Chapter 4 - THE SINS OF HIS FATHER
Khloe kept the phone in her hand long after the call ended.
The kitchen seemed too quiet.
Lorenzo stood across from her.
Mateo remained near the doorway.
No one moved.
Finally Khloe spoke.
“What happened on October seventeenth?”
Lorenzo’s eyes held hers.
“My father ordered a cleanup.”
Her stomach dropped.
“What kind of cleanup?”
“The kind you already understand.”
“Say it.”
“Khloe.”
“Say it.”
His face hardened as if the words themselves required armor.
“Vincenzo Moretti ordered three people killed because he believed they had copied financial records belonging to Bellweather.”
Khloe’s fingers tightened around the phone.
“Was my father one of them?”
“I do not know.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only honest one.”
She looked at Mateo.
He stared at the floor.
“You knew?”
“Not names,” Mateo said. “I was twenty-two. I knew there had been an order.”
Khloe laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“Your family killed my father.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
“That is why you are quiet.”
“I will not lie to you.”
“You already did.”
“When?”
“Every day since I walked into that office.”
“I never told you I was innocent.”
“No. You just let me be stupid enough to think your protection meant something.”
His expression changed.
“It means something.”
“To you.”
“Yes.”
“That is not enough.”
She pushed past him.
Lorenzo did not stop her.
She walked down the hall into the living room.
Her shoulder hurt from the boat attack.
Her clothes were damp.
Her mind felt split open.
Four days ago she had worried about rent.
Now she was trapped between an international blackmail network and a mafia dynasty that may have murdered her father.
The absurdity of it almost made her laugh.
She found Mr. Whiskers asleep inside his carrier.
Khloe opened it.
He climbed into her arms.
She buried her face in his fur.
“Everyone is terrible,” she whispered.
The cat purred.
“You are the only reliable man in my life.”
Behind her, Lorenzo said, “He scratched Mateo.”
“That improves my argument.”
Lorenzo stayed near the doorway.
Khloe did not look at him.
“Did you know your father killed people?”
“Yes.”
“Did you help him?”
“Sometimes.”
Her throat tightened.
“At twenty-three?”
“Before.”
She looked up.
He had been younger than she was now.
That should not matter.
It did.
“What were you?”
“My father’s son.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It was the only identity I was allowed.”
Khloe hated the part of herself that understood.
Trapped in different worlds, perhaps.
Still trapped.
She set Mr. Whiskers down.
“What happened to Vincenzo?”
“He died nine years ago.”
“How?”
“I killed him.”
Khloe froze.
Lorenzo’s face did not change.
Mateo quietly disappeared down the hall.
Khloe stared.
“You killed your father.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lorenzo moved toward the window.
Outside, the rain had stopped.
The dark yard reflected moonlight.
“My mother tried to leave him.”
Khloe understood before he finished.
“She did not survive.”
“No.”
The word was flat.
Controlled.
“He told me she had embarrassed the family. That discipline had gone too far.”
Khloe felt sick.
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“And you killed him.”
“Three days later.”
No apology.
No attempt to make it noble.
Just fact.
Khloe looked at him differently.
Lorenzo Moretti did not come from violence.
He had been built inside it.
That did not excuse him.
But it changed the shape of the monster.
“What would your father have done to me?”
“If he believed you could open Bellweather?”
“Yes.”
“He would have put you in a room and broken you until you remembered every number.”
Khloe hugged herself.
“And you?”
“I bought you shoes.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped her.
It was small and angry.
“That was not funny.”
“No.”
“It was a little funny.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
He was watching her carefully.
No pressure.
No command.
“I want the truth from now on,” she said.
“You will get it.”
“Even if I hate you for it.”
“Especially then.”
“Did your father order Thomas Higgins killed?”
“I do not know.”
“Find out.”
“I will.”
“And I decide what happens to the Bellweather archive.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed.
“That is not solely your decision.”
“It opened because of my father’s numbers.”
“It contains information capable of starting wars.”
“Then maybe the people starting wars should be afraid.”
“You do not understand the consequences.”
“Then explain them instead of controlling me.”
He went silent.
Khloe folded her arms.
“See? This is the part where normal people have a conversation.”
“I am not normal people.”
“I noticed.”
For the first time since Judge Voss’s call, Lorenzo looked almost tired.
He sat.
Khloe had never seen him slump.
Not truly.
It made him look human.
“I will explain,” he said.
For the next two hours, Lorenzo showed her the world hidden behind her father’s archive.
