“Did he say anything about the legitimate businesses that his father is involved in?” Mr. Harlan asks.
“No,” I admit.
“Did he say anything about their conflict with the Andretti family?” Mr. Harlan continues.
“No,” I reply.
“What about his stepmother?” Mr. Harlan asks. “We know she has a complicated past.”
“No,” I repeat myself. “He didn’t say much about his family at all.”
“All right,” Mr. Harlan says, looking away. “So, where are we?”
“Back at square one,” I complain.
I leave his office and go back to my cubicle. This thing with Frankie isn’t getting me anywhere. I was serious when I said we were back to square one. I need to review some of my notes and see if there are any new leads to follow up on.
Something Frankie said at dinner nags at me. I think he mentioned real Italian cooking. Maybe that means he has some experience in the restaurant business. I start looking in the small business listings for the area. There are tons of names, and no indication that any of them are owned by the Corellos.
I spend the entire day chasing my tail, only to discover a set of financial filings that might hold a clue. But it’s late. I drive home and help myself to a beer. Lonely nights like this make me think about Danny. He should be the one following up on this story, not me. He was the real journalist in the family.
It takes me three more days to uncover a single business that might be owned by Francisco Corello. It’s a restaurant, just like I thought. I walk into Mr. Harlan’s office triumphant, carrying a slip of paper over my head.
“You found something?” Mr. Harlan asks.
“Maybe,” I admit. “It’s a long shot, but I’d like to see where it leads.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “What do you need?”
“I’d like a photographer,” I say. “Someone who can take shots from a distance.”
“I know just the guy,” Mr. Harlan answers. “Give me a minute.”
I step outside and wait for him to make the call. After a moment, he waves me back in.
“Do you remember Mario Borsari?” My boss asks.
I think back. “Is he a freelancer?”
“Yes,” Mr. Harlan replies. “And he’s good. Here’s his number. He’s waiting for your call.”
I take the slip of paper from my boss’s hand and smile. “Thanks.”
“Be safe,” Mr. Harlan warns.
“Always,” I promise.
I walk back to my desk to call Mario from a landline. This is work, so I might as well call him from a work number.
“Hello?” Mario answers on the third ring.
“Hello, Mario?” I ask.
“Yes,” he confirms.
“This is Sofia Agosto. I work for the paper. I was wondering if you’re free to work on a story with me?” I hold my breath, hoping he’ll say yes.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done any investigative work,” he says. “Now I mostly do weddings and graduation photos.”
