Inferno_Part 3_The Vault

by T. K. Leigh

  “And lose even more if it was pulled off the shelves.”

  “Exactly. But the numbers indicated this was a small batch of potentially contaminated drugs. It wouldn’t require a massive recall. So she then started looking into other drugs with reports of deaths and charted those. She came up with a list of over a dozen that also exhibited a slight increase in deaths during a short period of time, then evened out. She wouldn’t tell me exactly what drugs were on the list, said she didn’t want to put any more lives in jeopardy. After receiving a threat about eliminating the ‘Dante Luciano problem’, she said she was done playing their game, that she was going to go public with what she knew, consequences be damned, and use Dante to try to diminish any potential blowback on her family.”

  “And her claim that this corruption went all the way to the head of the FDA?” I lifted a brow.

  “Just something I told her to use to convince Dante to meet with her. James and I have always been close. I knew about his affair with Gabriella and Dante’s animosity toward him.”

  I didn’t react, simply absorbing his story as I tried to rationalize it all in my mind. I wondered if Cynthia’s list matched the one I found in Brock’s office.

  “Except she never made the meeting.”

  “By that time, it was too dangerous. The wheels were already in motion. Someone had tried to kill her on more than one occasion. After the latest failed attempt, I couldn’t risk someone following through. So we faked her death and she relocated somewhere safe, somewhere no one will find her…somewhere I won’t even be able to find her.”

  I stepped back, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth as I studied him. Something about his story just didn’t sit right with me. It seemed a little too convenient that Cynthia, who the world thought killed herself before going to her arranged meeting with Dante, was now suddenly alive, but he didn’t want anyone to know and offered no actual proof that she was. If I hadn’t been around his lies most of my life, maybe I would believe him. But I couldn’t, particularly with the knowledge that he sent Cynthia the threatening email. That was the one piece in this puzzle that just didn’t fit, the one piece that threw his story off.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Ellie,” he said, cutting through my thoughts. “I’m not the one behind this. I want answers just as much as Cynthia, Dante…you. I couldn’t stomach the idea of anything happening to Cynthia because of…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath to compose himself. If I hadn’t seen him pull the same move during funerals for fallen soldiers, I would have thought it was authentic. Too bad I knew better.

  “Why don’t you just go to the authorities?” I hardened my stare, not allowing his caring tone to soften my determination. “And what’s to stop me from doing so if you won’t?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” he answered with a defeated sigh. “If that’s what you think you should do, I can’t stop you. I can only beg and plead with you not to. By doing so, you’ll put over a dozen lives at risk…including your own and Dante’s.”

  “It’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it? You know how much I care for him, so you want me to think his life could be in jeopardy if I do something to bring any attention to whatever this is.”

  He tilted his head, the stoic politician returning. It was obvious he was becoming more and more frustrated with my questions the longer we spoke. “I’m not quite sure gambling with a person’s life is the way for you to learn I’m speaking the truth, but if you’d like to see for yourself, be my guest. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s a miracle he wasn’t killed when he showed up for his meeting with Cynthia. I’m still not sure why, considering these people had to know he looking into this.”

  I glared at him, my eyes unwavering, an internal tug-of-war waging inside as to what story to believe. When I overheard Dante’s conversation that day in Italy, I was convinced my father was involved. It made sense then. Now I wasn’t sure about anything. This man was my father. Despite everything, there was this small part of me that wanted to think he wouldn’t be involved in something so manipulative and devious. But if he wasn’t, why would he send those emails to Cynthia, threatening her to put an end to the “Dante Luciano problem”, as he referred to it? Until I could figure out which story to believe, I needed to remain guarded. It was the only option.

  “Why wouldn’t she just come forward with what she knew?”

  “The same reason she allowed herself to be blackmailed in the first place. She’s worried for the safety of her loved ones. She needs to stay hidden and alive so when we figure out who’s behind all of this, we can bring them down. Until then, it’s important she remain in hiding.”

  “You have to realize how absurd this sounds.”

  “Ellie…” He placed his hands on my biceps, his eyes sincere. It was a new look for him. “I know I haven’t exactly been the best father to you. I put my career first when I should have been putting you first. It was the only thing that…” He trailed off, as if recalling painful, yet happy memories.

  “The only thing that what?” I pressed.

  He snapped back to the present. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll never get that time back. But I can do everything in my power to make things right going forward. And that’s exactly what I plan on doing from here on out. That will have to be enough reassurance for you for now.”

  Before I could argue with him any further, he wrapped his arms around me, taking me by complete surprise. I couldn’t remember the last time my father hugged me when there weren’t cameras. It was probably before I entered adolescence, when he was full of so much life and zeal…before public office took its toll on him. I wished I could melt into his arms and have the father-daughter relationship I always dreamed of and wanted. I still had too many unanswered questions. My father had always been able to spin a good story. For all I knew, he just told me a whopper of a tale. This man had already fooled me once. I wasn’t going to let him do it again.

