Chapter 2 - LEO’S TOOLBOX
We did not go home that night.
Not because Dominic ordered us to stay.
I would have left if he had.
Detective Serrano asked Sophie and me to remain in a guest suite until morning while officers arranged safe transport and checked whether anyone had been watching our apartment.
That was different.
I said yes.
Sophie slept for forty minutes.
I did not.
At 5:20, I called my sister in Queens and told her nothing useful.
“We’re safe.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“You always say that before something terrible.”
Fair.
At six, Dominic knocked on the sitting-room door.
Actually knocked.
I opened it three inches.
“What?”
He looked exhausted.
“No sleep?”
“No.”
“Sophie?”
“Asleep.”
He nodded.
Then:
“Detective Serrano wants to search Leo’s toolbox.”
My hand tightened on door.
“She needs a warrant?”
“She asked for consent first.”
Good.
“Do you want to?”
Dominic stared.
“That’s your property.”
Correct.
No:
Leo worked for me, therefore his tools are mine.
Progress.
“I’ll go with police.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t come.”
He accepted too quickly.
“Agreed.”
That irritated me for no reason.
Good.
By eight, Serrano drove Sophie and me to our apartment in Jackson Heights with another officer.
Dominic stayed behind.
No Valenti car followed.
I checked.
Twice.
Serrano noticed.
“You expect him to?”
“I expect powerful men to confuse concern with permission.”
She almost smiled.
“Occupational hazard.”
My basement apartment looked smaller after the estate.
It also looked safer.
Sophie went straight to kitchen table.
Mrs. Price had packed breakfast.
Too much food.
Sophie ate pancakes cold.
I took Leo’s toolbox from under my bed.
Red metal.
Scratched.
Heavy.
I had not opened it since funeral.
Not because locked.
Because grief had turned ordinary objects into doors.
Serrano put on gloves.
“Your consent applies to this search. You can stop at any time unless we later obtain a warrant.”
“Okay.”
I opened it.
Top tray:
pliers.
wire cutters.
screwdrivers.
voltage tester.
electrical tape.
Leo’s world.
Underneath:
camera housings.
old badges.
cables.
Nothing.
Then Sophie said:
“Bottom comes out.”
I stared.
“What?”
She pointed.
“Daddy showed me.”
“When?”
“A long time ago.”
Of course.
She had inherited his love of compartments.
The metal bottom lifted.
Under it:
three envelopes.
a USB drive.
a small notebook.
and one photograph.
My breath stopped.
Leo.
Marcus DeLuca.
Standing beside each other in the Valenti garage.
Date stamp:
fourteen months ago.
Marcus had one hand on Leo’s shoulder.
Both smiling.
I looked at Sophie.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
Serrano photographed before touching.
Envelope one:
ANNA.
My hands shook.
“Can I open?”
“Yes.”
Inside was a letter.
Anna,
If you are reading this because something happened to me, I am sorry.
I laughed once.
Angry already.
Leo knew better than to begin with sorry.
I continued.
Do not assume Mr. Valenti killed me.
Do not assume he didn’t.
Do not trust anyone because I did.
That was Leo.
He loved nobody enough to spare them suspicion.
Not even Dominic.
I found something in estate security that I cannot explain yet. Gift-chain logs are being replaced after clearance. The replacement entries all map back to code 17.
I looked at Serrano.
“Code seventeen.”
She nodded.
I kept reading.
M.D. has access.
That does not mean M.D. is guilty.
It means M.D. is inside the path.
Good.
Leo did not convict from initials.
Then:
If Sophie remembers the ribbon, listen to her. She notices things I miss.
My eyes filled.
Sophie stared at the table.
“Daddy wrote me?”
“Maybe.”
Envelope two:
SOPHIE.
Serrano said:
“That belongs to her, but given possible evidence—”
“I know.”
We asked Sophie.
She wanted me to read it first.
Inside:
Bug,
If Mom is reading this, I’m already in trouble for making you keep a secret.
Sorry.
You are allowed to tell her everything now.
Sophie burst into tears.
I did too.
The letter explained green ribbon.
Not technical.
Simple.
Leo had seen three high-level gifts pass through security with dark green ribbon.
Each was delivered by Marcus personally or through one of his assistants.
Each caused something strange afterward.
One:
a visiting accountant collapsed at dinner.
Cause recorded as heart issue.
Two:
a union negotiator received a “thank you” case of wine; next day he disappeared from negotiations and later claimed he had changed his mind.
Three:
a port executive opened a box in private and later resigned.
Leo did not know whether gifts harmed anyone.
He only knew security scans changed after clearance.
He told Sophie:
if she ever saw same ribbon near Dominic, say Leo and seventeen.
Why tell a child?
Because Sophie sometimes waited at estate after school when I worked late.
Leo believed adults around Dominic might be compromised.
I wanted to scream at him.
Children should not carry dead-man protocols.
Serrano said softly:
“You’re right to be angry.”
I had not said aloud.
My face must have.
Envelope three:
DOMINIC.
Sealed.
Serrano photographed.
“Do you want to give it to him?”
I stared.
“It was Leo’s.”
“Your choice as next of kin unless warrant says otherwise.”
I thought.
Then:
“Copy first.”
Good.
No powerful man gets original because his name is on envelope.
Serrano smiled.
Tiny.
The notebook was more important.
Dates.
Badge logs.
delivery times.
initials.
M.D.
R.C.
E.G.
V-2.
Not enough.
Then one full name.
MARCUS DELUCA.
Beside it:
Asked why I was checking 17.
Said old system.
