Chapter 4 - THE PROMISE IN THE VIOLIN
Isabella Moretti had spent thirty-two years trying to forget the Bellwether Conservatory.
Now, with one photograph on the table, she began telling Vincent everything.
The conservatory had been a respected music school in Chicago.
Lucia taught there.
Evelyn Hart was her most promising student.
The school also received substantial charitable donations from the Harrington Foundation.
But in 1994, Lucia discovered financial irregularities.
Donations meant for scholarships were being diverted through shell companies.
The money eventually flowed into property acquisitions.
One of those properties was the conservatory itself.
“Who was responsible?” Vincent asked.
Isabella looked down.
“Your grandfather was involved in some of the transactions.”
Vincent went still.
“Nonno?”
She nodded.
“He claimed he didn't know where the money came from.”
“Did you believe him?”
Isabella hesitated.
“I wanted to.”
Vincent sat back.
The Moretti fortune had always carried shadows.
But this was different.
A music school.
Children.
Scholarship funds.
His grandmother's life's work.
“What happened to the evidence?” he asked.
Isabella looked toward the window.
“Lucia hid it.”
“Where?”
“I never knew.”
Then she whispered:
“But she told me something strange.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“What?”
“She said the truth would only be found by someone who remembered how the music ended.”
Clare returned to the Moretti Grand Hotel two days later.
Not to work.
To meet Isabella.
She arrived wearing a navy dress and carrying her mother's notebook.
Vincent met her in the lobby.
“Miss Bennett.”
She stopped.
“Mr. Moretti.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I owe you another apology.”
Clare raised an eyebrow.
“Are you collecting them?”
He almost smiled.
“I deserved that.”
She looked at him.
“What do you want?”
“To help you understand what happened to your mother.”
Clare studied him.
“Why?”
Vincent hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
“Because my family may have helped cause it.”
That surprised her.
She looked toward the elevators.
“Then let's hear what your mother has to say.”
Isabella cried when Clare showed her Evelyn's photograph.
“She looks so much like you.”
Clare swallowed.
“She never told me about you.”
Isabella nodded sadly.
“She was frightened.”
They spoke for hours.
About Lucia.
Evelyn.
The conservatory.
The fire.
And the private musical ending.
Then Isabella brought out a velvet-lined case.
Inside was Lucia's violin.
Clare stared.
“Why is it here?”
Isabella smiled faintly.
“Vincent brought it home after the gala.”
Vincent stood nearby.
Isabella looked at Clare.
“Would you play the four notes again?”
Clare hesitated.
Then nodded.
She lifted the violin.
The familiar weight settled beneath her chin.
She played the variation.
Four descending notes.
A pause.
A rising phrase.
Isabella closed her eyes.
When Clare finished, the older woman whispered:
“Lucia used to tap that rhythm against the inside of the case.”
Vincent frowned.
“The case?”
Isabella nodded.
“Always the same place.”
Clare looked down.
At the velvet lining.
Then at the narrow wooden compartment beneath the instrument.
Vincent stepped closer.
“What are you thinking?”
Clare whispered:
“Maybe the music wasn't hiding the evidence.”
May you like
She touched the lining.
“Maybe it was telling someone where to look.”
