Chapter 82: The Other Name

Giovanni called immediately.

The private investigator answered on the second ring, apparently expecting it.

"What other name?"

No greeting. No question about whether it was a good time. Giovanni wasn’t particularly interested.

"Lenny Arceo."

For perhaps two seconds, the name meant nothing.

Then Giovanni went still.

"The foreman."

"Yes. The one who was with your father when the platform fell."

Giovanni pushed himself away from his desk and stood.

"What was his name doing in Gerald’s project records?"

"That’s the interesting part. It wasn’t."

Giovanni frowned. "You just said Martin Valdez wasn’t the only familiar name you found."

"And he wasn’t. But Lenny’s name came from somewhere else."

There was a brief rustling on the other end, as though the investigator were checking the documents in front of him.

"We found it in Matteo Mercer’s journal."

Giovanni slowly sat back down.

"My father’s journal?"

"The investigator focused on this one because it was the most recent. It was a calendar journal, mostly filled with meetings, equipment numbers, supplier names, things he wanted checked. But the last entry your father wrote by hand was a name."

"Lenny Arceo."

"Yes."

Giovanni stared at his desk.

That sounded like his father.

Matteo had never completely trusted reports prepared by other people, especially when numbers didn’t make sense. Even after the company grew large enough that he could’ve delegated nearly everything, notebooks continued piling up on his desk.

Things he wanted to see for himself.

Unfortunately, the habit also made the discovery frustrating.

"What did he write beside Lenny’s name?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing at all?"

"Just the name."

That somehow bothered Giovanni more.

A sentence could’ve provided context. A number might’ve led somewhere. Even a question mark would’ve told him something about what Matteo had been thinking.

Instead, his father’s final entry offered him two words and decades of silence.

"Where is Lenny now?"

"We found him."

Giovanni straightened.

"Alive?"

"Very much so."

"Where?"

"Outside the city. He’s living in a small residential district near an old warehouse operation."

The investigator explained that Lenny had recently begun receiving disability pension benefits, which finally gave them a current trail.

He was older now and apparently living alone. His wife had died several years earlier after an illness, while their children had long since grown up and established lives of their own.

More importantly, Lenny hadn’t changed his identity.

Lenny Arceo had remained Lenny Arceo.

He had simply left, kept his head down, and eventually grown old enough to believe that everyone who cared about what happened to Matteo Mercer had either died, forgotten, or moved on.

He’d been wrong about at least one of those things.

Giovanni checked the time.

"Tomorrow. Ten in the morning. Meet me in the ground-floor lobby."

"You’re going personally."

"Yes."

"I thought so."

"Bring your car."

The investigator didn’t argue.

Giovanni called Alexander next.

Alex answered after several rings.

"You have the bakery-equipment list already?"

Despite himself, Giovanni smiled faintly.

"Not yet."

"Then my mother is going to be disappointed. She seems convinced you’ve become our unofficial consultant."

"Send her my apologies. We found Lenny Arceo."

The lightness disappeared from Alexander’s voice.

"The foreman?"

"Alive."

A brief silence followed.

"Where?"

"We’re going tomorrow."

"We?"

"The investigator and I."

Another pause.

Then Alex asked, "What time?"

Giovanni leaned back in his chair.

"Ten."

"I’ll be there."

He almost pointed out that he hadn’t actually invited him.

Instead, he said, "Fine."

"That sounded painful."

"Goodbye, Alex."

"Ten o’clock."

The call ended.

Giovanni looked at his phone.

Apparently, that settled that.

Alexander arrived at Mercer Group the following morning and found Giovanni behind his desk with two empty coffee cups beside him.

His gaze went from the cups to Giovanni.

"How much sleep?"

"Enough."

"That’s not a number."

"Neither was your question."

Alexander removed his coat and held out his hand.

"Show me what you have."

Giovanni passed him the investigator’s preliminary report.

Alexander read quietly.

Unlike Giovanni, whose first reaction had been to get into a car and demand answers before the trail disappeared again, Alex was already considering everything that could go wrong.

"Does he know we’re coming?"

"No."

"Good."

Giovanni raised a brow.

Alex lowered the papers.

"If he’s spent this long staying away from anything connected to the accident, don’t corner him the second he opens the door."

"My father died."

"Exactly. Which means we need him talking, not running."

Giovanni’s jaw tightened.

"Don’t."

"Don’t what?"

"Start deciding how much of this I can handle."

Alexander looked at him for a moment.

"I’m not deciding what you can handle."

"It sounded remarkably close."

"I’m deciding how not to frighten the only surviving person who was actually standing beside Matteo when that platform failed."

That stopped him.

This wasn’t the same argument they’d had before.

Alexander wasn’t trying to protect him from the truth or decide how much he was allowed to know.

He was protecting their opportunity to obtain it.

Giovanni exhaled.

"The investigator is waiting downstairs."

"Then why are we still here?"

Giovanni looked at him.

Alexander raised a brow.

"You called me."

"Unfortunately."

"Frequently."

"Don’t flatter yourself."

At least that got them moving.

Elias was already waiting beside Alexander’s car when they reached the lobby.

Giovanni glanced toward the investigator’s sedan parked farther away.

"Let’s take his."

Alex immediately understood.

"Less conspicuous."

Alexander called Elias over.

"Park the car and head back. I’ll call if I need you later."

Elias looked toward Giovanni and the investigator, then returned his attention to Alex.

"You won’t need me to follow?"

"No."

"All right."

He started to leave, then paused.

"Mr. Mercer?"

Giovanni looked at him.

"Be careful."

Considering Elias had inadvertently opened this particular Pandora’s box in the first place, Giovanni didn’t dismiss the warning.

"I will."

The drive took them beyond the crowded commercial districts and into an older part of the city.

Warehouses gradually gave way to narrow residential streets. Small houses stood close together behind low gates, some renovated, others showing their age.

Nothing about the neighborhood suggested that one of the last living witnesses to Matteo Mercer’s death had spent years there.

The investigator slowed.

"Third house."

Alexander looked at Giovanni.

"Remember what I said."

"I know."

"Let him answer."

"Alex."

"I’m serious."

"So am I."

The sedan stopped.

The three men walked up a narrow path toward a modest house.

The investigator knocked.

It took some time before footsteps sounded from inside.

Then the door opened.

An older man stood behind it, one hand resting heavily on a cane. His hair was almost entirely white, his shoulders thinner than they probably once were, and one leg remained slightly angled, as though the injury from decades ago had never completely stopped reminding him of the fall.

"Lenny Arceo?" the investigator asked.

The older man frowned.

"Who’s asking?"

Then his eyes moved past him.

Toward Giovanni.

The change was immediate.

His face lost color.

His fingers tightened around the cane.

For several seconds, he simply stared.

Giovanni didn’t need to introduce himself.

Apparently, Lenny didn’t need one either.

"You look like him."

The words came out quietly.

Giovanni swallowed.

"My name is Giovanni Mercer."

"I know."

Alexander glanced between them.

Fear flickered across Lenny’s face first.

Then resignation.

Something he’d apparently carried for a long time finally settled over his features.

He opened the door wider.

"I’ve been wondering how many years I had left before you found me."

Giovanni didn’t move.

Lenny stepped aside.

"Come in."

Then, before Giovanni could ask his first question, the older man added quietly,

"I suppose you’ve come to ask why your father died."

He looked directly at him.

"I can tell you."