Possibly conspiracy.”
Elena handed the order to me.
The signature at the bottom belonged to an official whose name I recognized from local news.
He had resigned six months earlier.
The younger inspector took one step backward.
Sarto noticed.
“You were paid to serve a notice,” he told the man coldly.
“Serve it.”
The inspector swallowed.
“Mr.
Sarto said the ownership records were settled.”
“They are,” Elena replied.
“My client owns the building.”
Sarto’s gaze snapped to the deed on the cutting table behind us.
For the first time, his confidence cracked.
He entered without being invited and reached for the document.
Noah blocked him.
The two men stood inches apart.
Paulie quietly moved between the inspectors and the door.
“You sold me a false debt,” Noah said.
Sarto regained his smile.
“I sold your company a distressed commercial account.
Your lawyers approved it.”
“You used my name to pressure her.”
“And it worked.” Sarto glanced at me.
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
Noah’s gold lighter clicked once in his fist.
I remembered the way he had trapped me against the table and told me to forget any man I might be considering.
Part of me wanted to let his anger fall on Sarto.
It would have been easy.
Men like them had always settled disputes while people like my father cleaned the blood from their cuffs.
I refused to let my shop become another room where power belonged to the most frightening man.
“Noah,” I said.
His eyes stayed on Sarto.
“Step back.”
Paulie looked at me as if I had ordered a storm to reverse direction.
Noah’s shoulders remained rigid for a moment.
Then he obeyed.
Sarto stared at him, astonished.
I placed my father’s ledger beside the forged condemnation notice.
“You came to my father’s funeral,” I said.
“You told me to call if I needed help.”
“I was being respectful.”
“You were checking whether he had told me anything.”
His eyes flicked toward the ledger.
That was the answer.
Elena opened to the final recorded entry.
My father had written down the date, time, and license plate of a truck that entered the basement passage two nights before his death.
Beneath it he had added the initials V.S.
and a note about a damaged brake line he discovered on his own car.
Sarto read the line and shrugged.
“A dead tailor’s suspicion is not evidence.”
“No,” Elena agreed.
“But the camera he installed is.”
She removed a small brass key from the envelope my father had left for me.
