Chapter 6 - THE PURSE CAME BACK TOO CLEAN.
Jessi didn't open the door.
Luca knocked again.
"Jessi."
Her mother stood behind the kitchen counter, motionless.
Jessi kept her voice level.
"What do you want?"
"I brought Mom's things."
"Leave them at the desk."
"I'm not leaving her identification with a hotel clerk."
"You were fine keeping it from her."
Silence.
Then Luca said, "That's not what happened."
Jessi looked through the peephole again.
He had changed out of the robe.
Dark trousers.
Cashmere coat.
Hair combed.
He looked like the version of Luca people trusted in conference rooms.
The controlled version.
The respectable version.
That was useful information too.
Jessi opened the door but kept the security latch attached.
"Put the purse down."
Luca stared through the opening.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"I drove all the way here."
"Twelve minutes."
"Mom needs to come home."
"No."
"She has appointments."
"I'll take her."
"You don't even know who her doctors are."
"I learned one pharmacy before breakfast. I'll catch up."
His jaw flexed.
Then he crouched and placed the purse outside the door.
Jessi waited until he stood and stepped back.
Only then did she close the door, remove the latch, open it, grab the purse, and lock the door again.
Luca laughed from the hallway.
"This is insane."
"No."
Jessi held the purse.
"Finding Mom on the floor in a maid's uniform was insane."
"She put that thing on herself."
Jessi looked at her mother.
Her mother shook her head once.
Luca couldn't see.
"Go home."
"It's my home."
"So go enjoy it."
His voice dropped.
"You take her accounts, her cards, anything from the estate, and you're creating a legal problem for yourself."
Jessi smiled without humor.
"Interesting."
"What?"
"You didn't mention her health that time."
He stared at her.
Jessi closed the door.
She waited until she heard the elevator.
Only then did she bring the purse to the table.
Her mother reached for it.
Stopped.
Then looked at Jessi.
"Open it."
"It's yours."
"I know."
"Then you open it."
Her mother took a breath.
She unzipped the purse.
Inside were her wallet, glasses case, two tissues, a comb, lipstick, a prescription bottle, and a folded grocery list.
Jessi waited.
Her mother removed the wallet.
Her state ID was inside.
Medicare card.
Two credit cards.
A library card.
An old photograph of Jessi and Luca as children.
No bank card belonging to their father.
Her mother emptied the purse.
Nothing.
"It's gone."
Jessi examined the lining.
No hidden pocket.
No envelope.
"What did it look like?"
"Black."
"Credit card?"
"Debit."
"His name?"
"Yes."
"Was it still active?"
"I don't know."
"Why did you have it?"
"Your father gave it to me with the key."
That was new.
Jessi slowed down.
"At the same time?"
Her mother nodded.
"What did he say?"
"He said the card would tell me where to go."
Jessi frowned.
"That doesn't make sense."
"I know."
"Did he mean use it?"
"He said not to spend anything."
"What exactly did he say?"
Her mother closed her eyes.
Jessi watched her resist the panic of not remembering immediately.
Then the words came.
"He said, 'Don't use the card. Read it.'"
Jessi sat back.
Read it.
Not use it.
"What was on it besides his name?"
Her mother rubbed her forehead.
"Numbers."
"Obviously."
That got the faintest smile.
"Something written on the back."
"What?"
"I don't remember."
"Handwriting?"
"Yes."
"His?"
"I think so."
Think.
Not know.
Jessi wrote that distinction down.
The purse bothered her for another reason.
It was clean.
Too clean.
Her mother's purse had always been chaos.
Receipts.
Peppermints.
Pens without caps.
Expired coupons.
Three lipsticks almost exactly the same color.
This purse looked curated.
The necessary items were there.
The clutter wasn't.
"Where are your receipts?"
Her mother looked inside.
"I had some."
"What kind?"
"Grocery. Pharmacy. Things."
"Anything important?"
She shook her head.
Then stopped.
"Maybe."
"What?"
"I used to write on them."
"Write what?"
"Things I wanted to remember."
Jessi felt the room sharpen again.
"What things?"
"When Luca said something."
"When Wendy did something."
"Why receipts?"
Her mother looked embarrassed.
"Because they threw away my notebooks."
Jessi said nothing for several seconds.
"Who?"
"Wendy said I was leaving paper everywhere."
"So you wrote on receipts."
Her mother nodded.
"Where did you keep them?"
"In there."
Jessi looked at the cleaned purse.
Every receipt was gone.
She walked to the window.
Luca's car was pulling away.
"He went through this."
Her mother said nothing.
Jessi corrected herself.
"Someone went through it."
That mattered.
She called the hotel and asked security to preserve hallway footage from the previous thirty minutes.
Then she called the bank associated with the card her mother described.
Without the card number, they couldn't do much.
Jessi asked whether her father's estate had accounts there.
The representative wouldn't discuss them without documentation.
Another wall.
So Jessi called the attorney who had handled several of her father's business matters.
The number went to voicemail.
She left a message.
Then she searched her old email.
Her father had sent her one message two years earlier with the subject line:
KEEP THIS.
Inside was a PDF.
Not a will.
Not a trust.
Just a one-page list of professional contacts.
Attorney.
CPA.
Insurance broker.
Private banker.
Jessi looked at the private banker's name.
Different bank.
Same logo that had appeared on the opened envelopes.
She called.
The banker was no longer at that branch.
But the assistant who answered remembered the family name.
She asked Jessi to come in with identification.
"Bring any correspondence you have."
Jessi looked at the eleven envelopes.
"I have plenty."
Before leaving, she photographed the contents of Mother's purse.
Every item.
Then she placed it in the hotel safe.
Her mother watched.
"You're treating everything like evidence."
Jessi looked at her.
"I think Dad wanted us to."
At the bank, the assistant manager examined the brass key but didn't recognize it.
"It doesn't match our current safe-deposit keys."
"Current?"
"They changed systems years ago."
"Could it be old?"
"Possibly."
He couldn't confirm.
Jessi showed him a photograph of the missing black bank card as best her mother could describe it.
He shook his head.
"Without the actual card, I can't tell you anything."
Then he looked at the envelopes.
His expression changed.
"Where did you get these?"
"My brother's foyer."
He carefully examined the postmarks.
Then he pulled up a system record.
"I need to be cautious here."
"Please."
"I can confirm correspondence was generated."
"Twelve pieces?"
He looked at her.
"Yes."
Jessi's stomach tightened.
"Can you see what the first one was?"
Another pause.
"Not the content. But I can see the category."
"What category?"
The manager turned the monitor slightly away, as if even the screen needed privacy.
Then he said, "Account access notification."
Jessi stared at him.
"What kind of access?"
"I can't give you more without completing verification."
"Was it sent to warn me somebody accessed an account?"
"I didn't say that."
"But that's possible?"
"It's one reason that category can be generated."
Jessi picked up the oldest envelope she possessed.
The first one after the missing notice.
Its date was seven days later.
A full week.
Whoever had intercepted the first notice had known there would be more.
Her phone rang.
The estate attorney.
Jessi answered immediately.
Before she could explain, he said, "I've been trying to reach you for months."
Jessi went cold.
"You have?"
"Yes."
"About what?"
There was a pause.
"About the document box your father left in his study."
Jessi looked at the brass key in her hand.
May you like
The attorney continued.
"Luca told me you refused to come open it."
