Chapter 5 - THE BLONDE MAID DISCOVERED THE MAFIA BOSS'S SISTER HAD SURVIVED THE BRIDGE—BUT HIS FORMER FIANCÉE KNEW THE NAME OF THE WOMAN WHO HAD KEPT HER HIDDEN
Emma had never moved so quickly in her life. She called Noah before the second message had finished loading. He answered on the third ring, annoyed because he was halfway through a math problem.
"Where are you?" she demanded.
"At the library. You said I could stay until six."
"Don't leave. Find the librarian and tell her you're waiting for me."
"Emma, what's wrong?"
She looked at the photograph of him outside school. "Someone is trying to scare us. I'm sending Detective Ortiz to you."
The word detective made him silent. Then he said, very quietly, "Okay."
Lena dispatched officers to the library and arranged a temporary safe place for the siblings. Nicholas offered the guest wing of his mansion. Emma declined at first, not because she doubted his intentions, but because she knew what people would say if a young housemaid moved into her wealthy employer's home after he ended his engagement.
"You don't owe me an explanation," Nicholas said. "We can find somewhere else."
Lena secured two rooms at a protected apartment building used for witnesses. The location had no connection to the Caruso family. Emma and Noah moved there that evening with two suitcases and Lily's dress folded between their clothes.
Noah stood in the unfamiliar kitchen, his backpack still on his shoulders. "Are we hiding?"
"For now," Emma said.
"Because of Mom?"
"Because someone doesn't want us asking questions."
He looked at her for a long moment. "I wish you didn't have to do everything by yourself."
Emma pulled him into a hug. "I don't anymore."
The words surprised her. For two years she had been the adult who signed every form, paid every bill, and swallowed every worry. Now there were people who could help without taking control of her life. Lena had procedures. Mrs. Whitmore had kept her job safe. Margaret had finally told the truth. And Nicholas, dangerous as his reputation was, had begun to understand that protecting someone meant listening when they said no.
The following morning, Lena confirmed that the admission log appeared authentic. The hospital had changed ownership three times, but archived billing records showed a private transfer on the night of Isabella's supposed death. The patient was listed under a temporary name: Jane Bell.
"Where was she taken?" Nicholas asked during a meeting at the attorney's office.
"A rehabilitation facility in Wisconsin," Lena said. "It closed eight years ago. We're requesting its records."
"Who authorized the transfer?"
"A physician signed the medical order. The financial guarantee came from an Ashford charitable foundation."
Emma looked at Nicholas. "Victoria's family."
"Yes," he said.
Lena held up a hand. "That proves the foundation paid. It does not establish Victoria's personal involvement. She was younger then."
"But her father knew," Nicholas said.
"He may have. We need testimony or records that establish it."
Richard Ashford had spent years appearing beside Nicholas at charity dinners, praising the Caruso family for supporting Chicago hospitals. Emma remembered carrying coffee to meetings where Richard spoke about service and community. The possibility that he had used a charity to hide an injured young woman made those speeches seem monstrous.
At noon, Victoria called Nicholas. He let it go to voicemail. A minute later she called again. On the third attempt he answered with Lena present.
"Nico, you have to stop this," Victoria said. Her voice sounded strained rather than angry.
"Stop what?"
"Digging into things you don't understand. My father is furious."
"Then he can speak to my attorney."
"You think this is about your maid? It isn't."
Emma sat very still.
"Then tell me what it's about," Nicholas said.
Victoria breathed unevenly. "If you find Isabella, you may wish you hadn't."
Nicholas's face changed. "You know she's alive."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
Lena gestured for him to keep the conversation calm.
"Victoria," Nicholas said, "if someone is being held against her will, you need to tell the police."
"You don't understand my father. He made everyone believe Isabella was dead because he thought it was necessary."
"Necessary for whom?"
There was a long pause. Then Victoria whispered, "For Grace."
The call ended.
Lena immediately preserved the recording and sought a formal interview. Victoria initially refused. Her attorney called two hours later to arrange a meeting in exchange for protection from retaliation by her father. Lena made no promises about immunity, but agreed to hear what Victoria had to say.
Emma expected to feel satisfaction at the prospect of seeing Victoria frightened. Instead she remembered the ballroom: the contempt, the laughter, the way Victoria had used Emma's dress to make her feel worthless. None of it excused Victoria's cruelty. But fear could make a person cruel without making them the mastermind.
At the interview, Victoria wore a plain black coat and no jewelry. She sat across from Lena, Nicholas, and an attorney. Emma watched through a separate room at Victoria's request.
"I was sixteen when Isabella disappeared," Victoria began. "My father told me she had suffered a breakdown. He said the Carusos were hiding her because she had become dangerous. I believed him."
"When did you learn she might be alive?" Lena asked.
"Three years ago. I found a medical payment in a foundation account. It was marked with Isabella's initials. My father told me it was a memorial expense. But the payment was current."
"Did you investigate?"
"I asked questions. He threatened to cut me off and said he could ruin Nicholas if I repeated anything."
Nicholas's expression remained unreadable.
"Why humiliate Emma at the gala?" Lena asked.
Victoria lowered her eyes. "I recognized the dress. My grandmother had a photograph of Lily Bennett wearing it. My father told me Lily was a liar who had tried to extort the family. When I saw Emma, I panicked. I thought she had come to expose us."
