Chapter 3 - THE SAFE-DEPOSIT BOX
I didn't listen.
That was stupid.
But fear doesn't always make people cautious.
Sometimes it makes them desperate for normality.
I wanted my apartment.
My cheap couch.
My mother's voice on the phone.
A place where nobody owned a company or carried legal documents in designer handbags.
At 10:43 p.m., I reached my building.
My door was open.
I knew immediately.
I had locked it that morning.
I called Adrian.
Not the police.
Adrian.
I still don't know why.
Maybe because Eleanor had trusted him with everything except one secret.
Maybe because Vivian had threatened me.
Maybe because four years in Valenti House had taught me that ordinary rules became complicated around extraordinary money.
He answered on the first ring.
“Where are you?”
“My apartment.”
“You were supposed to stay away from Vivian.”
“She isn't here.”
“Why are you calling?”
“My door is open.”
Silence.
“Don't go inside.”
“I haven't.”
“Go downstairs.”
“I—”
“Now, Sophie.”
Ten minutes later, two private security vehicles arrived.
Then Adrian.
My apartment had been searched.
Not robbed.
My television remained.
So did my laptop.
Cash in a kitchen jar was untouched.
Someone had opened drawers, removed books, emptied boxes and sliced the lining of my old suitcase.
They were looking for something.
Adrian stood in the center of my bedroom.
“What did my mother give you?”
I froze.
His eyes dropped to my face.
“Sophie.”
“A key.”
His expression hardened.
“Where is it?”
“In my pocket.”
“Give it to me.”
I remembered Eleanor.
Not while he's angry.
“No.”
Adrian stared at me.
“You're refusing?”
“Yes.”
“You work for me.”
“I work in your house.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
Vivian's words.
You clean his house. That isn't the same thing.
Adrian's expression changed slightly.
I continued.
“Your mother gave it to me. She said I should give it to you if something happened to her.”
“Something already happened.”
“She meant something worse.”
His jaw tightened.
“What does it open?”
“A safe-deposit box.”
“Where?”
“She didn't say.”
That was partly true.
The key had a bank code engraved into the edge.
Adrian noticed it.
“First Lake Bank.”
I said nothing.
He rubbed his forehead.
“My mother is hiding evidence from me. Vivian is apparently moving money. Marcus DeLuca is meeting with my mother behind my back. Somebody just searched your apartment.”
Then he looked at me.
“And you expect me to be patient?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“But I expect you to respect her wishes.”
That surprised him.
Maybe nobody spoke to Adrian like that.
Then his phone rang.
Rachel.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What?”
I stood.
“What happened?”
He was already moving.
“My mother's oxygen saturation dropped.”
We reached Valenti House in twenty-three minutes.
Eleanor was unconscious.
An ambulance was outside.
Rachel stood beside the bed.
“What happened?” Adrian demanded.
“I found her like this.”
“Heart attack?”
“I don't think so.”
Rachel held up Eleanor's medication organizer.
“Her evening tablets were replaced.”
“With what?”
“Placebos.”
I looked at Vivian.
She was standing in the doorway wearing a silk robe.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Don't look at me.”
Adrian crossed the room.
“You had her medication.”
“Earlier. Then Rachel took it.”
Rachel's face hardened.
“I recovered the bottle from your bag.”
“And put it back.”
“Yes.”
“So anyone could have touched it.”
Adrian stopped.
Vivian had an answer for everything.
The paramedics took Eleanor away.
At 1:17 a.m., we sat in a hospital waiting room.
Doctors stabilized her.
Then Rachel came to me.
Quietly.
“The tablets weren't random.”
“What do you mean?”
“They were calcium supplements filed down to resemble her heart medication.”
Someone had planned it.
Not an angry fiancée impulsively withholding pills.
Planning.
I touched the key in my pocket.
Then I made a decision.
“We're opening the box.”
Adrian looked up.
Twenty minutes later, we were driving toward downtown Chicago.
First Lake Bank had a twenty-four-hour private client service for certain account holders.
Eleanor Valenti qualified.
So did Adrian.
The key opened box 414.
Inside were three objects.
A flash drive.
A sealed letter addressed to Adrian.
And a DNA test.
Adrian opened it.
His face went blank.
I saw only one line.
Probability of biological relationship: 0.00%.
He stared at his mother's name.
Then at the other name on the report.
Marcus DeLuca.
“No.”
I didn't understand.
Adrian did.
He whispered:
“My father spent thirty years believing Marcus DeLuca was his brother.”
Then he looked at the result again.
“He wasn't.”
I thought that was the secret.
It wasn't.
Adrian opened Eleanor's letter.
The first sentence read:
Adrian, Marcus isn't your uncle.
May you like
He is your father.
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