Chapter 4 - THE PHOTOGRAPH FROM PIER 44
Celeste had told me she met me four years ago.
The photograph was dated six years ago.
Two hours before my brother died.
I placed the picture inside my desk and waited until dinner.
Celeste arrived wearing dark green silk.
She sat across from me as though nothing had changed.
“You’re frightening the staff.”
“They’ll recover.”
“And you?”
“I’m rarely frightened.”
She studied my face.
“Then what are you?”
“Curious.”
I took out the photograph.
For the first time since I met her, Celeste lost control of her expression.
It lasted less than a second.
But I saw it.
“Where did you get that?”
Not:
What is that?
Not:
Who is that woman?
She knew.
“You tell me.”
She touched the edge of the photograph.
“My father had business at Pier 44.”
“You were with him?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you never mention it?”
“Because it meant nothing.”
“My brother died there.”
Her voice softened.
“And I’m sorry.”
“You attended his funeral?”
“No.”
“You knew his name?”
“Everyone knew his name.”
I leaned back.
“Delia says otherwise.”
That landed.
Celeste’s eyes narrowed.
“So she’s talking.”
I smiled slightly.
Wrong sentence.
Celeste realized it too late.
“You knew she had something to say.”
“She’s manipulating you.”
“Why?”
“Money.”
“She has never asked me for money.”
“Then protection.”
“From whom?”
Silence.
There it was again.
The unfinished sentence.
Later that night, Vincent brought me a second discovery.
The estate’s cellar door had three locks.
Only one was modern.
The other two dated back decades.
Behind a wine rack, we found a shallow compartment built into the stone.
Inside was an old document box.
Empty.
Almost.
At the bottom lay a torn envelope bearing my mother’s handwriting.
GABRIEL — ONLY IF EWAN IS GONE.
Inside was one half of a legal page.
It referenced the Moretti Harbor Trust.
And one clause was underlined.
IN THE EVENT OF THE DEATH OF EDWARD “EWAN” MORETTI, ANY LAWFUL DESCENDANT OF HIS ISSUE SHALL RETAIN PRECEDENT CLAIM TO CLASS A VOTING SHARES.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
I called Miriam Shaw.
She answered at 11:47 p.m.
“Miriam.”
Long silence.
“Gabriel.”
“You’re going to tell me everything.”
Another pause.
May you like
Then the seventy-two-year-old attorney said:
“I wondered how long your mother could keep you from finding out.”