Emma felt the old hurt flare. Victoria had known exactly what the dress meant and had chosen to attack the person wearing it.
"So you tried to make her leave," Lena said.
"Yes. I was cruel. I knew it."
"And the brooch?"
Victoria touched her empty collar. "It belonged to my grandmother before it came to me. She lent it to my uncle Malcolm for formal events. He wore it at a foundation dinner the night Isabella disappeared."
"Did Malcolm go to the bridge?"
"I don't know. But my father sent him out after the dinner. They argued in the driveway."
Lena placed a photograph on the table. It showed the hospital transport vehicle.
Victoria covered her mouth. "That's the van."
"How do you know?"
"It was parked behind our house that night. My father said it was delivering medical equipment."
Nicholas leaned forward. "Where did it go?"
Victoria hesitated, then named a private clinic outside Madison, Wisconsin. "The clinic used to receive money from the foundation. It changed its name after a lawsuit."
Lena wrote down the information. "What happened to Isabella?"
"I don't know," Victoria whispered. "But I know someone who might."
She described a former nurse named Elaine Mercer, who had worked at the clinic and later left after a dispute with its director. Elaine now lived in a small town near Lake Geneva.
Lena arranged for Wisconsin authorities to contact Elaine. The nurse agreed to speak with investigators the next morning. She remembered a young woman brought in after a vehicle incident, confused and suffering from a serious head injury. The patient had repeatedly said her name was Isabella, but the paperwork called her Jane Bell.
"She kept asking about a child," Elaine said. "Grace. She said somebody would take Grace if she didn't leave."
"Did she recover?" Lena asked.
"Somewhat. She could walk and speak, but her memory came and went. Then one day the director told us she had been transferred. We weren't given a destination."
"Do you have records?"
"I kept copies of the discharge notes because the transfer worried me. I never used them. I was afraid of losing my license."
Elaine agreed to provide the records through her attorney. The discharge notes included an address in northern Michigan and a signature that appeared to belong to Antonio Caruso.
Nicholas stared at his father's name. "He knew she was alive."
Lena's voice was gentle. "The signature needs authentication. But yes, the evidence increasingly suggests he knew."
Nicholas stood and walked to the window. Emma had never seen him look so alone. He had spent twelve years mourning a sister who might have been alive while his father held family dinners beneath her portrait.
She approached him carefully. "You couldn't have known what they hid."
"I should have questioned him."
"Maybe. But your sister needs you to find her now, not punish yourself forever."
He looked down at her. "You sound like your mother."
Emma smiled sadly. "I hope so."
That evening Noah called from the protected apartment. He had been reading Lily's old letters and wanted Emma to come home. She promised she would be there soon. Before she left, Nicholas asked whether she would like to have dinner with him somewhere quiet once the immediate danger had passed.
"Not as your employee," he added. "Not because I helped you. Just because I'd like to know you beyond all this."
Emma felt warmth rise in her cheeks. "I'd like that. But I need to know my brother is safe first."
"Of course."
She was halfway to the door when Lena's phone rang. The detective listened, then asked the caller to repeat the information.
"The Michigan address," she said when she hung up. "It's a residential care home. A woman matching Isabella's description lived there for six years. She left voluntarily last spring."
Nicholas gripped the back of a chair. "Where did she go?"
Lena looked at Emma.
"According to the care home's forwarding records, she moved to Chicago."
"Where in Chicago?" Emma asked.
Lena swallowed. "The last address is three blocks from your apartment."
Emma stared at her.
For two years she had walked those streets with groceries, hurried past the bus stop in winter, and brought Noah home from school. Somewhere nearby, Nicholas's supposedly dead sister might have been living a quiet life.
Then Lena added the detail that made Emma's knees weaken.
"The woman used the name Anna Bell. And the emergency contact she listed was Lily Bennett."
Emma stayed behind after the interview to speak privately with Victoria. Naomi, the attorney assisting Emma, remained nearby, and Lena made clear the conversation was voluntary. Victoria stood by the window, looking at the wet street.
"I don't expect forgiveness," Victoria said before Emma could speak.
"Good," Emma replied. "Because I don't know what forgiveness would mean right now."
Victoria turned. "I was jealous. You were wearing a dress I recognized, and Nicholas looked at you as if you mattered more than the room. I hated you for it."
"You didn't know me."
"I knew you were someone I could humiliate without consequences. That's worse."
Emma considered that. Victoria's words were not an excuse, but they were the first honest account Emma had heard from her.
"When you called me a servant," Emma said, "you weren't just insulting me. You were insulting my mother. She worked hard. She loved us. She was braver than most of the people in that ballroom."
Victoria's eyes shone. "I know that now."
"Knowing it now doesn't undo what happened."
"I understand."
Emma reached for her coat. "Then help the police. Tell the truth even when your father tells you not to. That will matter more than anything you say to me."
Outside, the air smelled of rain and gasoline. Emma stood beneath the awning for a moment before calling Noah. He answered with a question about whether he could order pizza. The normality of it made her smile.
"Yes," she said. "But get vegetables on half."
"You always say that."
"And you always complain."
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When the call ended, Emma realized she had gone nearly an hour without thinking of herself as the poor maid from the gala. She was Noah's sister, Lily's daughter, a woman who could decide what she wanted to say to someone who had hurt her. She was not rich, and she was still afraid. But she was no longer waiting for permission to stand upright.
END OF CHAPTER 5
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