Chapter 12 - THE THINGS THAT DIDN’T BURN
The garage roof was burning when we arrived.
Firefighters kept everyone behind a line of parked engines.
I stood with Marcus while Ruiz spoke to the incident commander.
Orange light moved across the wet street.
Somewhere in that building were the things my mother had decided no one else could have.
Maybe proof.
Maybe the last pieces of my father.
A firefighter emerged from the smoke supporting a coughing man.
Graham Vale.
One side of his coat was scorched.
He tried to pull away from the paramedic.
Then he saw me.
For a second, he looked relieved.
Habit.
He had spent years believing a D’Angelo would make trouble disappear.
Ruiz approached before I could.
“You need medical attention,” she told him. “An officer will accompany you.”
Graham glanced at the burning building.
Then at me.
“She said it would be empty.”
I didn’t answer.
He looked older than he had in the hospital footage.
People did that when they finally understood they were expendable.
At the hospital, with counsel present, Graham started talking.
Not because he had discovered a conscience.
Because Evelyn had sent him to collect a locked cashbox from a garage someone else had been told to burn.
He had kept duplicates elsewhere.
Of course he had.
Men like Graham trusted employers exactly as much as employers deserved.
Ruiz didn’t tell me everything.
She told me enough.
There were messages about Lena’s confinement.
Payments to the search firm.
Instructions to create foreign sightings.
A photograph of me entering a restaurant in Boston had been used to prove I was still searching while my mother renewed Lena’s restrictions.
And there was a name.
Daniel Price.
Alive.
Living two counties away.
For years, I had thought the mechanic left the country.
That story came from my mother too.
Later that evening, Lena allowed me to visit.
Sophie sat on the floor arranging crackers in a circle.
She offered me one.
I sat where she pointed.
“Is Grandma coming?”
“No.”
“Is she mad?”
I looked at Lena before answering.
“She may be. That doesn’t mean she gets to hurt anyone.”
Sophie considered that.
Then she moved one cracker closer to mine.
Lena watched us from the couch.
After Sophie fell asleep, I told her about the garage.
She wrapped both hands around a mug.
“Your mother always burned things she couldn’t explain.”
“What do you mean?”
“Letters. Records.”
She looked down.
“Your father’s note.”
I went still.
“What note?”
“The one he left for you.”
I stared at her.
May you like
Lena’s eyes filled.
“Roman, I saw it before she did. I made a copy.”
