief became manageable.
It never did.
Now she stood outside the narrow brick building on Chicago’s west side with Leo beside her and four armed men watching the street.
“You do not need to come inside,” she said.
“Yes, I do.”
“This is my family’s home.”
“And my family may be the reason it was destroyed.”
Beatrice unlocked the door.
Dust covered the furniture. Her mother’s slippers remained beside the couch. A grocery list hung from the refrigerator beneath a faded magnet.
Milk.
Bread.
Beatrice’s favorite tea.
She looked away.
Leo remained silent.
For once, he seemed to understand that power did not give him the right to fill every quiet space.
The sewing box sat in the bedroom closet.
It was blue, scratched at the corners, and much heavier than Beatrice remembered.
Inside were spools of thread, needles, buttons, and old photographs.
At the bottom lay a brass key.
Leo picked up a photograph.
Robert Miller stood outside a warehouse beside three men in suits.
One was Leo’s uncle.
One was a younger Damian.
The third was Leo himself.
Beatrice stared at him.
“You met my father.”
Leo studied the picture.
“I do not remember this day.”
“You were there.”
“I inspected dozens of facilities that year.”
“To you it was a facility. To him it was the place that killed him.”
Leo accepted the accusation.
Beatrice searched the box.
Beneath the fabric lining, she found an envelope addressed in her mother’s handwriting.
For Beatrice, when the Rossi family comes looking.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
Inside was a letter.
Beatrice,
Your father did not start the fire. He found money moving through the warehouses under false company names. He believed someone inside the Rossi family was stealing from Leo’s father and selling shipment information to rivals.
He copied the records.
The night he planned to deliver them, the warehouse burned.
A man came to me afterward. He wore gray gloves because his hands had been injured. He offered money for Robert’s papers. I told him there were none.
I lied.
Your father left a box at Union Station. The key is here. Locker 317.
Do not open it unless the Rossi family comes for you.
Run if they do.
Your mother.
Beatrice read the letter twice.
Leo said nothing.
“You knew Damian’s hands were burned in that fire,” she said.
“Yes.”
“He told you he tried to save the workers.”
“Yes.”
“My father?”
“Was listed as the man responsible.”
“Because Damian blamed him.”
Leo’s face tightened.
“It appears so.”
“Your family allowed my mother to live in poverty while the man who killed my father sat at your table.”
“I will correct it.”
Beatrice laughed without humor.
“You cannot correct twelve years.”
“No.”
“You cannot give my father back his name.”
“No.”
“You cannot return my mother’s life.”
“No.”
Each answer was quiet.
Honest.
That made them harder to hate.
Mateo entered the apartment.
“We need to leave.”
“Why?” Leo asked.
“Victoria went public.”
He handed Leo a phone.
A news video played.
Victoria stood before cameras outside a private hospital. A bandage circled her wrist. Her father and attorneys surrounded her.
“I endured months of intimidation inside the Rossi estate,” she told reporters. “Yesterday, an unstable domestic employee attacked me and abducted Leo’s traumatized daughter. When I attempted to intervene, Mr. Rossi imprisoned me.”
Beatrice’s photograph appeared on the screen.
Not a flattering one.
It showed her leaving the grocery store in an oversized coat, her face tired, a bag cutting into her arm.
The headline beneath it read:
MAID AT CENTER OF ROSSI CHILD ABDUCTION CLAIM.
Victoria continued.
“Beatrice Miller manipulated Lily’s vulnerability because she wanted access to Mr. Rossi’s wealth.”
Reporters shouted questions.
Leo switched off the video.
“She is preparing a custody case,” Mateo said. “Kensington attorneys filed an emergency petition claiming Lily is in danger.”
“Victoria has no parental rights,” Leo said.
“She claims you gave her authority as your fiancée. They are also requesting a child-welfare investigation.”
Beatrice understood the plan.
“They want officials inside the estate.”
“Yes,” Mateo said. “And they want Beatrice removed from Lily.”
A pounding noise came from the hall.
Police.
Leo’s men moved into position.
Beatrice looked at the brass key.
“We need the locker.”
Mateo checked the street.
“Union Station will be watched.”
“So will this building.”
Leo took the key.
“We go now.”
They exited through the rear stairwell while attorneys and police gathered at the front.
At Union Station, Beatrice wore a dark coat and cap. Leo remained several steps behind her, dressed like an ordinary businessman.
Locker 317 stood in a forgotten corridor beneath the main concourse.
The brass key turned.
Inside was a small metal case.
Beatrice removed it.
A voice sounded behind her.
“Put it back.”
A man in a transit uniform aimed a gun at her.
Leo appeared from behind a pillar.
The man shifted his weapon.
Beatrice dropped the case.
It struck the floor and opened.
Papers scattered across the tiles.
The gunman fired.
Leo pulled Beatrice behind the lockers as the bullet tore through metal. Mateo’s men entered from both ends of the corridor.
The gunman fled through a service door.
Leo began to follow.
“No,” Beatrice said.
He turned.
“The papers.”
Several pages had slid beneath the lockers. One showed shipment numbers and offshore accounts. Another contained photographs of burned vehicles.
Beatrice found an audio cassette sealed inside plastic.
Robert Miller’s handwriting covered the label.
DAMIAN ROSSI—CONFESSION, OCTOBER 14.
Leo picked it up.
“We need a player.”
“My mother had one.”
Sirens echoed through the station.
Mateo appeared.
“Police are sealing the exits. We have to separate.”
Beatrice gathered the records.
A child-welfare investigator waited at the estate when they returned.
Lily stood in the foyer beside two officials, crying.
A judge had issued a temporary order requiring Leo to cooperate with an assessment. Until the hearing, Beatrice was forbidden from having unsupervised contact with Lily.
“No,” Lily screamed. “Bee stays.”
Beatrice knelt.
“I’m not leaving forever.”
“You promised.”
The words broke her.
“I promised I would never stop caring for you.”
“That’s not the same.”
An investigator touched Lily’s shoulder.
She pulled away.
Leo stepped forward.
“Do not touch my daughter.”
The officials threatened to remove Lily from the estate entirely if he resisted.
Beatrice understood what Damian wanted.
He wanted Leo angry.
He wanted him to appear dangerous.
She stood.
“I will go.”
Lily clung to her waist.
“No!”
Beatrice kissed her curls.
“This is only for tonight.”
Leo’s face was carved from fury as his guards escorted Beatrice to a guesthouse beyond the main gardens.
At eleven forty, the estate alarm sounded.
Beatrice ran outside.
Men shouted near the mansion.
A security vehicle sped through the open gate.
Leo emerged carrying Lily’s stuffed rabbit.
But Lily was not with him.
The child-welfare investigator’s car had been found abandoned at the end of the driveway.
Both officials lay unconscious inside.
A message had been pinned to the steering wheel.
BRING ROBERT MILLER’S RECORDS TO THE OLD ST. AGNES SCHOOL.
COME WITHOUT LEO.
OR THE CHILD LEARNS WHAT HAPPENED TO HER MOTHER.
Beatrice read it once.
Then she looked at Leo.
He already knew.
May you like
Damian had taken Lily.
And he had asked for Beatrice by name.
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