Chapter 6: What Vincent Already Knew
The source inside the estate was a junior security monitor named Patrick Hale.
Twenty-six years old.
Eighteen months on staff.
Hired through a staffing agency that, when Mason traced it back through two layers of incorporation, connected to a property management company with ties to a Moreau family holding.
Mason presented this to Lorenzo at 6 a.m.
in the kitchen — the one room in the estate without cameras, a fact Lorenzo had established years ago for reasons that now felt prescient.
"He had access to the gate camera feed," Mason said.
"He would have seen the still frame I printed for you.
He had a mobile registered to a secondary number we didn't have on file."
"Where is he now?"
"Guest quarters.
He came off shift at midnight and went to bed."
"Leave him."
Mason looked up from the folder.
"He's more useful where he is," Lorenzo said.
"If Vincent thinks his source is still in place, he doesn't know what we know."
"And when Rachel wants him?"
"She'll have him.
But not yet."
Mason nodded slowly.
"There's something else."
He set a second sheet on the table.
A photograph, printed from security footage.
The black sedan from outside the estate gate.
"Registered to a shell company.
But the driver—" Mason tapped the image.
"Carla recognized him.
Anthony Bell.
Former Moretti Global security contractor.
Dismissed three years ago for selling internal information to a competitor."
Lorenzo looked at the photograph.
The man behind the wheel had the cap pulled low.
But the jaw, the set of the shoulders — Mason was right to flag it.
"Why is a fired contractor sitting outside my gate the same afternoon my wife apparently calls me from a burner phone?"
"That's what I'd like to know."
Lorenzo pushed back from the table.
He stood at the kitchen window.
The grounds were gray with early light.
Frost on the grass.
"Vincent fired Bell," he said.
"Yes."
"But Bell is still working for him."
"Appears so."
"Which means the dismissal was theater.
Bell knows things Vincent needed kept quiet, and keeping him employed — unofficially — is cheaper than the alternative."
Mason said nothing.
He didn't need to.
Lorenzo turned.
"I need to meet with Vincent."
"Rachel said—"
"I know what Rachel said.
I'm not going to confront him.
I'm going to give him the opportunity to lie to my face, and I'm going to listen to exactly how he does it."
"And if he suspects you know?"
"Then we find out how he responds to pressure." Lorenzo straightened his jacket.
"Twenty-two years.
I know how Vincent Moreau behaves when he's frightened.
I want to see if I'm right."
The meeting was arranged for 10 a.m.
at Moretti Global's midtown offices.
Lorenzo's territory, technically — he owned the building.
But Vincent had occupied the COO suite for so long that it had become his in the way that borrowed things become the borrower's when the owner stops checking.
Vincent met him at the elevator.
Warm handshake.
A hand briefly on Lorenzo's shoulder.
"I'm glad you called.
I've been worried."
"I know."
They walked to the corner office.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
The city below.
Vincent poured coffee without asking — another borrowed habit, another small claim of ownership.
"What happened at the gate last night?"
Lorenzo accepted the coffee.
"Routine security review.
Mason spotted an anomaly in the camera logs.
Turned out to be a calibration error."
Vincent's expression did not change.
"That's a relief.
After everything—" He shook his head.
"I just don't want you dealing with more problems."
"I appreciate that."
"How are you holding up?"
"Some days are better than others."
Vincent nodded.
Looked out the window.
"I keep thinking about her.
Isabella." He paused.
"I know that probably sounds strange to you.
She was your wife.
But she was—" Another pause.
Carefully placed.
"She was important to all of us."
Lorenzo watched him.
"She was asking me questions," Lorenzo said.
"Before the accident.
About the North Pier vendor accounts."
Vincent's coffee cup stopped halfway to his mouth.
One second.
Maybe less.
Then it continued upward.
He drank.
Set it down.
"Was she?
I wasn't aware."
"She mentioned it to me once.
Said some of the invoice numbers looked unusual."
"She was thorough." Vincent smiled.
"That was always Isabella.
She noticed things."
"Yes," Lorenzo said.
"She did."
The smile stayed in place.
But something behind Vincent's eyes had gone very still — the stillness of a man doing rapid calculations while keeping his face arranged correctly.
"I can pull those accounts if you want a review," Vincent said.
"Probably nothing, but if it gives you peace of mind—"
"That would be helpful.
Thank you."
"Of course." He stood, signaling the meeting's end.
"You know I'd do anything for you, Lorenzo.
After everything we've been through."
Lorenzo stood.
Shook his hand.
"I know," he said.
He was in the elevator before Vincent's smile had fully faded.
His mobile buzzed.
Mason.
*Bell's phone pinged a tower two blocks from Moretti Global.
He's been here since 9:30.*
Lorenzo looked at the elevator doors.
May you like
Vincent had known about the meeting before Lorenzo arrived.
And Bell was already in position.
