Chapter 5 - THE RED LEDGER
Elena finally showed me where she hid the original evidence.
Inside a cookbook.
Of course.
“My mother hated cooking,” she said.
“No one would open it.”
Accurate.
The red ledger was small.
Cheap.
Handwritten.
Names.
Transfers.
Dates.
Dominic had apparently trusted paper more than computers when he began stealing.
Daniel Moretti.
My father’s cousin.
Morrison Port Services.
Pension Reserve Seven.
Dozens of entries.
Then something else.
Initials:
S.M.
Salvatore Moretti.
My father.
My stomach tightened.
“Did he know?”
Elena shook her head.
“Keep reading.”
One page contained a note.
S.M. questioning withdrawals. D says temporary. Must resolve before audit.
My father had discovered discrepancies shortly before his death.
Another:
S.M. requested independent review.
Then:
Review canceled after death.
I stared.
Dominic had motive.
But motive was not murder.
The prosecutors agreed.
They needed more.
Then Elena turned to the last page.
A storage unit number.
Jersey City.
“What’s there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why write it?”
“Daniel Cross gave it to me.”
Different Daniel.
An old pension administrator.
He disappeared shortly after my father died.
Marco located the unit.
Inside were accounting backups.
Photographs.
And an audio recorder.
My father’s voice.
Dominic’s.
The recording was incomplete.
But enough.
Salvatore:
You moved retirement money.
Dominic:
I moved idle capital.
Salvatore:
It wasn’t yours.
Dominic:
It was ours.
Salvatore:
No. It belonged to men who worked thirty years for us.
Then Dominic:
If you remove me, you’ll regret it.
My father laughed.
Salvatore:
You’re my brother.
Dominic:
Exactly.
The recording ended.
No murder confession.
But the investigation changed.
Dominic was no longer merely suspected of theft.
The timeline connected.
Then we discovered the “rival” blamed for my father’s murder had received money through a company linked to Dominic.
Enough.
Prosecutors moved.
Dominic disappeared first.
His townhouse empty.
Phones dead.
Accounts moving.
Coward.
But fear made him dangerous.
Sofia’s school was temporarily changed to remote instruction.
She hated me.
“You said I could go.”
“I know.”
“You lied.”
“No.”
“You said tomorrow.”
“I thought it would be safe.”
“It is safe.”
I looked at Elena.
She did not rescue me.
Good.
“I’m sorry.”
Sofia crossed her arms.
“Can I still be mad?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“As long as you need.”
She considered.
“Until lunch.”
“Reasonable.”
At lunch, she forgave me after negotiating chocolate milk.
I suspected extortion.
Maybe she was a Moretti.
Then Marco received an alert.
A car had been watching the building.
Registered to a shell company tied to Dominic.
Security approached.
The driver fled.
No attack.
No dramatic shootout.
Just proof.
Dominic knew where we were.
Elena became pale.
“We have to go.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She grabbed my arm.
“You don’t understand.”
“I do.”
“He did this before.”
“He won’t again.”
“You can’t promise that.”
She was right.
I stopped.
“What do you want?”
That question again.
Elena looked surprised.
Then:
“Federal protection.”
I nodded.
Not my men.
Not my house.
Not my control.
Federal protection.
We arranged it.
For the first time in my life, I handed the safety of people I loved to authorities I had spent years distrusting.
It felt like removing skin.
But Elena slept that night.
That mattered more than my comfort.
Before relocation, Sofia ran into my arms.
Unexpected.
She hugged me tightly.
“Are you coming?”
“Not where you’re going.”
Her face changed.
“Why?”
“Because the people protecting you think it’s safer if I don’t know.”
“Do you know Mommy?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know me?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Then you should know where we are.”
Six-year-old logic.
Brutal.
I crouched.
“I want to.”
“Then come.”
“I can’t.”
Her eyes filled.
I felt panic.
Not hers.
Mine.
She was leaving.
Again.
History repeating.
I wanted to demand the address.
Call someone.
Use influence.
Stop the vehicle.
Control the outcome.
Instead, I said:
“I’m going to be right here when they say it’s safe.”
Sofia stared.
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
Elena looked at me.
She understood what that answer cost.
The car left.
I stood on the sidewalk.
Marco beside me.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“You okay?”
“No.”
He nodded.
We watched until the car disappeared.
Then my phone buzzed.
A photo from an unknown protected number.
Sofia in the back seat.
Tongue out.
Text:
I’M STILL MAD UNTIL LUNCH TOMORROW.
I laughed.
Marco looked at me.
“You’re finished.”
“What?”
“That child owns you.”
He was right.
May you like
And for once, I didn’t mind.
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