Chapter 3 - THE BLUE ROOM
Nobody entered the blue room that day.
Cassius refused.
That surprised Marin.
She expected a man with his reputation to order the wall torn open immediately.
Instead:
“My mother’s memory comes first.”
He called Edith’s neurologist.
Not the family’s longtime private physician.
An independent specialist.
That detail mattered later.
Edith’s condition had been diagnosed as mixed dementia complicated by severe depression.
But Marin had noticed something odd.
Some days Edith was deeply confused.
Other mornings she was unexpectedly sharp.
The shifts often happened around medication times.
Marin mentioned it.
Cassius’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you saying someone is drugging my mother?”
“No.”
She held his gaze.
“I’m saying medication can affect elderly people differently, and her doctor should review everything she takes.”
Good answer.
The neurologist agreed.
Several medications had overlapping sedating effects.
All legitimately prescribed at some point.
But some no longer appeared necessary.
Edith’s regimen was slowly simplified under medical supervision.
Nothing miraculous happened.
She did not wake one morning completely restored.
But she became more present.
More verbal.
And one evening, Marin showed her the photograph.
Sofia.
Celia.
Edith.
The old woman touched her sister’s face.
“My baby.”
Marin leaned closer.
“Your sister?”
Edith nodded.
“Blue room.”
Cassius, standing—no, sitting—near the window, went still.
“What happened in the blue room, Mother?”
Edith began trembling.
Marin immediately stopped him.
“Not like that.”
Cassius looked at her.
“She’s scared.”
That silenced him.
Marin took Edith’s hand.
“You don't have to tell us.”
Edith breathed.
Then whispered:
“Ledger.”
Cassius frowned.
“What ledger?”
“Blue wall.”
Then:
“Celia saw him.”
“Who?”
Edith began crying.
“No.”
Marin squeezed her hand.
“Enough.”
Cassius wanted more.
She could see it.
But he stopped.
That mattered.
The next morning, legal counsel was present when the sealed room was opened.
So was an independent investigator.
No dramatic sledgehammer by Cassius.
No destroying evidence.
The room smelled of dust and old smoke.
Blue wallpaper faded gray.
Furniture covered in sheets.
A child’s wooden horse.
A cracked mirror.
Behind one section of damaged wall paneling, investigators found a narrow cavity.
Inside:
A metal box.
The ledger Edith remembered.
It was not a murder confession.
It was financial.
Payments.
Names.
Dates.
Thirty-five years old.
Cassius’s father, Dominic Vain, had controlled the family’s criminal and legitimate businesses then.
The ledger suggested someone inside the family had been siphoning money through construction companies connected to Dominic’s younger brother:
Matteo Vain.
Cassius’s uncle.
Still alive.
Still powerful.
Still serving as senior adviser to Vain Holdings.
Marin felt suddenly cold.
“Was Matteo at the house when Sofia died?”
Cassius answered:
“Yes.”
“Did my grandmother accuse him?”
“We don’t know.”
Then investigators found another item.
A cassette tape.
Old.
Labeled:
Celia — 8/14/92
Sylvio located equipment to play it.
Celia’s voice filled the room.
Younger.
Nervous.
unmistakable to Marin from old family recordings.
Edith, if anything happens to me, I need you to know I saw Matteo leaving Sofia’s guest house fifteen minutes before the smoke started. I don't know if he caused the fire. I only know he lied when he said he hadn’t been there.
Marin covered her mouth.
The tape continued.
Sofia told me she had found documents showing Matteo was taking money from Dominic. She said she was going to tell him that night.
Cassius’s face became stone.
Then Celia said:
I made a copy of one page. I’m taking it with me until I know who can be trusted.
Tape clicked.
Finished.
No murder proof.
But enough to reopen questions.
Matteo denied everything.
Through an attorney.
He said he had visited Sofia earlier.
He said the ledger concerned ordinary business disputes.
He said memories and recordings from decades ago proved nothing about a fatal fire.
On one point, he was correct.
Suspicion was not conviction.
The old fire investigation had found faulty wiring.
Physical evidence was largely gone.
No one could simply declare murder because a dead woman’s cassette said Matteo had lied.
Cassius hated that.
Marin respected it.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“We investigate what can still be investigated.”
“And Matteo?”
Cassius’s expression became dangerous.
“He stays away from my mother.”
No threat.
No disappearance.
Just a boundary.
Then another problem arrived.
Laya collapsed at work.
Marin received the call at 2:13 p.m.
St. Agnes.
She left the mansion without changing clothes.
Cassius watched her run.
Three hours later, Marin sat beside her sister’s hospital bed while a cardiologist explained the timetable had shortened.
Surgery no longer meant months.
It meant weeks.
Marin walked into the hallway afterward and leaned against the wall.
She did not know Cassius had followed.
Not immediately.
He stopped several feet away.
“You shouldn't be here,” Marin said.
“Probably.”
“How did you know?”
“Sylvio told me.”
“Why?”
“Because you left your phone charger and your coat.”
Of course.
Cassius looked through the window toward Laya.
“What do you need?”
Marin laughed bitterly.
“Half a million dollars.”
He did not flinch.
She did.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don't be.”
Then:
“I can cover it.”
Her expression changed instantly.
“No.”
“It’s not difficult for me.”
“That makes it more difficult for me.”
“Why?”
“Because I work for you.”
There.
Cassius understood.
Power.
Debt.
Dependence.
He looked away.
Then:
“What if I do nothing?”
Marin wiped her eyes.
“That would be best.”
He nodded.
And did nothing.
Directly.
The next morning, Sylvio brought Marin information about St. Agnes’s cardiac charity program.
Already existing.
Already funded by dozens of donors.
One of them was the Vain Foundation, but so were banks, churches, private families, and medical groups.
Laya qualified based on medical need and finances.
No favor from Cassius required.
Her case was accepted for partial charitable coverage.
The hospital negotiated the remainder.
Marin would still owe money.
But not an impossible amount.
When she discovered Cassius had not influenced the committee, something shifted in how she saw him.
He had offered power.
She said no.
And he had respected no.
May you like
That was rarer than money.
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