  Chapter Ten

  I stared at my computer screen in my office, the setting sun beaming into the space around me. Several weeks had passed since I’d eavesdropped on my father’s conversation in a dive bar down the street. Several weeks where I’d used the mediocre investigative skills I possessed to try and figure out which way was up. Several weeks where I was no closer to finding out what happened than I was back in Italy.

  A slight knock tore me out of my thoughts. I glanced up to see Blake, the law firm’s investigator, pop his head into my office. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any questions about the report I sent you earlier on the Lawrence fraud case.”

  I met his eyes, giving him a smile. He was a younger guy. Most investigators I’d worked with in the past had been cops who retired after twenty years, but still missed the job. Blake was just a few years older than me. He joined the army straight out of high school, eventually becoming a CID special agent before deciding to take the plunge back into civilian life.

  “It’s perfect. Everything I could have needed, and then some.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” He paused, his green eyes beaming with pride. “Well, I’m off. See you Monday, Elle. Have a great weekend.”

  “You, too,” I replied, returning my eyes to my computer as he headed down the hall. “Blake, wait!”

  He popped his head back into my office. “Yeah?”

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I stared at him, torn. I knew once I put the wheels into motion, there would be no going back, but I’d gotten nowhere trying to get answers on my own. Maybe I needed a fresh set of eyes, an unbiased set of eyes…a highly trained, investigative set of eyes. Yes, Steven was an FBI agent, but that was precisely why I couldn’t involve him in this. I needed someone who could help me discreetly without opening a federal investigation.

  “Can you close the door?”

  He studied me, but his curiosity eventually got the better of him. He clos
ed the door, then took a seat in one of the chairs on the opposite side of my desk. “What’s up?”

  “There’s been something that’s been bothering me, something I’ve been looking into, but haven’t been able to find out much. I just… I’d like your help, but I need a bit of discretion on your part.”

  “Help I can give you, but discretion can only go so far. If I find out information that can prevent the commission of a crime—”

  I held up a hand. “I understand completely. But until that point, I’d ask that this conversation, as well as anything you uncover, stay between us.”

  After considering my request for a moment, he nodded. “I can do that.”

  Taking a deep breath, I opened the top drawer of my desk and pulled out a copy of the file I’d amassed over the past several weeks. “I want you to look into my father.” I pushed the folder across the desk to him.

  He lifted a brow. “Your father?”

  I’d only been working here a little more than a month, but I’d become somewhat close to Blake, thanks to Quinn’s insistence I go to Happy Hour with the rest of the staff every week. Throughout the course of our conversations, I’d revealed who I was… Eleanor Crenshaw. The one who ditched her politician fiancé at the altar. The one whose father was Francis Crenshaw, a senior member of the Senate. The one whose affair with a famous Italian chef briefly made headlines.

  “Yes.” I straightened my spine. “And his connection to a woman named Cynthia Edelman. She supposedly committed suicide back in March, but…” I shrugged.

  “But you don’t think that was the case.”

  “I don’t know what to think,” I admitted. “I’ve never had the best relationship with my father, with either of my parents, so I think my animosity may be clouding my judgment. I need someone who is completely detached to look into this and see what they can find.”

  He opened his mouth, hesitating, and I sensed he was about to refuse to help. He was my last hope at getting answers. I needed him to agree.

  “I can pay you,” I blurted out before he could utter a single syllable. “Probably not much, but I’ll—”

  “Elle…” He reached out and placed his hand over mine. “I want to help you, but there’s no turning back after this. If I find out something, if I know there’s criminal activity and have the evidence to back it up…”

  “I know.” I gave him a small smile.

  Why was this so difficult? I wasn’t exactly close to my father. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about him not being the man I thought he was when I was younger, when I idolized him, when he was my hero. This would eat me up until I could get some concrete answers, regardless of what those answers were.

  “I need to know, no matter what.”

  He blew out a long breath, pulling his hand away. “Okay.”

  “All the information I’ve been able to find out is in that file. There’s a list of drugs I’d like you to see what you can find out about, questionable deaths, stuff like that. I’d also like you to look into any suspicious incidents around the vicinity of Barnes Pharmaceuticals in the weeks leading up to Cynthia Edelman’s death.”

  “Why?”

  “It might help. That’s all. Then again, it could be nothing, but please, just humor me.”

  He nodded and grabbed the file, standing.

  “Thank you, Blake,” I said sincerely. “You have my cell number in case anything comes up over the weekend?”

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Something like this will probably take some time, especially considering you don’t want to raise any suspicions. Even if I do find anything over the next few days, it can wait until Monday.”

  “Probably. But in case it can’t, you know how to reach me.”

  “I do.” He paused, his mouth curving into a small smile. “Have a nice weekend.”

  “You, too.”

  As soon as he disappeared down the hall, I sank back into my chair, blowing out the breath I’d been holding. Would I come to regret involving Blake in this? Probably, but I didn’t know what else to do. This seemed to be my only option.

