Chapter 6 - The Harbor King Comes Home
Arthur Vale’s arrest changed Boston quickly.
Three former associates agreed to cooperate.
Two city officials resigned.
Federal investigators seized warehouses, shell companies, and accounts Vale had controlled for decades.
Dad spent days giving statements.
Vincent spent even more time with prosecutors.
The Harbor Room became impossible to work at.
Everyone knew.
Every server wanted details.
Every customer stared at me.
Mr. Feldman finally pulled me aside.
“Nora.”
“Yes?”
“Are you related to Vincent Caruso?”
“No.”
He relaxed.
“He just calls me family.”
Mr. Feldman nearly fainted.
I smiled.
“See you tomorrow.”
But the biggest change happened at home.
Vincent started visiting Dad.
At first, the conversations were awkward.
Then louder.
Then ridiculous.
One afternoon, I entered the kitchen and found them arguing about a boat.
“You sank it,” Vincent said.
“I did not sink it.”
“You drove directly into a dock.”
“The dock was poorly positioned.”
“It was stationary.”
Dad pointed.
“That doesn’t mean it was positioned well.”
I looked at Mom.
“How did either of them survive youth?”
She drank her tea.
“I’ve wondered that for twenty-five years.”
Vincent eventually helped Dad expand the clock shop.
Dad refused every offer of free money.
So Vincent became a customer instead.
He bought eight antique clocks he didn’t need.
Dad charged him double.
Vincent paid without complaint.
One evening, we stood on the harbor outside the restaurant.
Vincent rolled up his sleeve.
The lighthouse tattoo caught the setting sun.
Dad looked at it.
“You kept it.”
Vincent looked at him.
“You designed it.”
“I was twenty-four.”
“You were dramatic.”
“So were you.”
Vincent laughed.
Then Dad reached into his coat.
He handed Vincent a small box.
Inside was an antique pocket watch.
Engraved on the back was the lighthouse.
Three beams.
Crescent moon.
Vincent stared at it.
Dad said quietly.
“No more disappearing.”
Vincent closed the box.
“No more graves without bodies.”
They shook hands.
Then Vincent pulled Dad into another hug.
I took a picture.
Both men immediately looked at me.
“Delete that,” Dad said.
“No.”
Vincent pointed at my phone.
“Nora.”
“Absolutely not.”
Mom smiled beside me.
“It’s going in the hallway.”
Dad groaned.
Vincent muttered.
“I liked you better when you were afraid of me.”
“I was never afraid of you.”
“You should’ve been.”
May you like
I smiled.
“Too late.”
