Chapter 2 - The Debt That Was Never Really My Father's
The photograph was taken in a room with no windows. I recognized my father's cardigan and the scar near his left eyebrow. His name was Thomas Bennett, and he had spent forty years repairing clocks, teaching me that broken things deserved patience rather than shame. Now he sat under a naked lightbulb because I had believed a loan shark's promises.
"I need to go to Chicago," I said.
Tony shook his head. "You need medical care. Marco is contacting the police there."
"You don't understand. Vinnie told Dad the loan would be forgiven if I kept my job at your estate. I thought it was because I could make payments."
Tony's gaze sharpened. "When did he say that?"
"The day I interviewed."
"Who told you about the position?"
"An employment agency. Northstar Household Staffing."
Tony took out his phone and asked Marco to investigate the agency. He did not promise to send men with guns. He called his attorney, a former federal prosecutor named Evelyn Hart, and asked her to coordinate with the authorities. He had enemies in Chicago; I could hear the restraint in every word.
"What does Vinnie want?" I asked.
"I don't know yet. But if your father was taken to pressure you, the police need the photograph and every message."
I wanted certainty, not procedure. Procedure had never stopped Vinnie from appearing at my father's shop, tapping the glass cases with a ring and asking how much a daughter's safety was worth.
By noon, Evelyn arrived at the hospital. She was in her forties, precise and unsentimental, with a habit of looking directly at whoever spoke.
"Mr. Moretti has agreed that I can help you locate separate counsel," she told me. "You do not have to accept his attorney as yours."
"I can't afford a lawyer."
"There are victim-services organizations and legal aid resources. We'll start there."
She reviewed my father's loan agreement. The interest had been calculated in ways that made the balance impossible to pay. More troubling was a handwritten amendment that appeared to promise a reduction if I accepted employment at the Moretti estate and remained through Christmas.
"Your work was part of the bargain," she said. "Did you know?"
"No."
"Then somebody wanted you inside that house."
I thought of Lana's first cold stare, Mrs. Gable's hostility, the odd way my personnel file had been transferred to the estate without the usual references.
Tony stood at the window, silent.
"You knew?" I asked.
"No."
"Then why would they choose me?"
He looked as though he hated the answer forming in his mind. "Your father repaired clocks. Did he ever work for the Vance family?"
I blinked. "He restored an antique clock for a private client in Chicago two years ago. He said the owner was a banker."
"Did he mention a name?"
"Vance."
Evelyn wrote it down.
That afternoon, the hospital cleared me for discharge with strict instructions to stay warm, avoid strenuous activity, and return if my symptoms worsened. Tony offered a room in a secure guest wing. I refused at first. The estate had nearly killed me.
"I understand," he said. "We can arrange a hotel. You choose."
I chose a modest hotel near the hospital, with a nurse checking on me and a security officer stationed in the lobby only after I agreed. For the first time in months, my choices seemed to matter.
At dusk, Marco called. The staffing agency had closed its office that morning. Its listed director was a shell-company administrator. Its funding traced to a Vance family subsidiary.
"Lana hired me?" I asked.
"Someone connected to her did," Marco replied. "We're confirming who signed the contract."
My phone rang from an unknown number. I put it on speaker at Evelyn's suggestion.
"Grace Bennett," said a man's voice. "Your father is disappointed in you."
"Vinnie?"
"You made a mess of Christmas. The lady asked for one small thing."
"Where's my father?"
"Alive. For now. Tell Moretti to stop asking questions about the Vance bank's winter accounts."
Tony stepped closer, but he didn't speak.
"What accounts?" I asked.
Vinnie laughed. "Ask your father about the clock. Ask why he kept the key."
The line went dead.
I turned to Evelyn. "Dad told me he repaired the clock and returned it."
"Maybe he kept something else," she said.
I remembered a small brass key on my father's old watch chain. He had worn it for two years. When I asked what it opened, he said, "A mistake somebody wants me to forget."
I had thought he was joking.
Tony's phone buzzed again. A message from Lana appeared on the screen, and he showed it to us without hiding it.
DON'T LET THE MAID TALK ABOUT THE CLOCK. YOU KNOW WHAT MY FATHER WILL DO.
Tony stared at the words.
May you like
Then he said something I had not expected to hear from a man who was supposed to marry Lana in six weeks.
"The wedding is off."
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