Chapter 4
Emma’s father had been a bookkeeper.
That was what she told me after Alan was dragged to the basement holding room.
Not a criminal.
Not officially.
A quiet man named Thomas Carter who kept ledgers for small businesses and sang old songs while making pancakes.
Emma sat in my study with her hands wrapped around a cup of tea she did not drink.
“My dad died when I was twelve,” she said.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
I looked at Luke.
He heard the same thing I did.
Car accident was often what people called a murder when paperwork was easier than truth.
Emma saw our faces.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She stood, dizzy, then sat again.
“My father was good.”
“I believe you.”
She looked at me sharply.
“You don’t believe anyone.”
“I believe bruises. I believe missing mothers. I believe men like Alan when they accidentally tell the truth.”
Her mouth trembled.
Luke placed a file on my desk.
“We pulled Thomas Carter’s old employment records.”
Emma frowned.
“How?”
Luke ignored that.
I did not.
“Illegally, probably,” I said.
She stared.
“Is this supposed to comfort me?”
“No.”
Luke opened the file.
“Thomas worked for Bellaro Imports for eight months before he died.”
Emma went pale.
“No. He worked for a shipping office.”
“That was Bellaro Imports.”
She covered her mouth.
Luke continued.
“Three days before his accident, a ledger disappeared. Bellaro believed Thomas took it.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Maybe he didn’t.”
I looked at the file.
“What was in the ledger?”
Luke’s jaw tightened.
“Payments. Police. Judges. Names. And possibly the shooter contract on you.”
The room went silent.
Emma stared at me.
“My father had something about you?”
“Maybe.”
“Then this is my fault?”
“No.”
The word came out sharp enough to make her flinch.
I softened my voice with effort.
“No. Men like Bellaro use families because they are cowards.”
Emma looked down.
“They took Mom because of a ledger I’ve never seen.”
“Your father may have hidden it.”
“He never told me.”
“You were twelve.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
She wiped them angrily.
“I spent fourteen years thinking he died because roads get icy.”
I said nothing.
There was no comfort clean enough.
Luke’s phone buzzed.
He read the message and looked at me.
“What?”
“We found Rose.”
Emma stood.
“Where?”
“Private clinic outside Joliet. Registered under a false name.”
“Alive?”
Luke’s face softened.
“Yes.”
Emma covered her mouth and sobbed.
I turned my chair toward the door.
“Bring the cars.”
Luke nodded.
Emma grabbed the back of my chair.
“I’m coming.”
“You’re sick.”
“She’s my mother.”
I understood that.
May you like
So I gave the only answer that mattered.
“Then stay behind me.”
