Chapter 4 of 12
MY SON GAVE OUR WEDDING DANCE TO HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW, THEN THE MAFIA BOSS CROSSED THE BALLROOM AND HELD OUT HIS HAND
THE WOMAN WHO STOLE MY DANCE KNEW MY HUSBAND WOULD DIE
At eight-thirty the next morning, my new daughter-in-law arrived at my house wearing yesterday's wedding dress beneath a borrowed winter coat.
No husband.
No makeup.
No diamonds.
Her hair had been pulled into a messy knot.
For the first time since I met Chloe Corsy, she looked twenty-seven instead of carefully assembled.
I opened the door.
She looked at me.
“Can I come in?”
I stepped aside.
She entered and immediately stopped.
Gino was sitting at my kitchen table drinking coffee.
Noah stood near the counter.
My son had returned to the hotel just before sunrise because Chloe asked him to.
Apparently they had spoken for twenty minutes and argued for forty.
Now she looked at him.
“You left without waking me.”
“I thought you wanted space.”
“I wanted you not to disappear.”
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Marriage lesson one.
Chloe's gaze returned to Gino.
“Mr. Balante.”
“Chloe.”
“You know me?”
“I know everybody who married into the problem.”
She absorbed that.
Then looked at me.
“My mother is missing.”
Noah straightened.
“What?”
“She left the hotel around three.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where's Marco?”
“Also gone.”
Gino's phone was in his hand immediately.
I stared at Chloe.
“Why are you here?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because my father told me not to trust my mother.”
That was new.
“Your father?”
“Charles called me this morning.”
“Where is he?”
“Arizona.”
I had met Chloe's father four times.
Quiet man.
Retired attorney.
Helen spoke over him so frequently I once wondered whether he had simply given up trying.
Chloe sat at the table.
“My parents have lived separately for almost two years.”
I blinked.
“What?”
Noah stared.
“You told me your dad stayed in Arizona for his health.”
“That is what Mom tells everyone.”
“Why are they separated?”
Chloe looked toward the manifests spread across my table.
“Because Dad found something in one of Marco's companies.”
The kitchen went silent.
“What?” Gino asked.
“Payments.”
Her hands tightened.
“I don't know details. Dad refused to tell me because he said knowing would put me in danger.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“Before Noah started at Corsy.”
“Yes.”
Noah swore.
Chloe flinched.
He lowered his voice.
“Sorry.”
She laughed bitterly.
“We're married. You can probably swear around me.”
Something about that sentence almost broke my heart.
Their wedding had lasted fewer than twelve hours.
Already everything beneath it was collapsing.
Chloe looked at me.
“Beth, I didn't know about the dance.”
I stared.
“What?”
“My mother told me Noah wanted to surprise her.”
Noah turned.
“What?”
Chloe looked at him.
“She said you wanted to thank her for helping with your career.”
“I did.”
His face twisted.
“But the song was her idea.”
Chloe nodded.
He looked physically ill.
I thought of Helen approving Aaron's final route.
Then choosing Aaron's favorite song for my son to dance with her.
A cold anger spread through me.
This wasn't simple cruelty.
Maybe it was something darker.
A reminder.
A performance only she understood.
Gino seemed to reach the same conclusion.
“Beth.”
“I know.”
Noah looked between us.
“What?”
“The song.”
He frowned.
“What about it?”
“Helen knew Aaron.”
“No.”
Chloe whispered it.
Not Noah.
I turned.
“What?”
“My mother knew Aaron.”
My heart stopped.
“How?”
“I saw a photograph once.”
Gino put down his coffee.
“What photograph?”
“In Mom's office. Years ago.”
Chloe closed her eyes, thinking.
“She was younger. Uncle Marco was there. Dad. Several drivers.”
“And Aaron?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“A company picnic.”
I stared at her.
“Aaron never told me he knew your mother.”
“Maybe he didn't know her well.”
Gino looked at the route approval.
“She knew him well enough to sign this.”
Noah sat down heavily.
Chloe continued.
“There is something else.”
Of course there was.
“My mother hated when I dated Noah.”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“At first.”
“You told me she loved me.”
“She did later.”
“When?”
Chloe looked ashamed.
“When you accepted Marco's job.”
The answer hit him hard.
Noah laughed once.
“So I wasn't good enough until I was useful.”
I recognized that pain.
I wished he didn't.
Chloe grabbed his hand.
“I loved you before any of that.”
He didn't pull away.
