Chapter 4
Dante forwarded the anonymous message to Hannah before making a single call.
He could have sent men to the mansion and retrieved every computer before breakfast. Once, he would have done exactly that. Instead, he told his attorney, Evelyn Shaw, what he knew and asked how to preserve evidence legally.
“Do not enter your son's house without permission,” she said. “And don't ask anyone to steal a device.”
“The property is held by my company.”
“That doesn't make private accounts yours. We can request preservation of the exterior security system you own and let the investigators handle the rest.”
Dante hated the distinction. He followed it.
The mansion's exterior cameras were managed by a security contractor hired through his real-estate company. The contractor confirmed that the door-access system logged openings and lock commands even when video clips were deleted.
On the Tuesday before Christmas, the rear terrace door had opened at 6:11 p.m. It was locked from the interior at 6:12 and unlocked at 6:19.
Seven minutes.
The same sequence occurred on December 9 and December 16, each time shortly after the household staff had finished their shifts. On Christmas Eve, the front glass door had locked for four minutes.
The system could identify the control panel used, but not the person who touched it. Dante had the records preserved and provided them to the investigator through counsel.
Hannah made no promise about what the logs proved. “They confirm door activity. They don't tell us why it happened.”
“They give us times to ask about,” Dante said.
“Yes. That's useful.”
Dante asked whether a backup recording existed. The contractor said there were only limited clips retained under the standard system policy and that any missing footage would require careful forensic work to interpret. Dante felt the old temptation to demand a more useful answer.
Instead, he requested a written explanation of the system's settings. The logs themselves were preserved with their original timestamps and export history. Evelyn told him why that mattered: records that could be tested and authenticated were worth more than screenshots passed around by angry relatives.
The small discipline cost him an afternoon. It was also the first time in years he had put the integrity of an answer ahead of the speed of obtaining it.
That afternoon, Rosa called Evelyn. Her voice sounded as though she were standing outside in the wind.
“Bianca dismissed me,” she said. “She claims I stole a bracelet.”
“Did you?”
“No. But there's something I should have said sooner.”
Rosa arrived at Evelyn's office with her employment records and a phone full of ordinary household photographs. One showed Theo eating breakfast. Another showed a Christmas garland. A third, taken unintentionally through a kitchen window while Rosa photographed fresh snow, captured a small figure standing barefoot near the terrace door.
The picture's timestamp was December 16 at 6:15 p.m.
Theo wore his beige shirt. The pink ribbon of his airplane was visible against his hand.
Rosa pressed her fingers to her mouth. “I didn't see him when I took it. I was trying to send my daughter a picture of the storm.”
“Why did you keep it?” Evelyn asked.
“Because I never delete pictures. I should have looked more closely.”
Dante shook his head. “The blame belongs to whoever put him there.”
Rosa's eyes filled. “I heard that timer more than once. When I asked, Bianca said Theo was doing a focus exercise. She told me a therapist recommended it.”
“Which therapist?” Evelyn asked.
“She never gave a name.”
The investigator received the original image and arranged to interview Rosa formally. It wasn't proof of every allegation, but it corroborated a date Theo had drawn and matched a door log.
That evening, Dante met Hannah at the agency office. She said the county was reviewing kinship options and would examine his background and home environment before deciding whether he could care for Theo.
“Your past makes this more complicated,” she said.
“My past has a name,” Dante replied. “There are police files.”
“And a current incident involving a punch.”
“I know.”
Hannah slid Theo's copied drawing across the desk. “He drew another picture today. A closet with a white door. He said the airplane sometimes went inside when he refused to say a sentence.”
“What sentence?”
“He wasn't ready to tell me.”
Dante traced the edge of the paper without touching the ink. He wanted to make things happen, to drag answers out of every adult around his grandson. But the boy had spent enough time being told when to speak.
“Then we wait until he is,” Dante said.
Hannah nodded once. “That's the first useful thing you've said to me without trying to take charge.”
As he rose, his phone rang. Luca's name filled the screen.
Dante answered.
“Dad,” Luca said, breathing unevenly, “why is Bianca packing Theo's school records?”
May you like
Dante stopped beside the door.
“She says he has an appointment somewhere next week. She won't tell me where.”
