Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
The files open and close quickly on the page, some too fast for me to scan. But there is one image that grabs my attention. As the rest of the files continue to download, I click the image and it takes me to a folder.
“Holy shit,” I murmur.
“What is it?” Noa asks, rounding the desk to come stand behind me.
“It’s… I think this is the reporter—Gina Tamayo,” I tell Noa, looking at the image of a motorcycle lying on its side in the dark.
Scrapes on chrome and shattered glass. Yellow tape.
And nearby are the outstretched legs of a woman in black boots, twisted ankle.
I swallow hard. “These are crime scene photos.”
Matteo joins us as we look through the images, a police report, and, importantly—a payment made to Sunset Docks. “Why is the dock being paid?” I ask, and look back at Matteo. His eyes are still studying the photo. Then he shakes his head, distracted.
“They work for my father,” he says. “He’s majority owner of the dock.”
I furrow my brow. “I thought Hailey’s parents own that dock?” I ask.
Matteo snorts. “On paper, sure,” he says. “But where do you think they got the funding? Hailey’s father, Ian Babbitt, has worked with my father since they were our age. They go way back, and they’re still pretty close.”
“Close friends, or close as in murder-for-hire friends?” I ask.
Matteo meets my eyes, and I truly feel bad for him. My father is also deep in this mess, but… he’s not the one in charge. It’s not much solace, all things considered, but it’s better than where Matteo is standing right now.
Matteo reaches past me to move the mouse to click on other files. He finds one that seems to pique his interest and opens it. There are no photos this time, but it’s a recent payment made to the Sunset Docks. The invoice reads, “Debris cleanup.”
Stepping back, Matteo’s entire expression sags. “I bet that was for my cousin,” he says. “It was about… moving Felix.”
Noa hums out a horrified sound, sickened by everything. She turns away. I can see as Matteo hardens, devastated and angry. I check the rest of the file and I’m equally shocked when it contains an invoice from my father’s company. This time, the description is “security repairs.”
When I turn to Matteo, he meets my eyes.
“The cover-up,” I say. “That was my father’s part.
Security was supposed to keep an eye on things until Felix’s body had been moved.
” I glance at Noa. “They found us there instead, otherwise… we would have never known that Felix was on Rum Runner Island. Nobody was supposed to ever know.”
Noa puts her hand on my shoulder, squeezing it to support us both. She’s lost someone, and my father helped a monster. And then there’s Matteo… son of the monster. He has to be wrecked right now.
“Everything ties back to the Starline Hotel,” Noa says.
“That fucking place,” Matteo says, shaking his head. “I really wish it was just a story. You know what”—he looks at Noa—“I really do think it’s cursed. It’s the card holding up the entire house. You pull it, and it all comes tumbling down. My father falls.”
“Which is why they’ve been guarding it,” I say. “Alessandro Mancini has to protect the truth about the Starline Hotel or he’ll lose everything, including his freedom.”
“Which means anyone who knows about it is in danger,” Noa says. She looks at the screen again. Her brow furrows. “Is there anything about my brother on here?”
I search, but there are no files that seem to pertain to Ellis. But then, in the deleted trash, I notice another locked file. I restore it, and when I do, there is a file called “Surf Shack.”
“Why was that in the trash?” she asks. “What does it say?”
In the file is an invoice, once again from Sunset Docks—this time for salvage.
Among the documents are blueprints for a large-scale boating-and-retail space, placed right over the lot where the Surf Shack stands.
It’s no surprise that Mancini wants the land, but what is surprising is the promissory note.
“Is that the loan my dad took out?” Noa asks, leaning in closer. But the date on it is from a year ago. And the signature is Ellison Acosta.
“What is this?” Noa murmurs.
Matteo comes over to look at the paper, eyes narrowed. “Looks like a deal Ellis made with my father,” he says. “This…” He taps the screen. “It’s not monetary, meaning it’s not getting paid out. It’s a penalty. Ellis must have signed an NDA.”
Noa and I exchange a knowing look. “An NDA to never discuss the Starline Hotel,” she says. “But Ellis and Felix kept looking anyway, and they found it. Mancini killed Felix. But what about Ellis? What did he do with my brother?”
“He’s still looking,” Matteo says. “That salvage invoice? That means my father has taken out a… a hit on him,” he says, as if the word doesn’t seem to fit. But his demeanor has changed, his posture sagging.
A piece I had wondered about earlier finally clicks into place. I stare at Matteo, my hand balling into a fist on the desktop.
“And what about you?” I ask him. “Did your father ask you to find Ellis for him?” Noa immediately turns to Matteo accusingly. “Is that why you came down to the beach the other day with that whole surfing bullshit?”
Matteo backs up, holding his hands in front of him.
“I had no idea why he wanted Ellis,” Matteo says, looking pleadingly at Noa.
“I swear, my father asked me to go to the Shack and ask the girl”—he points at Noa—“if she’s seen her brother.
He told me it would help us find Felix. But I swear, I wouldn’t have done anything if I found him. ”
“Except tell your father,” I point out, and he winces.
“I guess I would have,” he admits. “And then… I would have hated myself if anything had happened. I didn’t know. I swear.”
But he already feels guilty—it’s painted all over his face. Matteo turns and walks to the window. The idea of almost facilitating a murder is probably weighing on him, as it should. It’s a heavy burden to realize your own father would have involved you in a murder.
Sort of how my father has made me complicit in his cover-up. Only difference is I’m not going to keep quiet. I’m not going to be a part of the Mancini evil empire—even if I end up dead in the marsh next to the Starline Hotel.
The computer pings then, alerting me that the USB has finished downloading all the files. I pull out the stick and shut down the computer.
“We’ll get a better look at these files at home,” I tell them, holding it up. “For now, we need to get out of this resort. I don’t want to get caught at—”
“Is that smoke?” Matteo asks, distracted, taking a step toward the window.
We all look that way and notice white smoke spiraling up from the beach.
My heart nearly explodes in my chest, and Noa dashes forward to put her hand on the glass.
“I think…” Matteo says, eyes wide. “I think it’s coming from the—”
“Surf Shack,” Noa gasps out.