Chapter 10 - THE SEVEN NAMES
Z
Gabriel did not sleep.
Eleanor knew because neither did she.
At 3:14 in the morning, she found him in the Lake Forest library with seven names written on a legal pad.
Anthony Pierce.
Age nine.
Maya Thompson.
Age eleven.
Kyle Reyes.
Age seven.
Twins Naomi and Nicole Barrett.
Age ten.
Samuel Ellis.
Age thirteen.
Grace Vale.
Age eight.
Eleanor stopped at the final name.
“Vale.”
Gabriel looked up.
“Rebecca’s sister.”
The room felt colder.
Eleanor moved closer.
“You confirmed it?”
“Old records.”
He pushed a folder toward her.
“Rebecca and Grace entered Saint Agnes together after their mother was arrested. Rebecca was sixteen. Grace was eight.”
“And Rebecca survived.”
“Yes.”
“Grace didn’t.”
Gabriel leaned back.
“Which means Rebecca didn’t come to Lucia House looking for shelter.”
“She came looking for you.”
“Yes.”
Eleanor sat across from him.
“Maybe both.”
Gabriel said nothing.
She picked up the official fire report.
Electrical fault in laundry area.
Smoke alarms failed.
Emergency exit blocked.
Seven fatalities.
No criminal charges.
“That is too clean.”
“It was Chicago.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It used to be.”
Eleanor flipped pages.
The building’s insurance carrier had paid quickly.
City citations disappeared.
A contractor replaced the electrical system two months before the fire.
That contractor was owned by a Moretti cousin.
Gabriel’s father controlled the property.
Lucia appeared at the scene.
Rebecca claimed Salvatore was inside thirty minutes before flames began.
And seven children died.
“Why would your father burn a children’s home?” Eleanor asked.
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
“Money.”
“Insurance?”
“Too small.”
“Destroy records?”
“Possible.”
“Kill someone?”
Gabriel looked at the names.
“Possible.”
Eleanor hated that answer.
At 8:00 a.m., Thomas Shaw arrived.
Gabriel had called him because Thomas kept books for Anthony Moretti during the years Saint Agnes operated.
Thomas entered the library carrying an old document box.
“I kept copies.”
Gabriel stared.
“Of what?”
“Everything I was afraid someone would destroy.”
Eleanor looked at her father.
“You had this?”
“Not here. Safety deposit box.”
Gabriel opened the lid.
Ledgers.
Invoices.
Tax documents.
Thomas sat.
“Saint Agnes wasn’t really a charity.”
Gabriel’s face remained still.
Thomas continued.
“Your father used it to wash money.”
Eleanor frowned.
“Through a children’s home?”
“Donations came in cash. Supplies were overbilled. Construction contracts were inflated. Money moved through church funds and private foundations.”
Gabriel had expected corruption.
He had not expected relief.
Money laundering was ugly.
But it was not seven dead children.
Then Thomas said, “That wasn’t the worst part.”
Relief vanished.
“The home was useful because kids disappeared all the time.”
Eleanor’s blood went cold.
“What do you mean disappeared?”
“Foster transfers. Runaways. Relatives suddenly found. Records weren’t centralized like they are now.”
Gabriel leaned forward.
“What did my father do?”
Thomas looked ashamed despite having had no part in it.
“He sold information.”
“What information?”
“Children without families.”
Silence.
Eleanor’s fingers curled around the edge of the table.
Thomas continued.
“Not trafficking like Julian’s later network. At least not exactly. Wealthy couples wanted children without waiting. Your father knew lawyers who arranged illegal adoptions.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
Children.
Again.
Gabriel stood.
“He sold children.”
“He called it placement.”
Gabriel struck the table.
The sound cracked through the library.
Thomas flinched.
Eleanor did not.
Gabriel turned away immediately.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to the furniture,” Eleanor said.
His hands trembled.
That frightened her more than his anger.
“Was Grace Vale one of them?” she asked Thomas.
“I don’t know.”
Thomas searched the box.
“I remember seven files went missing before the fire.”
Eleanor looked at Gabriel.
“The seven who died?”
“Maybe.”
Thomas removed a ledger.
Pages had been cut out.
Not torn.
Cut carefully.
“Your mother found out.”
