Chapter 3 - THE NIGHT VINCENT COULD NOT REMEMBER
Vincent did not ask Jonathan Delmar to repeat himself.
That was progress.
Five years earlier, maybe even five days earlier, he would have forced the sentence into the room again until it became something he could dominate.
Now he sat.
Elina watched from the kitchen doorway.
She was not part of the meeting anymore.
Laura Chen had arrived.
Marco stood near the window.
Teresa had taken Sophia to finish homework in the breakfast room.
Good.
A child did not need to hear adults reconstruct a dead seventeen-year-old’s last phone call.
Vincent looked at Delmar’s voice coming through the speaker.
“You said Anna believed I was drugged.”
“Yes.”
“Believed based on what?”
“Her notes.”
“What notes?”
“Symptoms she documented the next morning.”
“Do you have them?”
“Yes.”
“Send them to Laura.”
Not to me.
Good.
Laura nodded.
Then asked:
“Mr. Delmar, before we go further, what exactly did Anna retain you to do?”
“Review the crash independently.”
“Why?”
“She thought the official inquiry ended too quickly.”
“Did she allege homicide?”
“No.”
“Did she identify a suspect?”
“No.”
“Did she tell you Vincent caused the crash?”
“No.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Good.
Questions first.
Delmar continued.
“Anna’s concern was sequence. Daniel called the house. Vincent had no memory of the call. Traffic video suggested Daniel reacted to something on the road. Then a technician reviewing video received money from a shell company.”
Laura said:
“So three anomalies.”
“Yes.”
“Not one theory.”
“Correct.”
Good.
Vincent looked toward Elina.
She realized she was still there.
“Do you want me to leave?”
He thought.
“Yes.”
Then corrected.
“Please.”
Good.
She left.
In breakfast room, Sophia had drawn pizza fractions.
Seven slices colored.
One eaten.
“That is not how fractions work if you ate it before drawing.”
Sophia looked offended.
“It was imaginary pizza.”
“Imaginary rules still exist.”
“No.”
Teresa laughed.
For the next hour, Elina heard nothing from study.
That was deliberate.
Vincent’s grief was not staff entertainment.
At 4:00, Laura asked to speak with Elina alone.
Not Vincent.
Good.
They sat in a small sitting room.
Laura had printed Anna’s notes.
“You worked here the morning after Daniel died?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember Vincent?”
Elina closed eyes.
Nine years.
She had been newer then.
Twenty-eight.
Sophia not born yet.
The house had been chaos.
Police.
Family.
Men in suits.
Anna screaming once in the upstairs hall.
Vincent sitting at dining table with both hands around coffee he never drank.
“I remember him looking sick.”
“How?”
“Pale.”
“Anything else?”
“He kept asking what time it was.”
Laura looked down.
Anna’s note:
VINCENT WOKE AT 5:40 A.M. DISORIENTED.
COMPLAINS OF DRY MOUTH, HEADACHE, MUSCLE WEAKNESS.
DOES NOT REMEMBER DANIEL CALLING AT 10:31 P.M.
REMEMBERS DINNER UNTIL APPROX. 9:45.
THEN BEDROOM.
Laura asked:
“Do you remember him going upstairs?”
“No.”
“Who served dinner?”
“Teresa and two waitstaff.”
“Drink?”
“Red wine.”
“Medication?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Good.
“Who was present?”
Elina thought.
Family dinner after some port meeting.
Vincent.
Anna.
Daniel left early? Maybe Daniel was out with friend. The dinner involved Vincent’s younger brother Carlo Moretti and cousin Anthony Vale? Need establish. Let's create "Carlo Moretti," Vincent's younger brother, 47 now. And "Marco" maybe there? Head security worked then too. Could be.
“Elina?”
“Mr. Vincent. Mrs. Moretti. His brother Carlo. Marco. A lawyer named Peter Salvi. Maybe two others.”
“Daniel?”
“No. He came through kitchen around eight and left.”
Laura looked up.
“You saw him?”
“Yes.”
“What was he like?”
“Angry.”