  Returning my attention to my monitor, I eyed the time in the upper right-hand corner, immediately jumping to my feet. I hastily shut down my computer, collected all my papers, and shoved them into my bag. Within a few seconds, I hurried out of the office and was on my way to a bar down the street to meet Mila for a few drinks.

  Once I moved out of her house, it had become part of our routine to get together before I headed to my mother’s weekly dinner party. And I still went, if for no other reason than to have a few minutes alone with my father to try and get more answers out of him, to let out a little more rope to see if he hung himself. But, regardless of my prodding, he stuck to his story, not offering so much of a hint as to where Cynthia Edelman could be or this supposed secret she had been blackmailed over.

  Rushing through the front doors of the upscale wine bar, I spied Mila sitting on one of the stools, enjoying a glass of what appeared to be a freshly poured red wine.

  “Sorry I’m late.” I took the seat beside her. “I lost track of time.”

  “It’s okay,” she replied, sipping from her glass. “I just got here myself. Traffic was a bit rough. You’d think it wouldn’t be, considering I was going against rush hour.”

  “That’s LA for you.” I raised my hand, flagging down the bartender and placing my order. “There’s no such thing as no traffic.”

  “Ain’t that the truth. I’m glad I’m a stay-at-home Mom. I couldn’t imagine sitting in traffic for two hours just to go thirty miles. I’d lose my shit after ten minutes.”

  “Audiobooks are a lifesaver,” I offered. “But it’s not so bad now that I live so close to work. I barely spend any time in my car these days.”

  “Which is probably a good thing,” Mila joked. “I told you to just keep Steven’s car while you saved money for something better.”

  I smiled at the bartender when he placed my wine in front of me. “I know. And I appreciate the offer, but I have a job. I need to start making my own way. And my car isn’t that bad. Is it old? Yes. But I’ve yet to have a single problem with it.” I tapped on the top of the bar. “Knock on wood.”

  “Because you barely drive anywhere. Just promise you’ll think about getting something a little better when you have the money.”

  I gave her a smile. “Of course.”

  “Good.” She took a sip of her drink before straightening her back. “So…” Her voice brightened. “What was today’s love letter?”

  My mood immediately lifted. I’d been so preoccupied with my father lately that the only ray of light, the only things that made me smile, were the Instagram posts from Dante. And he still sent at least one a day, no matter where he was or what he was doing.

  I grabbed my phone and found his most recent post, handing it to Mila. She studied my phone for several seconds, then read the caption out loud.

  “‘We are much fonder of the pictures of those we love when they are at a great distance than when they are near to us.’ —Hèloïse d’Argenteuil, Letters of Abelard and Hèloïse.”

  “It’s the grave of Hèloïse and Abelard at Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris,” I explained. “It must be an older photo, since he’s not in Paris right now.” I looked straight ahead, avoiding her eyes.

  “Speaking of which—”

  “Do you know the story of Hèloïse and Abelard?” I interrupted, not wanting her to ask the next question. I knew all too well what that would be.

  She looked at me, subtly shaking her head.

  “It was a tragic story, one with no happy ending. It was a forbidden romance before that became the trendy thing. She was estimated to be twenty-two years his junior…and his student. Regardless, that didn’t stop them from falling in love and eventually having
a baby, as the legend goes. When Hèloïse’s uncle found out, he wasn’t happy. To keep her safe, Abelard placed her in a convent. Her uncle thought it was Abelard’s way of getting rid of her so he had Abelard castrated. Despite the obstacles, the two sent letters to each other throughout the years.” I sighed, a dreamy expression crossing my face as I allowed myself to be filled with hope, regardless of how ill-placed it was. “Their love never wavered, even until Abelard’s dying day.”

  It was silent for a moment as I considered whether that was all I had to look forward to — a daily Instagram post, a distant love that would go on for years.

  “That’s beautiful, Ellie,” Mila remarked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  I brought my wine to my lips, savoring the spiciness of the pinot, then lowered the glass back to the bar. “Now the letters are nearly as famous as the affair itself. People flock to their grave in Paris, hoping to surround themselves with just a fraction of the love they had.”

  “What did you send back to Dante?”

  I grabbed my phone again, bringing up the photo I’d found online of a closeup of a coin on the ledge of the Trevi Fountain. It was the only thing that seemed fitting. I always returned to the fountain. I had a feeling I always would. It was where I left my heart.

  I passed my cell to Mila and she read the caption out loud.

  “‘For not with me was my heart, but with thee. But now, more than ever, if it be not with thee, it is nowhere. For without thee it cannot anywhere exist.’ —Hèloïse d’Argenteuil, Letters of Abelard and Hèloïse.”

  She handed my phone back to me, pausing for a moment. “It’s fitting, isn’t it? You two are like a modern day Hèloïse and Abelard. The love letters are just in the form of Instagram posts. It’s one of those stories you’ll be able to tell your kids one day. I bet yours are going be absolutely adorable. Much better than what your kids with Brock would have looked like.” She cringed in playful disgust. “Not because of you. You’re beautiful. And Brock’s a decent-looking guy, but I’m convinced there’s something off about him.”