Chapter 3 - The Man Who Knew
Vincent reached Lake Forest before one in the morning.
The Romano house had been built when his father first began making money and decorated by a man who believed permanence could be purchased in stone.
Angelo Romano was awake in the library.
He sat beneath a reading lamp with a blanket across his knees and a glass of water beside him. Age had reduced his body but not his ability to fill a room.
Teresa stood near the fireplace, arms folded.
She looked at Vincent and then at their father.
“I told him not to come tonight.”
Angelo snorted. “You told him because you knew he would.”
Vincent remained standing.
“You knew Elena came back to Chicago.”
Angelo picked up his water.
“I knew many things.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is the only one you are getting at one in the morning.”
Vincent crossed the room and took the glass from his father's hand before the old man could drink.
Teresa hissed, “Vincent.”
He set it on the table.
“Did you know she had the baby?”
Angelo looked at him.
His silence lasted three seconds.
That was enough.
Vincent stepped back as if struck.
Teresa's face changed. “Dad?”
Angelo's jaw tightened.
“I knew the child was born.”
The room shrank.
Vincent heard the clock in the hall.
Teresa whispered, “You told him she ended the pregnancy.”
“I told him what he needed to hear.”
Vincent laughed once.
It did not sound like laughter.
“What I needed?”
“You had one chance to save the family business.”
“From what?” Vincent snapped. “A baby?”
“From you becoming a husband and father before you could support either.”
Vincent stared at him.
Angelo kept going because he had spent eighty-one years confusing certainty with righteousness.
“Elena refused money after she left. I offered. More than once.”
“You saw her?”
“No.”
“My attorney did.”
Teresa moved away from the fireplace.
“You sent an attorney to the pregnant woman your son loved?”
“I sent practical help.”
Vincent's hands curled at his sides.
“What did you offer her?”
“A monthly allowance. Housing. Medical costs.”
“In exchange for what?”
Angelo did not answer.
Vincent leaned over the arm of his chair.
“In exchange for what?”
“For discretion.”
The word hit the room like something dropped from height.
Teresa shut her eyes.
Vincent stood slowly.
“You paid her to disappear.”
“I offered her stability.”
“She didn't take it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Angelo looked irritated now, as if Elena's refusal twenty years ago still offended him.
“Because she had pride.”
Vincent almost smiled.
Yes.
She did.
“Did she ask you to tell me about the baby?”
Angelo's face changed.
There it was.
The part he had hoped not to reach.
“She wrote.”
Vincent did not move.
“How many times?”
Angelo looked toward the dark windows.
“I don't remember.”
“Lie.”
Teresa's voice cut through the room.
Their father turned toward her.
“You remember every vendor who shorted you fifty dollars in 1987,” she said. “You remember.”
Angelo's mouth hardened.
“Five letters.”
Vincent sat down because his legs no longer felt reliable.
Five.
“Elena wrote me five letters?”
Angelo said nothing.
“Where are they?”
“Gone.”
“Did you destroy them?”
“I handled them.”
Vincent lowered his head.
For years he had imagined Elena choosing not to contact him.
He had let that story protect him from the possibility that she had tried.
Five times.
Teresa sat on the sofa opposite their father.
“Why didn't you tell me?” she asked.
“Because you would have interfered.”
“Yes,” she said. “I would have.”
Angelo rubbed his hand over the blanket.
“I did what men of my generation did. We solved problems.”
“No,” Vincent said. “You removed people.”
Angelo's eyes flashed. “And what did you do?”
The question stopped Vincent.
His father leaned forward.
“You want me to carry all of this because it is easier than admitting you left first.”
Teresa said, “Dad, that's cruel.”
“It is also true.”
Vincent said nothing.
Because it was true.
Angelo had intercepted letters.
Angelo had lied.
But Vincent had still placed money on Elena's table and refused to answer the question that mattered.
He had left.
He had waited three days before going back.
He had accepted his father's version because it allowed him to keep moving.
“You don't get forgiveness because he failed too,” Teresa said quietly.
Angelo looked away.
Vincent rose.
“What was in the letters?”
“I didn't read all of them.”
“Did she name the child?”
Angelo hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What name?”
“Maya.”
Vincent's breath caught.
There was no longer any meaningful room for doubt.
He turned toward the door.
Angelo called after him.
“Vincent.”
He stopped.
“If that girl comes near the family, be careful.”
Vincent turned slowly.
“Careful of what?”
Angelo looked suddenly older.
“Of trying to repair twenty years in twenty minutes.”
For once, it was good advice.
Vincent left without thanking him.
The next morning, Maya did not show up for her shift.
Marcus called her twice.
No answer.
By noon Vincent was furious with himself for checking his phone every five minutes.
At one, Marcus entered his office.
“She didn't quit.”
Vincent looked up.
“How do you know?”
“She texted me.”
“What did she say?”
Marcus held out his phone.
I need two days. My mother made me promise I'd open the box only after he answered the question. I answered mine too. I want to know what she left before I decide whether I ever speak to him again.
Vincent read it twice.
Then Marcus took the phone back.
“She also asked me not to give you her address.”
Vincent nodded.
“Don't.”
Marcus studied him.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Vincent looked up sharply.
Marcus shrugged. “If you'd said yes, I would've worried.”
At four that afternoon, Teresa called.
“I found something,” she said.
“What?”
“One of Elena's letters.”
Vincent stood.
“You said Dad destroyed them.”
“He did. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“I used to steal stationery from his desk. Apparently I stole the wrong envelope once.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“Teresa.”
“It was sealed. I never opened it. I forgot it existed until last night.”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“I’m coming.”
She stopped him.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the envelope doesn't have your name on it.”
Vincent's hand tightened around the phone.
May you like
“Whose name?”
Teresa answered quietly, “Maya's.”
