Chapter 9 – THE WOODEN BOX

Three weeks had passed since Vanessa was taken away in handcuffs.

The transition into the Moretti household was nothing short of a whirlwind. As the new estate manager, I spent my days organizing the massive staff, coordinating with Giovanni on the Foundation’s restructuring, and making sure Grace and Sophie felt comfortable in their new reality.

It wasn’t easy for them.

Grace, used to scrubbing floors at midnight, constantly tried to help the kitchen staff wash dishes, much to the horror of the head chef.

Sophie, while thriving with her new private violin tutors, still seemed overwhelmed by the sheer size of her new bedroom, often choosing to sleep on a pile of blankets on the floor instead of the massive canopy bed.

“It takes time,” Luca told me one afternoon as we watched Sophie cautiously playing fetch with a newly adopted golden retriever in the gardens. “They lived in fear for so long. Wealth doesn’t erase trauma overnight.”

He was right.

Despite the happy ending, there was a lingering shadow over Grace. I caught her sometimes, staring out the window with a look of profound sadness.

I understood why. She had gained a family, but she had lost her father, Thomas, and her sister, Isabella, to get here.

That evening, I was in the main foyer, reviewing the grocery manifests, when the heavy brass knocker on the front door pounded loudly.

I frowned. It was past eight o’clock. We weren’t expecting any visitors.

I opened the door to find a frail, elderly woman standing on the porch. She wore a thick wool coat and held a dusty, heavy-looking wooden box in her arms.

“Can I help you?” I asked gently.

“I’m looking for Grace Bennett,” the woman said, her voice crackling like dry leaves. “I was Thomas Bennett’s landlady for twenty years.”

My breath hitched. “Please, come in.”

I led her into the warmth of the sitting room and immediately sent a maid to fetch Grace and Luca.

When Grace entered the room, she stopped dead in her tracks.

“Mrs. Higgins?” Grace whispered.

The old woman smiled a toothless grin. “Hello, Gracie. You look beautiful.”

Grace rushed forward and hugged the old woman gently. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“I saw your picture in the paper,” Mrs. Higgins said, setting the heavy wooden box on the coffee table. “About you taking over that big Foundation. I knew I had to bring this to you.”

Luca stepped into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention. “What is in the box, ma’am?”

“Thomas’s things,” Mrs. Higgins said, patting the dusty lid. “When he passed away, the hospital sent his personal effects to my boarding house. I kept them safe in the basement. He always told me, if anything ever happened to him, I was to make sure Grace got this box when she was safe.”

Grace looked at the box, her hands trembling.

“Go ahead,” Luca urged softly, standing behind her.

Grace slowly unlatched the brass clasp. She lifted the lid.

Inside, there were no riches. No gold or jewelry.

Just three worn, leather-bound journals. A few faded photographs. And a bundle of letters tied with a blue ribbon.

Grace picked up the top journal. The leather was cracked and soft from use.

She opened to the first page.

And as she read the first sentence, she let out a choked gasp, dropping the book as if it had burned her.

“Grace?” I rushed forward. “What is it?”

Grace looked up at Luca, her eyes wide with shock.

“It’s about the night Marco died,” she whispered.

Luca froze. “What?”

Grace picked the journal back up, her hands shaking so badly the pages rustled.

“My father didn’t just know Marco,” Grace read aloud, her voice trembling. “He was there.”

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