Bellweather was not one organization.
It was an agreement.
Decades earlier, competing criminal families had created a neutral financial system to keep records of shared operations.
Every major deal required leverage.
Every betrayal required proof.
Bellweather stored that proof.
Over time, politicians, judges, police captains, customs officials, and businessmen were drawn into the web.
Anyone who tried to destroy one family risked exposing everyone.
Mutual destruction became stability.
Thomas Higgins had discovered that Bellweather was not merely recording crimes.
It was shaping them.
Funding political campaigns.
Manipulating port contracts.
Choosing winners and losers.
Voss had been one of the legal architects.
Vincenzo Moretti had been one of the enforcers.
Khloe listened until dawn.
Then Mateo entered with a file.
“We found the October seventeenth order.”
Khloe stopped breathing.
Lorenzo stood.
Mateo handed him the folder.
Lorenzo opened it.
His expression became unreadable.
“What?”
Khloe asked.
He passed the document to her.
Three targets.
One was Thomas Higgins.
Her vision blurred.
She forced herself to read.
AUTHORIZED BY: VINCENZO MORETTI.
EXECUTION TEAM: RUSSO UNIT.
Khloe’s eyes moved to Mateo.
He went pale.
“Russo.”
Mateo nodded slowly.
“My uncle.”
“Not you?”
“No.”
“Was your uncle alive then?”
“Yes.”
“Is he alive now?”
Mateo hesitated.
“Yes.”
Khloe stood.
“Where?”
“Florida.”
“I want to talk to him.”
Lorenzo said, “No.”
Khloe turned.
He corrected himself.
“I mean it may be dangerous.”
“Better.”
Mateo looked at Lorenzo.
“My uncle left the life ten years ago. He lives under another name near Naples.”
“Florida or Italy?” Khloe asked.
“Naples, Florida.”
“Of course.”
Lorenzo took the folder back.
“There is more.”
Khloe looked.
Beside Thomas Higgins’s name was a handwritten notation.
DO NOT EXECUTE. TRANSFER TO VOSS.
Khloe’s heart stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Lorenzo read it twice.
“Your father may not have died that night.”
“But the accident—”
“Could have been staged.”
Khloe’s knees weakened.
“No.”
Mateo took out his phone.
“I will contact my uncle.”
Khloe barely heard him.
Fourteen years.
She had mourned a body she had never seen because the casket had been closed.
Her mother told her the injuries were too severe.
Khloe remembered begging.
Just one look.
Just goodbye.
They said no.
She stared at Lorenzo.
“Are you telling me my father could be alive?”
“I am telling you the document says he was transferred.”
“To Judge Voss?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew the archive.”
Khloe’s chest tightened.
Hope was worse than grief.
Grief at least had shape.
Hope could destroy you.
Mateo left to make the call.
Khloe walked toward the window.
Morning light touched the trees.
Lorenzo joined her but kept distance.
“What if he is alive?”
“Then we find him.”
“What if he helped them?”
“We find out.”
“What if he chose not to come back?”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“Then you will hear it from him, not imagine it for the rest of your life.”
She swallowed.
That was the right answer.
She hated him for giving it.
His phone buzzed.
Mateo returned immediately.
His face was white.
“What?”
Lorenzo asked.
“My uncle answered.”
Khloe turned.
“He remembers Thomas Higgins.”
Her heart slammed.
“And?”
Mateo looked directly at her.
“He says Thomas was not executed.”
Khloe gripped the window ledge.
“He was taken to a private facility in New Jersey.”
“By Voss?” Lorenzo asked.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Mateo hesitated.
“Saint Germaine Behavioral Hospital.”
Khloe frowned.
“I have heard of that.”
It had closed years earlier after abuse allegations.
Mateo nodded.
“My uncle says Bellweather used the basement for off-book detention.”
Khloe could barely breathe.
“When did it close?”
“Eight years ago.”
“Where did the patients go?”
Mateo looked at Lorenzo.
“No records.”
Khloe reached for her coat.
Lorenzo stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To New Jersey.”
“Not yet.”
She turned.
His tone shifted.
“We go together.”
She studied him.
“Why?”
“Because my father put your father there.”
The guilt in his face was quiet but unmistakable.
“And because if there is anything left to find, I owe you the truth.”
Two hours later they were on the road.
May you like
What none of them knew was that someone inside the old Saint Germaine facility had already been informed they were coming.
And in a sealed room beneath the abandoned hospital, a camera flickered on for the first time in years.
