Chapter 11
A narrow beam of pale morning light entered through the covered window, barely enough to reveal the outlines of the room.
The ledger’s pages appeared almost black.
She could still see the photograph beside it.
Her mother was smiling with a younger Elias Varga and Nico’s father, Matteo Moretti.
The three of them stood in front of the old catering kitchen, years before Norah had been born.
On the back, beneath the words Nico does not know who he is, her mother had written a date.
October 14, 1998.
Norah knew that date.
It was seven months before her birth.
She reached for the ledger.
“Norah,” Nico said again.
This time, he was at the bottom of the stairs.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
Her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
“I followed the phone.”
“The one you gave me?”
“No.”
She heard him step closer.
“The one you kept hidden from me.”
Norah’s hand rested on the ledger’s worn cover.
She had forgotten that Nico knew her too well to be fooled by a canceled number forever.
“You tracked it.”
“I traced the signal after it connected to Mara’s number.”
Mara stiffened.
Nico noticed.
“Mara, I’m not here to take her anywhere.”
“You shouldn’t be here at all,” Mara replied.
“I know.”
The answer carried no defensiveness.
That made the darkness feel even more uncertain.
Norah opened the ledger.
The pages were filled with columns of dates, names, and amounts written in several different hands.
At first, it looked like an old business record.
Her mother’s catering invoices had always been meticulous.
But beneath the familiar lists of flour suppliers and delivery companies were names Norah recognized from the documents she had seen in Nico’s office.
Companies that belonged to Moretti Holdings.
Properties.
Restaurants.
Private security firms.
Charitable foundations.
The dates went back decades.
The handwriting changed from page to page, but the entries continued in an orderly sequence.
Mara leaned closer.
“What is all this?”
“I don’t know.”
Norah turned a page.
Several lines had been crossed out with dark blue ink.
The remaining words were clear enough to read.
Transfer received.
Payment returned.
Account closed.
Beneficiary protected.
There were no explanations.
Only initials.
M.M.
E.V.
A third set of initials appeared beside nearly every entry.
S.R.
Norah’s pulse quickened.
She recognized the letters from an old birthday card tucked in her mother’s desk.
Sofia Raines.