PART 2 – The Secret Message in the Dossier
The office suddenly felt very small. The words on the screen seemed to dance before my eyes, and the silence hanging in the room was heavier than lead. Elena placed her phone on the desk with a trembling motion. The screen had dimmed, but the threatening text was burned into my retinas. "Who sent that?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Elena shook her head.
"An anonymous number. No sender, no profile picture, nothing. Just that message." She looked at me intensely. "Emma, we have to go to the police with this. This is no longer a game. Someone is watching us, and if that message is based on anything, you are in danger." "No," I replied resolutely, even though my heart was pounding in my throat. "If I go to the police now, I'll lose the only lead I have to my father.
For twenty-five years I've been lied to. My mother cried over his death, there’s a gravestone at the cemetery... And now you're telling me his bank card was used three days ago by a wealthy VIP customer of our store?" Elena fell silent. She understood my desperation, but the fear in her eyes couldn't be hidden. She slowly pushed the paper dossier back toward me.
"Look closely at the other transactions, Emma. Not just the one from three days ago. There is a pattern." I leaned forward and leafed through the pages. Lines full of dates, amounts, and locations slid beneath my fingers. The transactions didn't take place in the city where we were now, Milan, but in various places all over Northern Italy. Sometimes in Turin, sometimes in Como, and very often near a small mountain village whose name I could barely pronounce: San Michele.
"San Michele," I whispered. "My father used to go there for work. Or at least, that's what I was always told." "And look at the times," Elena added. "The payments are almost always on the first Tuesday of the month, precisely at twelve noon. Always at exclusive shops, expensive restaurants, or antique districts. As if they aren't normal purchases, but... signals." "Signals?" "Or appointments," Elena said seriously.
"Someone is using that card on purpose. And Mrs. Moretti knew exactly who you were, Emma. When she looked at you at the door... she knew your background." I felt a chill run down my spine. The thought that my whole life could be a carefully constructed lie made me dizzy. I remembered the stories from the past. My mother had never spoken of Marco without tears in her eyes.
She always said he had been a good-natured man who worked too hard, until that fatal evening on the wet highway where his car allegedly ran off the road. But a body had never been found. The authorities back then spoke of incineration due to a heavy explosion after the crash. Nothing of him remained. At least, that's what the official papers said. "Give me that dossier," I said suddenly, determined.
"Emma, no, you can't..." "I have to, Elena. If my father is still alive, I need to know why he left us. Or... why he had to go into hiding." Before Elena could react, we heard heavy footsteps in the hallway outside the office. The doorknob slowly began to press downward. Someone was trying to get in, but the door was locked. A sharp, mechanical click sounded on the wood, followed by the sound of heavy breathing on the other side. Elena sharply drew in her breath and pointed to the window that opened onto the alley behind the building.