That mattered.
“About?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he speak to anyone?”
“Elina thought.”
Daniel came in soaked from drizzle.
He asked Teresa if his father was in dining room.
Then Anna entered kitchen.
Mother and son argued quietly.
Elina had heard only one sentence.
“You can’t tell him while Carlo is there.”
Her stomach turned.
Laura saw.
“What?”
Elina repeated.
“Exact?”
“I think.”
“Think.”
“Yes.”
Good.
“Who said it?”
“Anna.”
“Daniel response?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Did Vincent know Daniel came in?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Carlo?”
Maybe.
The swinging door opened briefly.
Carlo had walked toward bar.
He might have seen.
“I don’t know.”
Good.
Laura wrote.
Then:
“Do you remember Vincent drinking anything other than wine?”
“Yes.”
“Coffee?”
“No.”
“Amaro.”
Italian digestif.
After dinner.
“Who poured?”
Elina closed eyes.
Marco? No. Teresa? Maybe Carlo.
A crystal decanter lived on sideboard.
Carlo had poured.
She remembered because he joked Vincent drank it like medicine.
“Carlo.”
Laura did not react.
Good.
“Did anyone else drink same bottle?”
“Carlo.”
Important.
Could not simply be drugged bottle unless glass.
“Same glasses?”
“No.”
“Could you identify glasses now?”
“No.”
Good.
“Anything unusual afterward?”
Vincent dropped one glass.
Not shattered.
He laughed.
Vincent rarely laughed at dinner? Maybe.
“He was slurring a little.”
“Drunk?”
“I thought.”
“How much wine?”
“Two glasses maybe.”
Again memory.
Laura said:
“Thank you.”
No theory.
At 5:30, Teresa had her own interview.
She remembered more.
Vincent had complained of suddenly feeling exhausted at 9:50.
Carlo told him:
“You’ve been working too hard.”
Anna suggested doctor.
Vincent refused.
Marco helped him upstairs.
There.
Marco.
Laura asked him next.
Marco sat stiffly.
“I helped him to his room.”
“Was that normal?”
“No.”
“What did you think?”
“Alcohol. Exhaustion.”
“Did you call doctor?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Vincent told me not to.”
“Was he coherent?”
Marco looked sick.
“Enough that I accepted it.”
Good.
“Who stayed downstairs?”
“Carlo. Peter Salvi. Anna.”
“Daniel?”
“Gone.”
“At 10:31, Daniel called east-wing private line.”
“Yes.”
“Who could answer?”
“Vincent’s bedroom extension. Study. library.”
“Where were you?”
“Security room.”
“Carlo?”
“Library.”
Marco stopped.
Everyone heard that.
The east-wing private line had a library extension.
Carlo was in library.
But carrier record only showed house line connection.
Who answered unknown.
Vincent remembered nothing.
Could have been Carlo.
Could have been Vincent upstairs.
Could have been anyone.
Good.
Laura said:
“Do not infer.”
Marco nodded.
Then Delmar emailed traffic copy.
The footage was grainy.
Black-and-white.
Wide angle.
Daniel’s car entered frame at 10:39 p.m.
A dark sedan sat on shoulder ahead.
Lights off.
As Daniel approached, brake lights flared.
The dark sedan pulled halfway into lane.
Daniel swerved.
His car crossed center line, corrected, then disappeared beyond frame toward bridge approach.
The other sedan turned lights on.
Drove away in opposite direction.
No collision.
No plate.
But shape.
Long hood.
Square roof.
Laura paused frame.
Marco leaned closer.
Vincent did too.
“Cadillac,” Marco said.
“Maybe.”
“Fleetwood.”
“Maybe.”
Vincent’s face changed.
Carlo drove a Cadillac Fleetwood then.
So did half the wealthy men in North Jersey.
Not evidence.
Laura said exactly that.
Good.
Then Delmar’s money trail.
Forty thousand dollars entered traffic technician Edward Mott’s account through a company called Hudson Technical Advisers.
Incorporated three months before crash.
Dissolved next year.
