Chapter 3 - THE DEATH THAT WASN'T AN ACCIDENT
My father, Carlo Duca, had died nine months earlier.
Officially, it was a heart attack.
He had collapsed during a private dinner at our lake house.
My mother was the only family member present.
The paramedics arrived too late.
Three days later, Isabella suffered her stroke.
The doctors called it a devastating combination of grief and cardiovascular disease.
I believed them.
I had no reason not to.
Until Elena told me my mother had seen something.
I stood in silence.
"Explain."
Elena took a breath.
"Mrs. Duca was trying to tell me about the lake house. She kept saying 'glass' and 'blue.'"
I frowned.
"Blue?"
"She drew something."
Elena reached into her apron pocket.
She removed a folded piece of paper.
On it was a shaky drawing.
A wineglass.
A small blue bottle.
And three letters.
V. S. R.
I stared.
Victor Salerno.
Russo.
The first two names were obvious.
But the third initial troubled me.
"Who's R?"
Elena shook her head.
"I don't know."
I studied the paper.
My mother had drawn the wineglass several times.
Each time, she'd circled the rim.
I remembered the night my father died.
The dinner.
The photographs.
The reports.
I remembered Vivien telling me Isabella had become confused after Carlo collapsed.
And I remembered that Vivien had been at the lake house that evening.
She had claimed she'd left before dinner.
I took out my phone.
"Rocco."
"Boss?"
"Get the original emergency response records from my father's death. I want the medical examiner's report, the guest list, and every surviving camera recording from the lake house."
A pause.
"Understood."
I looked at Elena.
"Has my mother been able to communicate anything else?"
She nodded.
"She keeps trying to write a name."
"What name?"
Elena swallowed.
"Not a name exactly."
She unfolded another paper.
A single word appeared in my mother's trembling handwriting.
CROWN.
I stared.
The Crown Trust was a private family holding structure my father had established decades earlier.
It controlled significant shares of the Duca shipping companies.
My mother had been its independent trustee.
After her stroke, Vivien had encouraged me to appoint a temporary replacement.
I had refused.
Not because I suspected anything.
Because Isabella was still alive.
I looked at Elena.
"Has Vivien asked my mother to sign anything?"
Elena went pale.
"Every week."
My pulse accelerated.
"What?"
"Documents. She says they're medical authorizations."
"Has Isabella signed?"
Elena shook her head.
"She tries to refuse."
I looked toward the door.
Then I asked the question that made Elena begin crying.
"Has anyone been forcing her hand?"
Elena nodded.
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
The engagement.
The marriage.
The trust.
Suddenly, I understood.
Vivien wasn't marrying me because she wanted my fortune.
May you like
She was marrying me because she needed access to something my mother still controlled.
And my father's death might have been the first step.
