Chapter 7: The Morning She Didn't Return
Russel Holt arrived at eight forty-five.
He set his briefcase on the kitchen table, accepted the coffee Carmine handed him, and looked around the house with the quiet attention of a man cataloguing what was still intact.
"She's gone?" he said.
"Left last night.
Car's not in the garage."
"Did she take anything?"
"I checked this morning.
Her clothes are still here.
Her jewelry.
She left fast." Carmine sat down across from him.
"Which means she went somewhere she already had things waiting."
Russel nodded slowly.
"Fenwick."
"That's my assumption."
"Then she's not coming back voluntarily." He opened his briefcase.
"Which is actually better for us.
It means she's running, and running people make mistakes." He laid three documents on the table.
"I had my team working through the night.
The forensic accountant confirmed the signature on the refinance application is a forgery.
The pen pressure is wrong, and there are two letters in your surname that don't match any of your authentic signatures in our files."
"Can that be used?"
"In court, yes.
We'll need a formal examination, but the preliminary finding is strong." He tapped the second document.
"More importantly — I found the notary.
His real name is Emilio Carra.
He has a prior conviction in Italy for document fraud.
He's been working with Fenwick for at least six years."
"Can we reach him?"
"The financial crimes authority in Rome already has an interest in him.
I made a call this morning.
They're very interested in what we have."
Leo appeared in the kitchen doorway in his school uniform, backpack over one shoulder.
"Good morning," Russel said.
Leo looked at him, then at his father.
"Is Helena coming back?"
Carmine stood up and poured Leo a glass of orange juice.
"Not today.
Sit down, I'll make you breakfast."
"Is she in trouble?"
"That's being sorted out."
Leo sat down at the island.
He looked at the documents on the table without touching them.
"The man with the scar," he said.
"He had an accent.
Italian, I think.
Like Grandpa used to sound."
Russel looked up from his papers.
"Leo," Carmine said carefully, "did you hear anything else that night?
Anything you haven't told me yet?"
Leo thought for a moment.
"He said something about a key.
A safety deposit key." He touched the side of his own chest, over his shirt pocket.
"Helena put something in her jacket after he said it.
Something small."
Russel and Carmine looked at each other across the table.
"She has a key," Russel said.
"To what?"
"That's what we need to find out before she uses it."
Carmine's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
It was a number he didn't recognize — Italian country code.
He answered it.
"Mr.
Carmine." The voice was smooth, unhurried, and carried the faint trace of an accent.
"My name is Dario Fenwick.
May you like
I think it's time we spoke directly.
Don't you?"
