Chapter 2 - The Paper Trail
The tires of Luca's black Maserati sports coupe shrieked against the asphalt as he tore down Interstate 95 North toward Providence. Beside him in the passenger seat, his head of security, Marcus Vance—a former marine who had served the Ferraro family for fifteen years—worked methodically on two encrypted laptops.
"She knew what she was doing, boss," Marcus said, scrolling through transit authority database feeds. "Claire didn't use her primary credit cards. She withdrew eight hundred dollars in cash from an ATM near the harbor two days ago. She planned this."
Luca gripped the steering wheel so hard his forearms throbbed. "She restored historic churches for seven years, Marcus. She knows how to navigate building codes, county registries, and tax records without leaving a trace. She's smarter than both of us."
"The 4:50 AM train from Providence made four stops before Albany," Marcus continued. "Attleboro, Boston South Station, Back Bay, and Route 128. If she wanted to vanish into a major metropolitan area, she got off at Boston."
"She didn't go to Boston," Luca said instantly.
Marcus looked up. "How can you be sure?"
"Because Boston is where my family has three regional distribution hubs," Luca said, his eyes fixed on the highway ahead. "Claire knows my uncles have eyes at South Station. She wouldn't run somewhere we could catch her in an hour. Where else does the regional route connect?"
Marcus typed rapidly on his keyboard. "At Albany, she could connect to the Ethan Allen Express toward Vermont, or the Lake Shore Limited toward Buffalo and Chicago."
"Check Vermont," Luca ordered. "Her late grandfather had a small woodworking shop in Rutland. She mentioned it once when we first started dating."
"On it," Marcus said.
While Marcus ran cross-checks on passenger manifests and local regional bus lines in Western Massachusetts, Luca's private cell phone rang on the dashboard console.
The caller ID displayed Antonio Ferraro.
Luca hit the speaker button. "Speak."
"What is the meaning of this madness, Luca?" Antonio’s booming, arrogant voice filled the car. "Your mother is in hysterics! Guests are being turned away at the gate! Do you have any idea what this does to our standing with the Russo group?"
"I don't care about the Russo group, Antonio," Luca said, his tone icy and flat.
"You will care when the board meets on Monday!" Antonio thundered. "Vivienne’s father is pulling his financing for the terminal extension! You are sacrificing a fifty-million-dollar expansion for a woman who run off like a thief in the night!"
Luca pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway, slamming the car into park. The engine roared in the background.
"Listen to me very carefully, Antonio," Luca said, leaning toward the microphone, his voice dropping into a register that made Marcus freeze in the passenger seat. "If you ever speak about Claire with that tone again, I will not wait until Monday's board meeting. I will call a special shareholder convention by four o'clock today, trigger the executive buyout clause my father left me, and strip you of every asset, car, and house carrying the Ferraro name."
Silence hung on the line. Antonio had not heard Luca speak like this since his father’s funeral ten years ago.
"Luca..." Antonio began, his voice suddenly losing its bravado. "We were only looking out for the family's prestige—"
"You were looking out for your own pocket," Luca cut him off. "Cancel the press releases. Tell the Russos that if they withdraw their financing, I will fund the terminal extension out of my personal liquidity. And if I find out you or Vivienne had anything to do with pushing Claire out that door before last night, you won't just be out of the company. You'll be out of New England."
Luca ended the call without waiting for an answer.
"Boss," Marcus said softly, looking up from his laptop screen. "I got something."
"What?"
"A cash transaction at a small hardware store outside Greenfield, Massachusetts. 8:15 AM today. A credit card was used—not hers, but a prepaid debit card purchased at a CVS in Providence three days ago."
"What was bought?"
"Two deadbolt locks, a set of brass hinges, and three tins of linseed wood oil," Marcus read off the screen. "The delivery address attached to the digital receipt is a commercial property on Elm Street in Shelburne Falls."
Luca's heart hammered against his ribs. Shelburne Falls.
He remembered now. A year ago, Claire had shown him an article in an architectural preservation magazine. A 19th-century brick paper mill sitting along the Deerfield River had gone up for tax auction. She had talked about it for three hours straight, her eyes sparkling with passion as she sketched restoration blueprints on the back of a paper napkin.
He had smiled, kissed her forehead, and told her it was a nice pipe dream.
May you like
He hadn't realized she had bought it.
"Drive," Luca said, shifting the car back into gear and tearing down the road toward Western Massachusetts.
