Chapter 3 - THE PHOTO WITH THE MISSING FATHER
The festival ended at noon.
Emma had won a paper medal for “Most Enthusiastic Photographer,” although she had taken only three pictures: one of Lorenzo’s shoes, one of a confused-looking teacher, and one of Senator Pickles—a pigeon from the school courtyard that she insisted followed her everywhere.
Lorenzo had received a paper certificate that read:
HONORARY DAD FOR THE DAY
Emma insisted he keep it.
“It has your name on it,” she said.
“It says ‘Lorenzo,’” he replied.
“That’s your name.”
“It is.”
“So you have to keep it.”
He folded the certificate with care and placed it inside his coat.
Sophia waited near the school entrance, looking both relieved and embarrassed.
“Emma,” she said, rushing forward. “Did you behave?”
“I made Mr. Lorenzo do a sack race.”
Sophia’s eyes widened.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Lorenzo looked at Emma.
“She was persuasive.”
Emma held up the family shield.
“Look, Mommy. We made a star for Mrs. Isabella and the baby.”
Sophia’s expression softened.
Then she looked at Lorenzo.
For one brief moment, the distance between employer and employee disappeared.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said quietly.
Lorenzo nodded.
“Thank you.”
Marco approached from the parking lot.
His face was composed again, but Lorenzo noticed the rainwater darkening the shoulders of his coat. He had been outside for some time.
“The estate is secure,” Marco said.
Lorenzo studied him.
“And the delivery van?”
“An error in routing. Nothing more.”
“What did it deliver?”
“Kitchen supplies.”
“Who signed for it?”
“A temporary groundskeeper.”
“Name?”
“Rafael Mendez.”
Lorenzo had never heard the name.
“Find out who hired him,” he said.
Marco nodded.
“Yes, boss.”
Sophia tightened her hand around Emma’s.
“Mr. Duca, we should return to the estate. I need to finish the west wing before the evening event.”
“There is no evening event,” Lorenzo said.
She blinked. “Sir?”
“Not for you. Take the rest of the day with Emma.”
Sophia looked stunned.
“I cannot accept that.”
“You can.”
“But I have work—”
“You have a daughter who spent the morning waiting for someone to come to her school.”
Sophia’s cheeks flushed.
“I would have come.”
“I know.”
Emma looked at her mother.
“Can we get hot chocolate?”
Sophia laughed softly despite herself.
“It’s October, Emma.”
“That means yes?”
Lorenzo looked toward Marco.
“Have the driver take them wherever they wish to go.”
Sophia immediately shook her head.
“No, sir. We can take the subway.”
“Miss Bennett,” Lorenzo said, “please let me do one uncomplicated thing today.”
Her eyes lowered.
Then she nodded.
“Thank you.”
As Emma climbed into the sedan with her mother, she leaned out the open door.
“Bye, Daddy Lorenzo!”
The security men looked away.
Marco did not.
Lorenzo raised one hand.
“Goodbye, Emma.”
Then the car pulled away.
For a long moment, he remained in the school parking lot beneath the gray autumn sky.
He should have felt relieved.
The promise was over.
One day had passed.
He could return to the life he understood: meetings, security briefings, threats disguised as negotiations, and rooms where everyone waited for him to decide who was safe.
Instead, he felt the absence of a small hand in his.
That evening, Lorenzo entered the Duca estate through the west hallway.
The house was too quiet.
Its marble floors reflected the low light from the chandeliers. The halls smelled faintly of beeswax and old wood. Somewhere upstairs, a clock struck seven.
He passed the locked nursery.
His hand moved toward the key beneath his shirt.
Then he stopped.
At the far end of the hallway, Sophia stood beside an open linen cabinet.
She looked startled to see him.
“Mr. Duca. I thought you were still in meetings.”
“I returned early.”
She nodded, then lowered her eyes.
“Emma had a wonderful day.”
“I did too.”
Sophia looked up.
Lorenzo rarely volunteered personal thoughts.
He was aware of that.
“She told me you fell in the sack race,” Sophia said cautiously.
“Your daughter has no respect for confidentiality.”
“She learned that from me.”
The answer caught him off guard.
Sophia smiled slightly, then began folding towels again.
Lorenzo noticed the dark bruise near her wrist.
It was partially hidden beneath the sleeve of her uniform.
“What happened to your arm?” he asked.
Sophia froze.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then she tugged the sleeve lower.
“Nothing. I bumped into a door.”
Lorenzo had spent his life hearing lies.
He knew this one instantly.
Before he could question her, Marco entered from the side corridor.
“Boss,” he said. “We need to speak.”
The interruption was too quick.
Too deliberate.
Lorenzo followed Marco into his study.
“What is it?”
Marco closed the door.
“The background check on Rafael Mendez returned nothing. No employment history. No valid social security number. The paperwork was fabricated.”
Lorenzo’s voice went cold.
“And he entered my estate through a gate you approved.”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
Lorenzo stared at him.
“You allowed an unknown man onto the grounds?”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“I did not know he was unknown at the time.”
“Find him.”
Marco nodded.
“There is another problem.”
He placed a photograph on the desk.
It had been taken from a security camera near the west wing.
Sophia stood near the service entrance, speaking to a man in a dark jacket.
The timestamp was from three nights earlier.
Lorenzo looked at the image.
His chest went still.
“Who is he?”
“We do not know.”
“She knows him?”
“It appears so.”
For the first time that evening, Lorenzo thought of Emma.
Of the festival.
Of the small gold star on his family shield.
And then he thought of the bruise on Sophia’s wrist.
The woman who had spent seven months making herself invisible might be hiding something inside his home.
Marco watched him carefully.
“What do you want done?”
Lorenzo’s voice remained quiet.
“Bring Sophia to my study.”
Marco nodded.
“And Emma?”
Lorenzo looked toward the window.
“Emma stays where she is.”
May you like
But even as he spoke, his instincts warned him that it might already be too late.
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