But he didn't squeeze back.
Gino's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then looked at Chloe.
“Your mother went to O'Hare.”
“She's leaving?”
“Private terminal.”
“Where?”
“Flight plan filed for Montreal.”
I stood.
“She is running.”
Gino's expression hardened.
“Maybe.”
“What else would she be doing?”
“Drawing attention.”
“To what?”
“My people found Marco.”
“Where?”
“Not where he should be.”
He turned his phone toward us.
A security image showed Marco entering an industrial property in Joliet.
Noah leaned closer.
“I've been there.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Corsy archive warehouse.”
Chloe went pale.
“Mom keeps family records there.”
Gino stood.
“Helen goes to the airport while Marco goes to the archive.”
“A distraction,” I said.
“Possibly.”
Noah grabbed his coat.
“I’m coming.”
Gino looked at him.
“No.”
Noah's jaw tightened.
“You said that last night.”
“And you nearly fought a gunman with a folding chair.”
“It was metal.”
“That does not improve the strategy.”
Despite everything, Chloe laughed.
Noah looked at her.
The laugh disappeared.
“I need to know what they used me for.”
I understood.
Gino did too.
“Stay in the car unless I say otherwise.”
Noah nodded.
“I’m coming too,” Chloe said.
“No,” three of us answered.
She stared.
Then crossed her arms.
“This is my family.”
I knew that tone.
I looked at Gino.
“She'll come anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Then we take one vehicle.”
Gino rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“I miss Thursday mornings.”
“So do I.”
For one second, something warm passed between us.
Then we left.
The archive warehouse appeared abandoned.
Too abandoned.
No security guards.
No office staff.
One sedan near the loading dock.
Marco's.
Gino's men entered first.
Five minutes later, we followed.
Rows of steel shelving stretched through the building.
Boxes.
Old invoices.
Personnel files.
Shipping records.
A paper graveyard.
No Marco.
No movement.
Then Chloe pointed.
“Mom's office.”
Her name remained on the glass.
HELEN CORSY — EXECUTIVE ADMINISTRATION.
Inside, the desk drawers were empty.
Computer gone.
File cabinets opened.
Gino cursed softly.
“Cleanout.”
Noah walked toward the bookshelf.
“This wasn't like this when I came.”
“When were you here?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Gino turned.
“Why?”
“Marco asked me to help locate old route records from 2015.”
I stared.
The year Aaron died.
“Noah.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“You were looking for Aaron's records for him.”
“I didn't know.”
“I know.”
But now he finally understood how deeply they had used him.
Chloe opened a cabinet.
Nothing.
Then her hand stopped.
“What?”
She pulled a photograph from behind the bottom drawer.
Old.
Faded.
Seven people stood outside a Corsy company truck.
Marco.
Charles.
Helen.
Several drivers.
Aaron.
And Matteo Balante.
My legs almost failed.
Gino took the photograph.
His thumb moved over his brother's face.
For the first time, the feared man beside me looked like someone had struck him.
“They were all together.”
Chloe pointed.
“That's Mom.”
“I know.”
Noah whispered, “Dad.”
Aaron looked younger.
Happy.
His arm rested around another driver's shoulder.
Helen stood three people away.
Behind them was a banner.
CORSY FREIGHT SAFETY AWARDS — 2014.
One year before Aaron died.
Gino turned the photograph over.
Handwriting covered the back.
Aaron's.
M, H agreed. C doesn't know. Move Friday.
“H agreed,” I whispered.
“Helen,” Gino said.
“And C?”
“Charles.”
Chloe's father.
She stepped back.
“No.”
“Chloe.”
“My dad knew.”
“We don't know what he knew.”
Her eyes filled.
“Everyone keeps saying that right before we learn something horrible.”
A sound came from deeper in the warehouse.
Metal scraping.
Gino raised one hand.
Everyone stopped.
Another sound.
Then a muffled voice.
We followed it to a locked storage room.
Gino's man forced the door.
Inside, Marco Corsy sat tied to a chair.
Blood ran from his forehead.
His shirt had been torn.
Tape covered his mouth.
Chloe screamed.
“Uncle Marco!”
She ran toward him.
Gino caught her.
“Wait.”
Marco shook his head violently.
Gino scanned the room.
Then saw it.
A thin wire attached beneath Marco's chair.
Leading to a device near the wall.
My blood turned cold.
“Everybody back.”
Marco made desperate noises behind the tape.
Noah grabbed Chloe.
