Chapter 5
The black seal was hidden inside my father’s old piano.
Of course.
He hated playing piano.
Which was apparently why nobody looked.
Miriam took me there alone.
No Garrett.
No Evelyn.
She opened the bench and removed one black lacquered case.
Inside lay a heavy obsidian seal engraved with the Carbone crest.
I stared.
“How long have you had it?”
“Since your father died.”
“Why?”
“He gave it to me.”
That surprised me.
Not because my father trusted her.
Because he trusted her with succession authority instead of one of his brothers.
“What did he say?”
Miriam looked tired.
“If Alessia leads well, bury it.”
I almost smiled.
“And if I don’t?”
“Use it to remind the family that no chair is permanent.”
Fair.
I respected that more than blind loyalty.
Then she gave me another envelope.
My father’s handwriting.
Alessia—
If someone asks for the black seal while you are healthy, assume they want a future you have not agreed to.
I closed my eyes.
My father had been difficult.
Controlling.
Brilliant.
Occasionally useful from beyond the grave.
I read on.
The seal does not make a ruler. It opens a room where old men convince themselves they can.
That sounded exactly like him.
Then the important part.
The succession ledger is not binding. It is memory. Names, promises, contingencies. Never let anyone turn dead men’s fears into living law.
I looked at Miriam.
“Garrett thinks it gives him legitimacy.”
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t know it doesn’t.”
“I don’t think so.”
Interesting.
Then why all this?
Because symbols matter even when authority is false.
Open the old room.
Produce the ledger.
Show Garrett’s name somewhere through marriage ties.
Let uncertain captains believe tradition favored him.
Narrative before truth.
I looked at the seal.
“Who else knows where this opens?”
Miriam hesitated.
“Your father’s brother Marco.”
My uncle.
Seventy-two.
Retired.
Still respected.
And absent from tonight’s gala.
My expression changed.
“Where is Marco?”
Miriam looked at me.
“That is what worries me.”
May you like
Because Garrett had not invented this plan alone.
Someone taught him exactly which dead tradition could still frighten living captains.
