Chapter 6 - The Name on the Memorial

"Someone has access to the bedroom feed," I told my head technician, Miles. "Not Victor. Not you. Someone else."

Miles blinked. "Sir, Victor owns the password vault."

"Then build me a new system outside it. And don't tell him."

He was young enough to still look frightened when I raised my voice. I lowered it.

"Your job is to keep my mother safe. Nobody gets hurt for telling me the truth."

In the greenhouse, Elena was trimming dead leaves from a rosemary plant when I found her.

"Have you heard of Pier Nine?" I asked.

The scissors stopped.

"Yes."

"My sister died there."

"I know."

"How?"

"My father died there too. Mateo Morales. Night-shift union steward. They said he started the fire."

I knew the name. Every newspaper had called Mateo a thief and an arsonist. My father had kept a framed article in his study, proof, he claimed, that dangerous men sometimes wore ordinary work boots.

"You took this job knowing who I was."

"I took this job knowing your mother had requested someone who spoke Spanish. I didn't know the woman who hired me worked for your family until I saw the address."

"And you stayed."

"I wanted to see if your family was as cruel as the stories said. Then I met Teresa."

I didn't defend us.

Elena set the scissors down.

"My dad went back into that warehouse because a kid was missing. That's what his coworker told me. The official report said he was running away."

"The kid was Camille."

Her eyes filled, but she didn't look away.

"Then your sister and my father were part of the same lie."

At my mother's bedside, I asked if she remembered Mateo Morales. Her grip on the blanket tightened. When I showed her an old photograph Elena carried in her wallet, tears rolled into her hair.

"He helped Camille?" I asked.

She nodded.

I felt the room change around me. For seventeen years, I had hated a dead man who might have died trying to save my sister.

My mother traced two letters on my palm: C. M.

Then she moved her fingers as if playing piano keys.

Camille's music.

May you like

Billionaire’s Wife Kicked a Waitress in Front of 300 Elites—One Slap Exp...

The billionaire’s wife tried to kick a waitress in the face in front of 300 wealthy guests. But seconds later, she whispered three...

My Mother Grabbed My Wife by the Hair Over Cold Soup—But What My Father...

My mother grabbed my wife by the hair over a bowl of cold soup. And the most shameful part? For one terrible second, I almost defe...

My Parents Kicked My 6-Year-Old Daughter and Me Out on Christmas—Then I...

My mother kicked my six-year-old daughter out of Christmas dinner, never realizing I was the only reason she still had a house to...

I ran to the old music room. Someone had pulled the drawers from the piano bench and emptied them on the floor.

A fresh scratch ran along the lock.