Chapter 7 - A Man With Nothing to Hide
Sal kept his route books in a metal cabinet at home.
He had thirty-four of them.
One for every year.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because people forget what they asked you to do.”
He said it without bitterness.
That made it worse.
Mara arranged for the books to be collected by someone from her office.
Sal gave her his house key.
Before the man arrived there, a neighbor called.
Sal listened without speaking.
Then he lowered the phone.
“My kitchen window’s broken.”
Luca turned toward the front hall.
Mara stopped him.
“Call the police.
Don’t turn a burglary into something they can blame on you.”
The words hung between them.
Luca Moretti wasn’t used to being told how to handle men who threatened his people.
But he made the call.
By morning, the cabinet was empty.
Nothing else had been taken.
Not Sal’s television.
Not the emergency cash in his desk.
Just the books.
At seven-thirty, a news site posted a photograph of Sal outside the mansion.
The headline accused a longtime Moretti employee of involvement in a charity theft.
By eight, there was another photograph.
Me.
The story called me a disgruntled maid who had disrupted an engagement dinner after being promised money by Sal.
I stared at my own face.
For ten months, I had worried about polishing silver incorrectly.
Now strangers were discussing whether I had helped steal from children.
My sister called.
“Emma.
Tell me what’s happening.”
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t sound okay.”
I couldn’t answer that.
In the kitchen, Sal stood beside his cardboard box.
He had put his coat inside.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making this easier.”
“For who?”
“Your name shouldn’t be dragged through it.
Luca’s either.”
Luca entered before Sal could lift the box.
“Put it down.”
“I’ve caused enough trouble.”
“You didn’t cause this.”
Sal stared at the floor.
“Your father would’ve known what to do.”
Luca took that blow without moving.
Then he said, “Probably.
But you’ve got me.”
The front bell rang.
Two detectives stood outside.
Mara arrived from the study as Luca opened the door.
They wanted to speak with Sal about a foundation account opened under his name.
Sal shook his head.
“I don’t have a foundation account.”
One detective showed him a printed transaction.
The receiving bank account belonged to him.
The deposit was real.
Seventy-five thousand dollars.
Sal looked at Luca.
“I never touched that money.”
May you like
Then he added, almost too quietly to hear:
“But I know who told me it was there.”