Gabriel slowly turned.
Thomas nodded.
“She confronted Salvatore three weeks before the fire.”
“You knew?”
“I heard them.”
“What did she say?”
“That she would take the children and go to the police.”
Gabriel stared.
“And my father?”
“Said she wouldn’t make it across the street.”
Eleanor’s skin prickled.
Thomas continued.
“The night of the fire, Lucia called me. She told me to stay away from Saint Agnes.”
“Why?”
“She said she was getting the children out.”
Gabriel looked at the seven names.
“But seven died.”
Thomas’s eyes filled with regret.
“Yes.”
At noon, Rebecca Vale called.
Not Gabriel.
Eleanor.
Private number.
“You opened the package?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know.”
“No,” Eleanor said. “We know what you want us to think.”
Silence.
Rebecca’s voice sharpened.
“You’re defending her.”
“I’m asking what happened.”
“Lucia Moretti chose thirteen children.”
Eleanor’s heart stopped.
“Thirteen?”
“There were twenty scheduled to leave that night.”
“Leave where?”
“Families.”
Illegal adoptions.
Rebecca continued.
“Lucia learned seven of those children were being sent to men nobody should have been allowed near them.”
Eleanor gripped the phone.
“What did she do?”
“She changed the plan.”
“Meaning?”
“She moved thirteen children early.”
“And the other seven?”
Rebecca’s voice broke.
“She left them there.”
Eleanor stood.
“No.”
“She took thirteen.”
“Why not twenty?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were the seven who died the seven she left?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
Grace.
Eight years old.
“Where are you?”
Rebecca laughed softly.
“You think I’m going to let Gabriel’s men find me?”
“I’m not Gabriel.”
“You’re his wife.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“It should be.”
Eleanor heard traffic in the background.
A train horn.
Then bells.
She wrote quickly.
METRA?
Gabriel nodded to Marco.
Marco began tracing.
Rebecca said, “Lucia told me she would come back.”
Eleanor stopped writing.
“She spoke to you?”
“She made me help load children into vans. Then she told me to stay with Grace and the others. Said she’d return in twenty minutes.”
“What happened?”
“The fire started in twelve.”
Rebecca’s voice became very small.
“I got six children out.”
“Grace?”
Silence.
Then:
“I couldn’t reach her.”
Eleanor pressed a hand to her mouth.
Rebecca continued.
“Lucia never came back.”
“Why?”
“I spent eighteen years asking that.”
The line went quiet.
Then Rebecca said something Eleanor had not expected.
“I don’t want revenge.”
“What do you want?”
“The truth.”
“So do we.”
“No.”
Rebecca’s voice hardened.
“Gabriel wants a version of the truth that lets him keep loving his mother.”
Eleanor looked across the room.
Gabriel heard.
His face changed.
Rebecca continued.
“And you want a version that protects the name on your building.”
Eleanor swallowed.
“What if the truth destroys both?”
“Then tell it anyway.”
The call disconnected.
Marco looked up from his equipment.
“Couldn’t lock her exact location. South Side rail corridor.”
Gabriel stood.
Eleanor stopped him.
“She’s right.”
He looked at her.
“About what?”
“If Lucia chose thirteen children and left seven, we can’t turn her into a saint because we loved her.”
Gabriel stared.
Eleanor stepped closer.
“We find out what she did.”
“And if Rebecca is right?”
Eleanor’s voice softened.
“Then Lucia House still helps people.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know.”
Gabriel waited.
Eleanor looked toward the framed photograph of Lucia on the shelf.
“Then we stop protecting the dead from consequences the living still have to carry.”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he nodded.
That afternoon, Rosa arrived with an old suitcase.
She had heard about Saint Agnes.
And she was crying.
Gabriel had never seen Rosa cry.
Not at Lucia’s funeral.
Not when Julian was arrested.
Not once.
She put the suitcase on the table.
“I promised your mother I would never open this unless Saint Agnes came back.”
Gabriel stared.
“What’s inside?”
Rosa’s hands shook.
“The reason she never returned for those seven children.”
She unlocked the case.
Inside was a bloodstained blue coat.
Lucia’s coat.
May you like
And a revolver wrapped in cloth.
One chamber had been fired.
