Page 240 of Rosetti Family New York
It’s right there, right in front of me. The evidence. Her name. Her address. Her life in numbers, accounts, ledgers. It’s so muchcolder than I expected, and it tightens around me, a noose of numbers.
Then I see it, and I almost gasp.
"Deposits," Emilio says, his voice low, serious.
"They’re big," Rafe adds.
"Under the $10,000 reporting limit," Emilio says, nodding as though confirming his own suspicions. "Whoever was paying her knew what they were doing. Avoided the anti-money laundering laws."
The room spins for a second, like the whole mansion is teetering on the edge of collapse.
"She said nothing," I whisper. "She said nothing."
"Wait," Emilio says, zooming in on a particular line.
There it is. Another name. Another twist of the knife.
Lucas Torres.
I feel the world drop away.
"His name’s on the account," Rafe says, his eyes glued to the screen. "Jesus, he’s a co-holder."
I see it now. It’s all there in black and white. Lucas was on her account during the time of the deposits. During the time of her death.
"Who the hell is Lucas?" Emilio asks.
"Maddy’s brother," I say, my voice cracking. "She would have told me if they were up to something."
I try to wrap my mind around it, try to make sense of what I’m seeing. Why is Lucas on her account? Why did they need that money? The questions pile up, crash down, pull me under.
"They were close?" Emilio asks.
"Yeah," Rafe says, answering for me. “An inseparable trio, the three of them.”
His voice sounds far away. Like I’m hearing it from the bottom of a deep, dark pit.
"We might have something here," Emilio says, the excitement building in his voice.
"Keep looking," Rafe urges him.
My chest feels like it’s caving in. The walls, the books, the polished wood, they close in on me, suffocating.
I watch their faces. The hope. The drive. The determination.
For them, it’s the missing link. For me, it’s a splintering. A cracking. A fear that runs deep.
My skin is too tight, my pulse too loud. I see Lucas’s face, the shadow of grief and anger that never leaves him now. I see his guilt, the rage he tries to hide. I wonder if that’s all there is, or if there’s more, so much more that I never knew.
"Jesus," I mutter.
"Rafe," Emilio says, a warning, a question.
Rafe’s hand closes over mine, his grip firm. I look up and see him watching me, concern lining his face, questions lingering in his eyes.
"You okay?" he asks.
I want to say yes, I want to say that I can handle it. But I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure of anything.
