Chapter 62 - The Broken Alibi
The silence inside Elias’s truck during the drive back to the North End was suffocating.
Elias kept both hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, gripping the leather so tightly his veins stood out like cords. He didn't look at her, didn't turn on the radio, and didn't speak when they crossed the bridge into the narrow, cobblestone maze of Salem Street.
When he pulled into the alley behind the restaurant, he cut the engine and sat in the dark cab for nearly a minute.
"Come inside," he said finally.
Adeline followed him through the delivery door, past the heavy smell of simmering garlic, rosemary, and roasting veal bones that usually signaled home and safety. Marco, Elias’s head chef and cousin, looked up from the prep station with a grin, a cleaver in his hand.
"Elias! State inspector just signed off on the walk-in cooler. We’re fully clear to prep for the weekend rush—" Marco stopped mid-sentence. His eyes drifted from Elias’s rigid posture to Adeline’s pale face. "What happened? Did the probate lawyers call back?"
"Upstairs, Marco," Elias said, his voice flat. "Lock the back door. Don't let anyone in until four."
Marco set the cleaver down slowly, wiping his hands on his apron. "Elias, what is it?"
Elias didn't answer. He walked up the wooden stairs leading to his private office and apartment. Adeline climbed after him, feeling the weight of the silver chain around her neck like lead.
Inside the office, surrounded by stacks of legal binders, deed transfers from the Sterling estate, and framed black-and-white photos of old commercial fishing boats, Elias went straight to his safe. He spun the dial with mechanical speed, pulled open the heavy steel door, and reached all the way to the back.
He retrieved a thick, yellowed manila folder tied with faded red string.
"The police report from October 12, 2004," Elias said, dropping it onto the oak desk. The papers fluttered. "The Coast Guard found the hull of the *Mary Vance* drifting seven miles east of Boston Light. The wheelhouse had blood on the console. The fuel lines had been intentionally severed. The dinghy was gone, but the storm that night had sixty-knot gusts. No small craft could have survived."
Adeline approached the desk, looking down at the grainy photocopies of the Coast Guard log.
"Elias..."
"Arthur Sterling was under federal investigation that month for rigging municipal dock bids," Elias continued, his words coming fast and cold, like a man reciting scripture to stave off madness. "My father was scheduled to testify before a grand jury on October 18th. He was the union representative for the independent captains. If Nathan Vance testified, Arthur Sterling was going to federal prison for ten years."
He slapped the table with an open palm. The sound cracked through the quiet room.
"Nathan vanished six days before that testimony. The case against Arthur Sterling collapsed because the star witness disappeared. Everyone on Salem Street knew Arthur bought someone on that dock to sabotage the boat and drop my father into the deep trench."
"Then who took that photo?" Adeline asked softly.
Elias froze.
"Look at the angle," she said, pointing to the photo lying beside the yellowed file. "It isn't a surveillance picture taken with a telephoto lens from three hundred yards away. Nathan is smiling at whoever is holding the camera. He’s showing off his catch to a friend. To someone he trusts."
Elias turned his head slowly to look at her. "Julian."
"Julian was twenty-two when your father disappeared," Adeline reasoned, her analytical mind piecing together the timeline of the family she had survived for five years. "Arthur was grooming him to take over Sterling Harbor Logistics. Julian handled all the private offshore accounts in Grand Cayman and the Bahamas."
"Julian didn't kill him," Elias said, the realization settling into his features like an infection. "He paid him."
"Or hid him," Adeline countered. "Arthur was ruthless, but Julian was calculated. Julian never destroyed anything he could use as leverage later. If Julian had evidence that Nathan Vance took money to abandon his crew, his wife, and his city... Julian owned Nathan. And by extension, he held the ultimate weapon against you."
Before Elias could process the horror of that thought, a knock rattled the office door.
Marco stepped into the room, holding an envelope made of thick, cream-colored linen paper. "Elias. A courier just dropped this off at the bar. He said it was addressed to Mrs. Adeline Sterling, care of Vance Chop House."
Adeline’s blood ran cold at the name.
She took the envelope. In the center, written in sharp, aristocratic script that did not belong to Julian, was her name. The return address in the corner bore the embossed crest of a law firm on State Street: *Vanderveer & Cross, Attorneys at Law.*
May you like
"Arthur Sterling’s personal estate executors," Elias muttered, recognizing the firm instantly. "Arthur died three years ago. Why are they writing to you now?"
Adeline tore open the wax seal and unfolded the heavy parchment. As she read the first sentence, the room seemed to tilt.
