“I didn’t know that part.”
Maria’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“What happened to the ledger?”
Anthony shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Daniel, your father was the only person who knew where half his records ended up.”
“Did Vincent know Gabriel gave it to him?”
“Eventually.”
“How?”
“Your father confronted him.”
I stood so quickly that my chair rolled backward.
“My father confronted Vincent with evidence and then kept him around?”
“He believed he could control him.”
My father’s lifelong weakness.
Control.
He had always believed leverage was stronger than loyalty.
I had inherited the same belief.
“He was wrong,” I said.
Anthony remained silent.
Maria looked toward me.
“You trusted Vincent.”
“For eleven years.”
“But your father didn’t.”
“Apparently not.”
Anthony’s expression shifted.
“There’s something else.”
I nearly laughed.
Of course there was.
“What?”
He gestured toward the notebook.
“Your father knew Gabriel had a daughter.”
Maria frowned.
“Sofia wasn’t born.”
“Not Sofia.”
Silence.
Maria’s expression emptied.
“What did you say?”
Anthony looked at her.
“Gabriel had a daughter before he met you.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“He told your father.”
Maria stood.
“You’re lying.”
“Maria—”
“My husband never had another child.”
“He did.”
She looked toward me as if I had somehow caused those words.
I couldn’t help her.
Anthony continued cautiously.
“The girl lived with her mother in New Jersey.”
“What was her name?” Maria asked.
“I don’t remember.”
“You expect me to believe you remember a meeting fourteen years ago but can’t remember a child’s name?”
Anthony looked troubled.
“I only heard it once.”
“How old?”
“I don’t know. Maybe five or six at the time.”
Maria turned away.
I could see her breathing.
Trying to fit another person into the story of the man she had loved.
A daughter.
A hidden family history.
Another secret room.
“Why did my father know?” I asked.
“Because Gabriel was afraid Vincent might find her.”
Maria turned around.
“Why?”
Anthony looked toward me again.
I was beginning to hate the way everyone looked at me before giving an answer.
“Because she wasn’t just Gabriel’s daughter.”
The rain seemed to disappear.
Or maybe I simply stopped noticing it.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Anthony stood.
He seemed older than when he’d arrived.
“Her mother was Elena Hale.”
I didn’t understand.
Then I did.
My father’s younger sister.
My aunt.
Gone twelve years now.
