“Not when I have my father’s VPN passwords,” I tell him. “His access can cut through all your privacy laws, all your personal data and protections. Isn’t that great?” I add sarcastically.
“Great for extortion,” Matteo says, sounding nervous. “No wonder they work together—your dad and mine. He’s the right person to have in your corner if you need to cover up some crimes.”
“Financial and otherwise,” I murmur, just as the computer lock screen comes up. It’s a picture of Florence Marsten. I almost laugh at how demented it is. Alessandro Mancini is an absolute psycho.
I plug in the USB and click run. The computer starts humming as it begins to extract the entire database. The estimated finish time says it’ll take twelve minutes.
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 myfather’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. Butthe 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 paidout.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?”
