Chapter 3 - What Mom Had Kept —
Nobody moved.
Even Noah had gone quiet, busy with the spoon Lisa held against his mouth.
Lorenzo lowered his eyes.
“Daniel’s accident,” he said.
Mom gave a short, ugly laugh.
“Is that what you call it?”
“That’s what I was told.”
“You were told a lot of things.”
I stepped into the hallway.
“Mom?”
She shut her eyes.
Dad had died eight months earlier.
He’d driven trucks. He smelled like winter air and coffee when he came home. He used to carry me on his back even after I got too big.
We were told his truck had hit a barrier.
We were told the road was bad.
After that, people stopped telling us things.
Mom turned to Lisa.
“Take them upstairs.”
“No.”
The word came out before I could make it smaller.
Mom stared at me.
“I’m not five,” I said. “If this is about Dad, I get to hear it.”
Her face crumpled for half a second.
Then she pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.”
Lorenzo stayed standing.
Dad had worked for Northline Freight, one of the companies tied to the Moretti family. After he died, a man named Victor Sloane came to our house.
He said the company would cover expenses.
He brought papers.
Mom signed a receipt for a temporary payment.
Then the money stopped.
Later, a lawyer told her she had signed a complete settlement.
“That isn’t possible,” Lorenzo said.
Mom went to the kitchen drawer and pulled out a thick envelope.
Inside were copies, unpaid bills, and letters with words I hated because they always meant no.
She slapped a page onto the table.
“Then explain my signature.”
Lorenzo read it.
His jaw tightened.
“Did you sign this page?”
“I signed a payment receipt. Not this.”
“Who was with you?”
“Victor.”
He looked up.
Mom leaned toward him.
“Your cousin. Your operations manager. Your problem.”
Lorenzo took out his phone, then stopped.
Instead of making a call, he put it facedown.
“May I have a copy?”
“You can have a photograph. The papers stay here.”
He nodded.
That small agreement frightened me more than an argument would have.
He believed her.
Mom crossed her arms.
“And don’t send men to my house.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t call my employer.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t make promises.”
He looked at Noah.
“I can promise dinner.”
Mom’s eyes filled, but she didn’t thank him.
After Lorenzo left, I helped put the groceries away.
Under the milk was a small receipt.
Someone had written a phone number on the back.
May you like
Beneath it were six words.
If Victor comes, do not open.