Registered agent:
Peter Salvi.
The lawyer at dinner.
Vincent stood.
“No.”
Laura looked at him.
“Fact?”
“Peter handled Moretti Maritime compliance then.”
“Did he have authority to create shell companies?”
“Yes.”
“For legitimate reasons?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then shell alone is not proof.”
Good.
“What about payment?”
“Unknown.”
“Why would a traffic technician receive forty thousand?”
“Unknown.”
Again.
Vincent stared at the printout.
Road.
Money.
Call.
The road pointed vaguely toward Carlo’s type of car.
Money pointed to a shell registered by Peter.
Call entered a house where both men were present.
Anna had built a triangle.
Not accusation.
Structure.
Then Laura unfolded another page from Anna’s notes.
A list.
CARLO - ASK ABOUT PIER 17.
PETER - H.T.A.
MARCO - WHY DID HE MOVE VINCENT?
DANIEL - SAID “THEY’RE USING DAD’S NAME.”
Vincent looked at Marco.
Marco went still.
Not guilty.
Wounded.
“She suspected me.”
“She asked why you moved him,” Laura said.
“Because he could barely stand.”
“Did you tell Anna?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I thought she knew.”
There.
Assumptions.
Vincent read final line.
They’re using Dad’s name.
“What were they using my name for?”
Nobody knew.
Marco said:
“Pier 17.”
Vincent looked.
“What?”
“Daniel had been asking questions about Pier 17 warehouse that week.”
“What warehouse?”
“Moretti Maritime customs overflow.”
Vincent’s face changed.
He remembered.
That warehouse had been shut eight years ago after an audit.
Not because of Daniel.
Official reason:
lease costs.
Maybe.
“What was there?”
Marco thought.
“Imports awaiting inspection. bonded cargo. sometimes high-value electronics.”
“Illegal?”
Marco looked at Vincent.
“We had illegal things moving through several docks.”
Good.
No clean hero.
“Pier 17 specifically?”
“I don’t know.”
Laura said:
“Then records.”
Good.
No memory contest.
The company archives held shipping manifests.
Boxes.
Digital systems then were newer but backups existed.
Laura ordered preservation before anyone searched selectively.
Good.
At 8:00 that night, Vincent went to Sophia’s homework table.
Elina stiffened.
He remained standing at kitchen entrance.
“May I?”
Sophia looked up.
“Fractions.”
“I see.”
“You bad at them?”
“No.”
“Then yes.”
He sat.
Elina watched.
Vincent looked at worksheet.
Sophia said:
“Mr. Vincent.”
“Yes?”
“Did your son call you?”
Elina froze.
Who told her?
Probably Teresa slipped? Or child overheard. Vincent did not ask.
“I don’t know.”
Sophia frowned.
“How can you not know?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Were you sleeping?”
“Maybe.”
“Then you can find out.”
Simple.
He smiled sadly.
“That is what we’re trying to do.”
Sophia colored one half of a circle.
Then:
“Don’t guess.”
Vincent stared.
Elina almost laughed.
Apparently Sophia had absorbed the whole house’s new rule.
“No,” Vincent said.
“I won’t.”
That night, company archives produced a Pier 17 security incident from two days before Daniel died.
An internal report.
Unauthorized access to sealed freight container.
Person identified:
DANIEL MORETTI.
He had used his father’s executive access card.
Inside the container:
No electronics.
No bonded imports.
Forty-two crates of pharmaceutical precursors declared as machine parts.
Vincent stared at the manifest.
Not narcotics themselves.
Chemicals.
Controlled enough to create enormous legal exposure.
Shipment owner on paper:
Hudson Technical Advisers.
Peter Salvi’s shell.
And authorization code permitting the container to bypass standard internal inspection belonged to one person.
V. MORETTI.
Vincent’s own credentials.
He looked at the screen.
“They used my name.”
Anna’s note.
Daniel’s words.
They’re using Dad’s name.
May you like
Vincent had not authorized that shipment.
But someone close enough to his empire had known exactly how to make it look like he had.
