Chapter 6 - THE PRICE OF SILENCE
Richard Whitmore had spent eighteen years convincing himself he was a good father.
He had provided a home.
Food.
Education.
Security.
He had paid for Eleanor's care.
Those were the facts he repeated when Ava confronted him.
But every explanation collapsed beneath the same question.
“Why didn't you tell me she was alive?”
Richard sat across from her in the Greenwich house.
His hands trembled.
“Victoria threatened to have you taken away.”
“By whom?”
“She had photographs, documents, financial records. She could make it look as though I had helped steal Eleanor's designs.”
“Had you?”
Richard looked down.
“Yes.”
Ava felt something inside her close.
Not because the answer surprised her.
Because she'd spent so long hoping there was one corner of her father's life where he had remained honest.
“There it is,” she whispered.
Richard began crying.
“I never meant for Eleanor to be hurt.”
“But you meant to steal from her.”
He didn't answer.
“Then when Victoria hurt her, you helped cover it up.”
“Yes.”
Ava stood.
“I don't want to hear anything else tonight.”
“Ava—”
“Don't.”
She walked toward the door.
Richard followed.
“I loved your mother.”
Ava turned.
“Then you should have treated her like someone whose life mattered.”
***
The next morning, Niko brought Ava a folder.
Inside were records from Bellwether Atelier.
Contracts.
Bank transfers.
Ownership agreements.
And a photograph of Lorenzo Moretti standing beside Eleanor.
“My father was involved,” Niko said.
Ava looked up.
“How?”
“He owned the building. He also financed the original atelier.”
“Did he know Victoria was stealing from Mom?”
“I believe he discovered it.”
“Did he help her?”
Niko hesitated.
“That is what I'm trying to determine.”
Ava closed the folder.
“I need you to understand something.”
He waited.
“If your father helped destroy my mother's life, I won't pretend otherwise because you're helping me now.”
Niko nodded.
“You shouldn't.”
She studied him.
“Would you still help me?”
“Yes.”
“Even if the truth destroys your father's reputation?”
He looked toward the window.
“My father was not a good man simply because I loved him.”
The answer surprised her.
Niko continued.
“He did terrible things. Some I know about. Some I probably don't.”
“Then why defend his memory?”
“I don't intend to.”
Ava looked at the folder again.
For the first time, she saw the possibility of a relationship that didn't require silence as proof of loyalty.
***
That afternoon, Eleanor asked to see the key.
Ava placed it in her mother's right hand.
Eleanor stared at the black rose.
Her breathing changed.
“Bell…wether.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Room…”
She struggled.
Ava leaned closer.
“What room?”
Eleanor squeezed her fingers.
“Thirteen.”
Ava looked at Niko.
He became still.
“What?” she asked.
Niko answered quietly.
“The Bellwether building has twelve registered floors.”
Ava looked back at her mother.
Eleanor's eyes filled with urgency.
“Not…floor.”
“Then what?”
“Room…thirteen.”
Her fingers tightened around the key.
“Under.”
***
That evening, Ava and Niko entered the abandoned Bellwether building.
Matteo and two security officers accompanied them.
Dust covered the marble lobby.
Broken chandeliers hung above a grand staircase.
Old mannequins stood behind dark display windows.
Ava felt a strange familiarity.
Her mother had worked here.
Laughed here.
Created here.
Nearly died here.
Niko led them toward the basement.
The key opened a narrow steel door hidden behind a storage wall.
Inside was a corridor lined with thirteen small rooms.
Each door bore a brass number.
Ava stopped before the last.
13.
She inserted the key.
It turned.
The door opened.
Inside stood a sewing table.
A filing cabinet.
A wall of shelves.
And dozens of garment bags.
Ava stepped forward.
On the table lay a notebook.
Her mother's handwriting covered the first page.
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, VICTORIA HAS ALREADY LIED ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO ME.
Ava's breath caught.
Below the sentence was another.
DO NOT TRUST RICHARD.
She looked at Niko.
Then turned the page.
A photograph slipped out.
It showed Eleanor standing beside Lorenzo Moretti.
Behind them stood a younger Victoria.
And another man.
Ava had never seen him before.
Niko recognized him immediately.
His face went pale.
“That's impossible.”
“Who is he?”
Niko stared at the photograph.
“My uncle.”
“Your uncle?”
“Salvatore Moretti.”
Ava frowned.
“Why does that matter?”
Niko looked at her.
May you like
“Because Salvatore is the man who ordered my father's murder.”
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