Chapter 11: The Last One
Marco Aldini had died two years ago.
The obituary described him as a retired businessman from Genoa, survived by his daughter, Silvia, aged thirty-one.
The cause of d*ath was listed as cardiac failure.
He was sixty-four years old.
Carmine found the obituary in four minutes.
He found Silvia Aldini in six.
She answered on the second ring.
"I've been waiting for this call," she said.
Her English was careful and precise, the kind learned in school rather than lived in.
"I didn't know who would call.
I hoped it would be you."
"You sent me the photograph."
"My contact inside the bank owed me a favor.
I asked her to let me know if Helena ever came back to that box." A pause.
"She came back yesterday morning.
Early."
"What did she take out?"
"What she put in three weeks ago.
The property document.
The custody papers." Silvia's voice tightened slightly.
"And a letter.
A letter she wrote about you.
I don't know what it says.
But I know the kind of letter she writes, because I read the one she wrote about my father."
"Tell me what happened to him."
Silvia was quiet for a moment.
"My father met Helena six years ago.
He was widowed.
He was lonely.
He was wealthy — not as wealthy as you, but enough." She spoke without self-pity, just the flat recitation of facts that had been gone over many times.
"She married him within a year.
She began moving money within six months of the wedding.
Small amounts.
Always with an explanation — renovation costs, a gift for a friend, a charitable donation he didn't remember agreeing to." Another pause.
"When he realized what was happening, he confronted her.
She produced documents.
Letters he had supposedly written.
Financial records that showed he had agreed to transfers he had never agreed to."
"Fabricated."
"Yes.
But convincing enough that his own attorney wasn't certain.
The legal process began.
My father was sixty-two years old, in poor health, and suddenly facing a legal fight that he didn't have the strength for." Her voice was steady but thin at the edges.
"He died before it was resolved.
Helena settled with his estate for a significant sum.
My lawyers argued.
We lost."
Carmine looked at the kitchen wall.
"She's done this before," he said.
"You are the second that I know of.
There may be others."
"Dario Fenwick—"
"Was involved with my father's case too.
Different name then.
Different company.
Same structure." She paused.
"Mr.
Carmine.
I have the letter my father wrote before he died.
He documented everything he could remember — every transfer, every conversation, every document she showed him that he knew was false.
He wrote it for me because he wanted someone to be able to prove it someday." Her voice steadied.
"I want to give it to your attorney."
"Why didn't you come forward before?"
"Because before, I had no one to give it to who could use it.
My own case was closed.
I had no standing." A long pause.
"But if you are filing against her now — if there is an active legal proceeding — my father's letter becomes relevant.
It establishes a pattern.
It shows this is not a dispute between a husband and wife.
It shows what she is."
Carmine closed his eyes for a moment.
"Silvia.
I'm going to give you my attorney's direct number.
His name is Russel Holt.
Call him today.
This afternoon if you can."
"I will."
"And Silvia—" He stopped.
"I'm sorry about your father."
She was quiet for a moment.
"Find her," she said.
"And make sure she can't do it again."
He ended the call and sat very still in the empty kitchen.
Outside, the estate was quiet.
The garage door was still open from the morning.
The bucket Leo had been forced to carry was still sitting beside the drain where Helena had kicked it over.
He got up, walked to the garage, and picked it up.
May you like
He set it on the shelf where it belonged.
Then he called Russel.
