Chapter 5 - The Cost of Pride
I left the Moretti estate at 1:18 in the morning with no job, no answers, and a business card from Detective Harlan that I wanted to tear in half.
The rain had weakened to a cold mist.
My car took three tries to start.
On the fourth, the engine coughed awake and the dashboard lit up with the check-engine warning that had been glowing for almost a year.
I sat behind the wheel without moving.
The estate gate was visible in my rearview mirror.
Beyond it stood people who knew things about my father that my mother and I had never been told.
I wanted to go back inside.
I wanted to grab Dominic Moretti by his expensive coat and demand eight years of truth in a single sentence.
Instead, I drove home.
Survival first.
Questions second.
That had been the order of my life for a long time.
Linda was asleep on the couch when I came through the apartment door.
A blanket covered her knees.
The television was playing an old game show with the volume almost off.
Her pill organizer sat open on the coffee table.
I stood there watching her breathe until some of the pressure inside my chest loosened.
Then her eyes opened.
"You're home."
"You're supposed to be in bed."
"You're supposed to be home before midnight."
"Traffic."
She squinted at my face.
Mothers did not need good lighting.
"What happened to your cheek?"
I touched the swelling without thinking.
"Nothing."
"Avery."
"Customer got dramatic."
She sat up too quickly and winced.
"Did somebody hit you?"
I hated how small her voice became.
"I'm fine."
"Did somebody hit you?"
I looked at the kitchen.
At the insurance envelope.
At the dialysis schedule held to the refrigerator with a magnet from Navy Pier.
Then I sat beside her.
"Yes."
Her hand found mine.
"Who?"
"Vanessa Whitmore."
The name changed her face.
It was slight.
But after that night, I had become very good at noticing slight changes.
"You know that name."
Linda looked away.
"Everybody knows the Whitmores."
"No."
I turned toward her.
"You know that name."
She pulled the blanket higher.
"I'm tired."
"Dad died at Whitmore Industrial."
She closed her eyes.
"I know where your father died."
"Did you know he thought they were stealing money?"
Her eyes opened again.
"Who told you that?"
"Marco Bell."
The color drained from her face.
"Marco?"
That was the second name she knew.
I stood.
"Mom."
"Sit down."
"No."
"Please."
"You know Marco too?"
She pressed two fingers against her temple.
"I met him once."
"When?"
"After your father died."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
Linda stared at the dark television screen.
"He came to the funeral."
"I don't remember him."
"You were nineteen and barely speaking to anyone."
"What did he want?"
"He gave me an envelope."
Every sound in the apartment seemed to disappear.
"What envelope?"
She swallowed.
"Money."
I stepped back.
"How much?"
"A lot."
"How much?"
"Fifty thousand dollars."
I stared at her.
For eight years, I had worked every ugly job I could find.
I had counted quarters at laundromats.
I had skipped meals so Linda would not skip prescriptions.
Fifty thousand dollars was not money in my world.
It was oxygen.
"What happened to it?"
"I gave it back."
The answer hit me harder than Vanessa's slap.
"You what?"
"I gave it back."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't know what it was for."
"You could have asked."
"I did."
"And?"
"Marco said it was from someone who owed your father."
"Who?"
"He wouldn't say."
I paced toward the kitchen.
"So you returned fifty thousand dollars because somebody was being mysterious?"
Linda's voice hardened.
"I returned fifty thousand dollars because your husband coming home in a coffin changes how you feel about mysterious money."
I stopped.
She almost never spoke about Dad's death directly.
Not like that.
Her eyes filled.
"I had you."
She pressed a hand against her chest.
"I had funeral bills, lawyers, reporters calling for three days, company people telling me what papers to sign, and men I didn't know standing outside our building."
I turned slowly.
"Men outside our building?"
Linda looked angry at herself now.
"For a week."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you were sleeping with the hallway light on."
The memory came back with humiliating clarity.
I had told myself the light was for Mom.
"Did Dad know Dominic Moretti?"
"I don't know."
"Did he know Marco?"
"Maybe."