Told me forget.
Later apologized.
Too friendly.
My stomach tightened.
Next entry:
Marcus says Dom cannot know yet.
Claims threat comes from outside family.
Why protect him by hiding it?
Then:
Saw Marcus meeting R.C. loading dock 2:14 a.m.
No scheduled delivery.
Green case moved to car.
Who was R.C.?
Serrano scanned pages.
Another entry:
R.C. = Raymond Costa?
Question mark.
Not fact.
Raymond Costa was Dominic’s finance chief.
I knew the name.
He never looked at staff.
Good.
Then final page.
Night before Leo died.
DOM BELIEVES LOGS CLEAN.
SHOW HIM PHYSICAL CHAIN TOMORROW.
MARCUS FOLLOWED ME HOME?
BLACK SEDAN 3X.
IF ACCIDENT, NOT ACCIDENT UNTIL PROVEN.
My hands went numb.
Sophie saw.
“Mom?”
I closed notebook.
Too late.
She had read my face.
I held her.
Serrano looked at officer.
“Call traffic reconstruction unit.”
Good.
No dramatic declaration of murder.
Reopen facts.
The USB drive was encrypted.
Police took it.
We gave consent to copy, not destroy.
Good.
Then Serrano asked:
“Who knew where Leo lived?”
“Everyone in HR.”
“Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“Dominic?”
“Probably.”
“Costa?”
“Probably.”
Too many.
Then she asked:
“What did Leo drive?”
“Gray Honda.”
“Who maintained it?”
“Garage near us.”
“Any estate mechanics?”
“No.”
“Did he complain about car?”
I thought.
“He said brakes felt soft once.”
Her pen stopped.
“When?”
“Week before.”
“Did he repair?”
“He said garage checked.”
“Which garage?”
I gave name.
Good.
Sophie whispered:
“Daddy said the car was fine.”
We looked.
“When?”
“Night before.”
There.
Not proof.
Memory.
Still.
By noon, police retrieved Leo’s crash file.
Single vehicle.
Wet road.
No alcohol.
No mechanical teardown beyond visible inspection because death ruled accident.
Car had been released to insurance salvage.
Possibly crushed.
Maybe not.
Serrano checked.
It still existed.
Impound auction delayed due title issue.
Luck.
Or bureaucracy.
Both.
Vehicle was secured.
Then we drove back to Valenti estate because Serrano wanted to question Dominic about Leo’s sealed letter and because our apartment address had appeared in a recent unauthorized search from a Valenti security terminal.
That changed everything.
Someone inside the house had looked us up two nights ago.
Before Sophie warned Dominic.
Before police knew anything.
I wanted hotel.
Independent.
Dominic offered none until asked.
Good.
Victim services arranged one.
But first, we went back.
Marcus was still at estate.
Not detained.
No probable cause yet.
Dominic had removed his system access temporarily under counsel.
Marcus agreed.
Too calmly.
When I entered, he stood in the hall.
“Anna.”
First time he had ever used my first name.
I hated it.
“Sophie.”
She moved behind me.
Marcus looked wounded.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
Good.
Dominic appeared.
He looked at Marcus.
“Study.”
Serrano said:
“No private meeting.”
Dominic nodded.
“Fine.”
We all went to formal sitting room.
Attorneys present.
Serrano placed a copy of Leo’s notebook page on table.
Marcus read.
His face changed.
Then he laughed once.
Not amused.
“Leo.”
There.
Recognition.
Dominic leaned forward.
“You knew.”
“Of course I knew him.”
“You told me you barely remembered security staff.”
Marcus looked at him.
“Because you were asking who had access to gifts, not who I drank coffee with at two in morning.”
That landed.
Marcus and Leo had known each other.
Maybe friends.
I hated not knowing.
I asked:
“Why didn’t you come to his funeral?”
Marcus looked at me.
“I did.”
My breath stopped.
“No.”
“Back pew.”
I remembered a gray coat.
A man leaving before burial.
Maybe.
“Why hide?”
“Because Leo asked me not to be seen with you if something happened.”
Silence.
Dominic stared.
“Why?”
Marcus looked toward Serrano.
“I want immunity conversation before I answer anything about code seventeen.”
There.
Not innocence.
Not guilt.
Leverage.
Dominic’s face became stone.
Serrano said:
“You can discuss with your lawyer and prosecutors.”
Marcus nodded.
Then looked at me.
“Anna, Leo thought I betrayed him.”
My throat tightened.
“Did you?”
Marcus took a long time.
“Not the way he thought.”
That was the worst possible answer.
Then his attorney ended interview.
Marcus left under escort.
Not arrest.
As he reached door, Sophie spoke.
“Mr. Marcus.”
He stopped.
She held my hand.
“Daddy said you cried in the garage.”
Marcus went pale.
Sophie continued:
“He said maybe bad people don’t cry after.”
Silence.
Marcus looked at floor.
“Your father was kind.”
I said:
“He was suspicious.”
Marcus almost smiled.
“Yes.”
Then he left.
Dominic looked at Sophie.
“What did Leo tell you about the garage?”
She frowned.
“I don’t know.”
Child memory.
Fragments.
Good.
Serrano did not push.
Then Dominic opened Leo’s sealed letter.
Copy.
Not original.
His hands shook.
Dominic,
If this reaches you after I am dead, I was right about one thing and wrong about another.
Code 17 is inside your house.
But Marcus is not the top.
Dominic stopped breathing.
I leaned closer.
The next line:
May you like
The betrayal is older than Marcus.
And the person behind it knows what happened to your brother.
