Ch 20
"Ok, so, what do we know about the names on this list?" Dan asked the next day in the evening as they all sat around the library at Attleboro.
"We know Alistair Oh didn't steal the works," Amy said.
"We can probably guess Phillippe Calabrese didn't either," Jake offered "seeing as his daughter was a curator at the museum. I just wish I knew why his name was even on this list."
Amy slowly went through the list, copying the names in a notebook she had started.
Quigley O'Reilly
Antonio Marcellius
Phillippe Calabrese
Alastair Oh
Danica Simonson
Atlas Smith
Marcus Starling
She crossed Phillippe Calabrese and Alistair Oh off tentatively.
"We know that Danica Simonson took over at the museum as curator of collections for Bianca in 1993. We don't know anything about her prior to that, but why take the job if you know where the stolen works went? She doesn't seem to fit."
"I agree. It would have been in her best interest to find the works as soon as possible. It would have made her look like a rock star!" Atticus offered.
Amy sighed. "If it was Atlas Smith, he was only the handler for the works. He's no art collector. If he has them somewhere, it will take forever to try and find them. He's probably moved them hundreds of times in the last 25 years."
"He wouldn't have been quiet about it either." Dan said darkly, "He is a real straight-shooter and doesn't mess around." Dan remembered their last run-in with Atlas in Nova Scotia and a shiver went up his spine. "I never want to see that guy again if I can help it."
Amy nodded. Neither did she. "So, who's left?"
Atticus read the names to the group.
"We need to find out more about the remaining people. Are any of them still alive? I mean, if his robbery is 25 years old, these people all have to be older than 50 now!" Jake said
"Good, that leaves us three unknown names. Quigley O'Reilly, Marcus Starling and Antonio Marcellius." Dan mused.
"I'll try googling them and see if anything comes up." Atticus offered.
"Don't bother, I did that two nights ago and nothing." Dan said defeatedly.
"Let's get upstairs and start plugging these names into the comm center and see what the Cahill machine produces." Jake said, standing and offering a hand to Amy.
"I'm putting a curfew on all of us," Amy said glancing at the clock. "We have normal lives to get to tomorrow and that means 10:00. No argument." Nobody did. In fact, Dan would have been happy to call it quits right now.
Up in the command center, they each took a different station and pulled up whatever database they could find. They split up the remaining names and began to search.
Amy spoke first after half an hour, "I've just read everything on the Cahill database about Marcus Starling. Nothing. He was a distant cousin of Sinead's father. He was a pretty normal Cahill as far as I can tell. Lived in Toronto, worked as a hedge-fund manager, never had any kids. Liked to go ice fishing and loved the Blue Jays. About as normal as anyone. I have no notes as to why his name was on that list. The only thing I could see what that he was present at several art auctions in the 1980's buying small-time art. Nothing more than a quarter-million dollars. Small peanuts in the art world. Unless he had a huge fortune stashed away from Cahill eyes, it wasn't him." She finished.
"It's really scary how much you have on people up here. I mean, your database could rival the FBI!" Jake said with amazement.
"Amy doesn't mess around when she rebuilds multimillion-dollar mansions. She's not the head of the family by accident." Dan said absently as he stared at a monitor.
They all worked until 10:00 buy nothing important came up. They weren't able to find Quigley O'Reilly's name at all and Antonio Marcellius only gave a social security number and a former address.
"Well, it's something at least. We can start with that tomorrow." Amy said, leading everyone out of the comm center. As an afterthought, she quickly dashed off an email to Cara.
Cara, will you run a few names through your brain trust? Antonio Marcellius, Quigley O'Reilley and Marcus Starling. We know Starling is an Ekat, but our system shows he's squeaky clean. Thanks for your help,
Amy
"Maybe we'll get answers when we wake up," Amy said hopefully as they all trudged off to bed.
Jake was having trouble falling asleep that night. Amy lay sleeping peacefully in front of him, his body pressed up against hers. Something was eating at him. Why hadn't he ever learned more about his mother's family? Didn't his father say something about Phillippe pulling a few strings and getting his mother into grad school at Harvard? Who did that? A Cahill Jake thought miserably to himself. Plus, didn't dad mention that Phillippe had died about 5 years after his mom? That would have made me in grade school! Why don't I have any memories of him? Did I ever meet him?
Jake looked at Amy's sleeping form for a moment and decided; he slowly removed himself from her side without waking her. He threw on his jeans and headed for the door. Jake quietly closed the comm center door and headed for the furthest bank of monitors. Slowly, quietly, he typed his grandfather's name into the Cahill database. He hit 'enter'.
He could barely scroll through the pages and pages of information that suddenly showed up. There had to be gigabytes of data on his grandfather. No, not my grandfather. I never met the man. He's just Phillippe Calabrese.
Jake proceeded to read. Phillippe Calabrese amounted to a black-market dealer. He had a Cahill file a mile long. He had lived large. He had homes in Portugal, Milan and the Bahamas. He had a reputation as a guy who could get anything and he demanded a high price. Jake read about deal after deal after deal. After a while, he shut off the monitor and sat stone faced. It was a lot to absorb. He had gone twenty years without learning about his own family. Now I know how Amy feels.
He trudged back downstairs, feeling the weight of all of it hit him. He turned the corner to head to the master bedroom and was grabbed around the middle. Amy.
"Where did you go?" She said in the near darkness, a thin shaft of moonlight falling across her face, "I realized you were gone and came looking for you."
He hugged her back. I'll tell you all about it back in our room," Jake said exhaustedly.
They sat cross-legged on the bed, both lamps on. Jake started by telling Amy his suspicions and finished with what he had found in the comm center.
"Ames, my grandfather was a black-market dealer in all sorts of horrible things." Jake said with a shaky voice.
Amy could tell this was hitting him like a ton of bricks. She'd had her own moments the last several years of feeling the weight of family secrets. She knew all too well how he felt.
"Jake, none of that is your fault. You can't help who you're related to. Look at me? I'm related to some of the worst people on the planet, now and all through history, but I can't let it stop me." Amy reached over and took his hand.
Jake continued to stare at her with a torn expression. He was really rattled. Amy continued, "My grandfather tried to recreate 4 horrible disasters from history and very nearly succeeded. Do you think I'm proud that I have his DNA running through me? Grace disowned him and actually put out a kill order on him. I can't even imagine doing something like that!"
Jake looked up, "Grace put out a kill order on her ex-husband?"
Amy nodded. "Yes, when my mother was only 7."
Jake gave low whistle, "that's cold."
"I know, right?" Amy said seeing a small break in Jake's demeanor. "You aren't your family's past. You are what you create for your future. Jake, you are a Rosenbloom through and through. I know your dad said you looked like your mom as a baby, but every single person I know who's met you and your father, says you are Mark's son. Your father has had a tremendous influence over you and what he didn't influence, Astrid did."
Jake looked at her and gave a smile. "You're right, all of that Nature vs Nurture stuff says it's the Nurture that determines 95% of who we become."
"See?" Amy said giving him a genuine smile.
"I guess you're right." He said with a sigh. I guess I just would have liked to have learned this from my dad and not from the Cahill command center.
Amy gave a dry laugh, "get in line. There are so many horrible secrets I've learned that way. I guess it's better to know than not know though."
"Maybe," Jake said, stripping off his jeans and crawling in bed.
As he and Amy snuggled back into sleep, he thought about her statement. He wasn't entirely sure he was better off now than he had been this afternoon.