"Did he ever mention Moretti Logistics?"
Linda's face tightened.
"Once."
I waited.
"He said there were invoices that didn't make sense."
"What kind of invoices?"
"Trucks."
"What trucks?"
"I don't know, Avery."
"Think."
"He said Whitmore was paying for shipments that never arrived."
My pulse jumped.
"And Moretti Logistics was billing them?"
"He never told me the name."
I grabbed my phone.
Linda reached for my wrist.
"Who are you calling?"
"Harlan."
"At two in the morning?"
"He can wake up."
"Avery."
I stopped.
Her expression had changed from tired to frightened.
"Leave this alone."
I stared at her.
"Someone framed me for theft tonight."
"Then let the police handle it."
"Someone also lied and said I assaulted him."
"Let the police handle that too."
"Vanessa knew you were sick."
Linda went still.
"What?"
"She knew."
"How?"
"I don't know."
I crouched in front of her.
"That is why I can't leave it alone."
My phone buzzed before I could call anyone.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then a man's voice.
"Ms. Carter."
I stood.
"Who is this?"
"You should listen to your mother."
Every hair on my arms rose.
Linda saw my face and sat straighter.
"Who is this?"
"Tonight was a misunderstanding."
"Then explain it."
"You will receive enough money to cover your mother's treatment for the next year."
My grip tightened.
"In exchange for what?"
"For forgetting Lake Forest."
I looked at Linda.
She could hear only my side.
"And if I don't?"
The man paused.
"Then your mother's insurance problem may become more complicated."
My body went cold.
"Say that again."
"Good night, Ms. Carter."
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Linda whispered, "What did he say?"
I did not answer.
I called Harlan.
He picked up on the fourth ring.
"Carter?"
"Someone just threatened my mother."
His voice changed instantly.
"What number?"
"Blocked."
"What exactly did they say?"
I repeated it.
He was quiet.
"Do not leave the apartment."
"That is not reassuring."
"Lock the door."
"Harlan."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"I'll send a patrol car."
"I don't want a patrol car."
"You have one anyway."
He hung up.
Linda looked at me.
"We should go somewhere."
"Where?"
Neither of us had an answer.
At six in the morning, after neither of us slept, I drove Linda to dialysis.
A police cruiser followed us for the first two miles and then peeled away.
At the clinic, I walked her inside and waited until the nurse took her back.
Then I went to the vending machines and bought the cheapest coffee available.
My bank app showed $418.62.
Rent was due in six days.
Mom's supplemental insurance was due in eight.
My driver account remained suspended.
At 7:43, my phone rang.
This time the number belonged to our insurance provider.
I answered with a bad feeling already growing.
The representative confirmed Linda Carter's name and date of birth.
Then she used the phrase every poor person learns to fear.
"There has been a coverage review."
I gripped the edge of the vending machine.
"What does that mean?"
"A documentation discrepancy has placed several upcoming treatment claims under temporary review."
"What discrepancy?"
"I don't have that information."
"Her dialysis is in progress right now."
"Today's authorization remains valid."
"And Thursday?"
"I can't guarantee future authorization until the review is completed."
My stomach dropped.
"How long does that take?"
"Typically ten to thirty business days."
The hallway around me blurred.
The caller from four hours earlier had not made an empty threat.
Someone had reached into the part of my life that mattered most.
And they had done it before sunrise.
I called Dominic Moretti.
He answered after one ring.
"Avery."
I had never given him my number.
That fact barely registered.
"Someone just put my mother's dialysis coverage under review."
Silence.
Then his voice became very quiet.
"Where are you?"
"At the clinic."
"Stay there."
"Don't tell me to stay anywhere."
"Avery—"
"If Vanessa did this—"
"I don't know that she did."
"Then find out."
He paused.
"I will."
"And Dominic?"
"Yes?"
"If anyone from your world comes near my mother, I don't care how rich they are."
I looked through the glass at the dialysis floor.
"They are going to regret it."
There was another pause.
Then Dominic said something I did not expect.
May you like
"That's exactly what your father told mine."
