Chapter 7 - THE MAN BEHIND GABRIEL'S SHOULDER
Vincent's smile vanished when he saw Detective Shaw.
"Is there a problem?"
My mother stood so quickly her chair toppled.
"Don't let him near me."
Gabriel looked between them.
"Vincent?"
My mother backed toward the wall.
"He was there."
"Where?" Rebecca asked.
"The night Thomas died."
Vincent's expression hardened.
"That's impossible."
Evelyn pointed at him.
"You were outside the workshop."
Gabriel stared.
Vincent had worked for his family for decades.
He'd been his father's driver.
His grandfather's security assistant.
And, eventually, Gabriel's most trusted adviser.
"Tell me she's wrong," Gabriel said.
Vincent looked at him.
"Boss, the woman disappeared for eleven years. We don't know where she's been or who she's working for."
Rebecca stepped forward.
"Mr. Salerno, I'd like to ask you some questions."
Vincent smiled thinly.
"Of course."
Then he reached inside his jacket.
Gabriel moved instantly.
"Don't."
Vincent froze.
"Just my phone."
"Put your hands where I can see them."
For the first time, I heard genuine anger in Gabriel's voice.
Vincent slowly raised his hands.
Rebecca called for assistance.
The next hour changed everything.
Vincent admitted he'd known Thomas Quinn.
He claimed he had been sent to the workshop by Gabriel's father to collect financial documents.
But he denied involvement in the murder.
My mother insisted he was lying.
Then Rebecca received the forensic report from Cassandra Wren's phone.
The message she'd attempted to send had been addressed to an encrypted number.
Investigators traced the number through financial records.
It belonged to a communications account paid for by a company controlled by Vincent.
Gabriel stared at the report.
"How long?"
Vincent said nothing.
"How long have you been feeding information to the people hunting the heir?"
Vincent looked at him.
"You don't understand."
Gabriel's expression turned cold.
"Then explain."
Vincent's jaw tightened.
"Your father built this organization. Your uncle wanted to hand it to the government."
Gabriel went still.
"And you helped stop him?"
Vincent looked away.
Rebecca ordered him detained while investigators pursued the evidence.
As officers escorted him out, Vincent turned toward me.
His eyes were empty.
"Your grandfather should have burned that letter."
I stared.
Then he added:
"And your mother should have stayed gone."
Gabriel stood motionless long after the door closed.
I had never seen a man look so betrayed.
He'd built his life around loyalty.
And the man he'd trusted most had apparently helped destroy his family.
I approached cautiously.
"Gabriel?"
He looked at me.
For a moment, the fearsome mafia boss seemed very far away.
There was only a tired man standing in a room full of lies.
"I don't know who to trust anymore," he said.
I considered my answer.
"Then stop trusting people because they've been beside you for years."
He looked up.
"Trust what they do when telling the truth costs them something."
He stared at me.
Then nodded slowly.
That evening, Rebecca called.
Investigators had opened the safe-deposit box.
Inside were financial records, a sealed affidavit, and a small envelope.
The envelope contained a photograph of the missing heir.
Taken only six months earlier.
Gabriel studied the image.
Then looked at me.
His face drained of color.
"That's impossible."
I stepped closer.
The man in the photograph was standing outside a Boston hospital.
He had dark hair.
A crescent-shaped birthmark on his cheek.
And a face I recognized immediately.
Because I had served him coffee every morning for the past four years.
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His name was Ethan Bell.
And he worked as a janitor at the restaurant where I was a waitress.