We moved.
Gino remained.
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
He crouched near the doorway.
“Pressure switch.”
“Bomb?”
“Yes.”
I forgot every promise I had made myself about remaining calm.
“GINO.”
His head turned.
The first time I used his name like that.
Not Mr. Balante.
Not whispered over lemon cake.
Gino.
He looked at me.
“Go outside.”
“No.”
“Beth.”
“You told me nobody leaves a woman sitting alone.”
His face changed.
“This is different.”
“Yes. This time you're the idiot sitting alone.”
Despite the bomb, Marco made a sound that might have been disbelief.
Gino almost smiled.
Then one of his security men stepped in.
“I can disarm it.”
“Sure?”
“Former EOD.”
I stared.
“Do all your employees have terrifying résumés?”
“Mostly.”
We backed away.
Ten minutes later, the device was disabled.
Marco was untied.
Chloe hugged him.
He barely returned it.
His eyes found Gino.
“She knows.”
“Who?”
“Helen.”
Marco's voice shook.
“She knows the evidence survived.”
I stepped forward.
“You killed my husband.”
He looked at me.
“No.”
“Your network. Your truck.”
“No.”
“You threatened him.”
“Yes.”
“You knew he was investigating you.”
“Yes.”
“Then why should I believe anything?”
Marco looked broken.
“Because Aaron wasn't investigating me at the end.”
Silence.
“What?”
“He was working with me.”
Even Gino looked surprised.
“No.”
Marco nodded.
“Matteo approached me after Aaron found the trafficking routes.”
Gino's face hardened.
“My brother trusted you?”
“No.”
Marco laughed bitterly.
“But he needed me.”
I remembered the back of the photograph.
M, H agreed.
“Agreed to what?”
Marco looked toward Chloe.
Then at Noah.
“To expose the entire operation.”
My stomach turned.
“Whose operation?”
Marco swallowed.
“My sister's.”
Chloe whispered, “Mom?”
Marco nodded.
“Helen built it.”
Noah stared.
“But you own the freight companies.”
“On paper.”
“What did she build?”
“The hidden network.”
My voice became small.
“And Aaron?”
“He was moving the original evidence to federal agents the night he died.”
“Who changed his route?”
Marco closed his eyes.
“Helen.”
I wanted to hurt her.
For the first time in my life, I understood how a person could imagine violence without recognizing themselves.
“What did you do?”
“I tried to stop the truck.”
“Too late.”
“Yes.”
My eyes filled.
“Eleven years too late.”
“Yes.”
Gino stepped closer.
“Who tied you here?”
Marco looked at him.
“Helen's people.”
“Why?”
“Because she thinks I still have Matteo's second ledger.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
Marco looked at me.
“Aaron hid it.”
I shook my head.
“We found one.”
“That's the shipping ledger.”
He swallowed.
“The second contains names.”
“What names?”
“Police officers. Judges. company owners. Everyone Helen paid.”
A phone began ringing.
Not ours.
On the floor beside Marco.
Gino picked it up.
Unknown number.
He answered on speaker.
Helen's voice filled the storage room.
“Is Beth there?”
Nobody moved.
She laughed softly.
“I know she is.”
I stepped forward.
“I'm here.”
“Good.”
“Helen.”
“Beth.”
Her voice was perfectly calm.
Like we were discussing seating arrangements.
“You should have taken the dance and gone home.”
My hands clenched.
“You chose the song.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
A pause.
Then:
“Because Aaron loved it.”
My skin turned cold.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill my husband?”
Silence.
Then Helen answered.
“No.”
For one impossible second, relief tried to enter me.
Then she continued.
“I only ordered someone to stop his truck.”
My knees almost gave out.
Noah caught my arm.
Helen's voice remained calm.
“The driver made a mess of it.”
Eleven years.
Eleven years in one sentence.
I whispered, “You killed him.”
“No, Beth.”
Her voice hardened.
“Aaron killed himself when he decided a truck driver should challenge people more powerful than him.”
Something in me changed permanently.
Not broke.
Changed.
I looked at the photograph of my husband.
“You made one mistake.”
Helen laughed.
“Which one?”
“You thought Aaron was the only Lawson who could fight back.”
I ended the call.
Gino stared at me.
Marco stared.
My son did too.
“What?” I asked.
Gino's mouth almost curved.
“Nothing.”
“You have that face.”
“I was thinking Aaron married well.”
This time, I did not tell him romantic statements were forbidden.