Chapter 4 – The Ticket In The Coat

“You’re lying.”

My voice was a harsh whisper in the dark, cramped service corridor.

“I swear to God, Emily,” Michael pleaded, his hands raised in surrender. “I only found out last month. I found the bank transfers from Vanessa’s private account to Sarah Carter.”

My mind raced, struggling to piece together a reality that felt like a nightmare.

My mother. Gentle, soft-spoken Sarah, who baked cookies on Sundays and worked double shifts at the clinic.

Four years ago, she had brought home a little boy.

She told me it was my cousin’s child. That my cousin had fallen into addiction and needed someone to care for little Toby.

Toby.

The boy with the dark swept-back hair and olive eyes.

The boy I had been reading bedtime stories to every weekend.

Toby was Leo. He was Luca Moretti’s son.

“Oh my god,” I choked out, covering my mouth. “I’ve been living with him. My mother… she kidnapped him?”

“She didn’t know who he was,” Michael said quickly. “Vanessa told her the baby was in danger. That the father was a monster who would hurt him. Your mother thought she was saving a child, Emily. Vanessa preyed on her good heart.”

Before I could process the shock, the iron deadbolt behind us rattled violently.

They were trying to shoot the lock.

“We have to move,” I said, my survival instinct kicking in.

I led Michael down the narrow stairs into the massive underground pantry. The air was cold, smelling of cured meats and dried herbs.

We navigated the darkness by memory. I knew where the security cameras were blind.

“Where are we going?” Michael asked.

“The laundry chute,” I said. “It drops into the sub-basement. They’ll expect us to go out the back doors, but the sub-basement connects to the old Prohibition tunnels under the estate.”

We reached the laundry room.

Hanging on a hook near the door was a heavy wool coat.

It belonged to Vanessa. She had demanded I hang it there when she arrived, complaining the coat closet was too crowded.

I grabbed it to use as a blanket in the cold tunnels.

As I pulled it off the hook, something heavy fell out of the pocket and clattered onto the tile floor.

Michael shined his flashlight on it.

It was a thick, brass room key from the Palmer House Hotel.

But it wasn’t the key that made my blood run cold.

It was the folded piece of paper attached to it.

I picked it up and unfolded it.

It was a one-way first-class plane ticket to Zurich.

The passenger name wasn’t Vanessa Bellini.

“Michael,” I whispered, my hands trembling as I showed him the ticket.

He read the name and his face went completely pale.

The ticket was under the name: Sarah Carter.

“Why does Vanessa have a plane ticket for your mother?” Michael asked.

“She doesn’t,” a voice said from the shadows.

We spun around.

Standing in the doorway of the laundry room, holding a silenced pistol, was Carlo Vitale.

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