The Mafia Boss Walked In as His Supervisor Whipped the Shy Employee—Then the Entire Office Froze!
Chapter 8
Nothing valuable had been stolen.
That was what made the break-in frightening.
The intruders had gone directly to Clara’s father’s old belongings.
They had opened boxes.
Read letters.
Searched photographs.
They had ignored jewelry.
Ignored cash.
Ignored electronics.
They were looking for something.
Clara stood in the doorway of her apartment.
Her hands shook.
Matteo entered behind her.
“Don’t touch anything.”
“I already know.”
He nodded.
Police arrived.
The apartment was photographed.
But Clara kept thinking about one object.
A small wooden box her father had given her when she was seventeen.
She had always assumed it contained sentimental things.
Now it was gone.
“My father’s box.”
“What was inside?”
“I don’t know.”
Matteo looked at her.
“You never opened it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He told me to keep it until I was older.”
“When?”
“The week before he died.”
Matteo went still.
“Clara.”
She looked at him.
“Did he say anything else?”
“He told me that if someone ever asked about the box, I should say I didn’t know what they were talking about.”
Matteo’s expression became grim.
“Then we need to find it.”
They traced the break-in through nearby cameras.
A vehicle appeared.
The license plate was false.
But the driver had made one mistake.
He had entered the building wearing an old company security jacket.
Matteo recognized the uniform.
It belonged to a security contractor.
The contractor had been hired by Adrian Cole.
That afternoon, Matteo confronted Cole.
“You searched her apartment.”
Cole laughed.
“That’s an accusation.”
“You’re right.”
Matteo stepped closer.
“So here’s a question instead.”
Cole stopped smiling.
“What happened to Thomas Bennett’s ledger?”
The silence lasted several seconds.
Cole’s eyes changed.
Matteo saw it.
So did Clara.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cole said.
Matteo nodded.
“Now I know I asked the right question.”
Cole left.
That evening, Nina arrived with another document.
She had found it hidden inside an old payroll file.
A payment had been made every month to a private security company.
The recipient’s initials were A.C.
But the payments began one month before Thomas Bennett died.
Clara stared at the page.
“My father knew.”
Matteo nodded.
“And someone knew he knew.”
Then Clara remembered something.
Her father had once told her:
“Never trust a ledger that can be erased.”
She had thought it was an accounting joke.
Now she wondered if it had been a warning.
The next morning, someone left a package outside Matteo’s office.
Inside was Clara’s father’s wooden box.
It was open.
Empty.
Except for one photograph.
A photograph of Clara as a child.
On the back, someone had written:
Stop digging.
