La Rosa Del Sur (The Rose of the south)

Chapter 8

Chapter 8
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Lorenzo clapped his hands together eagerly. "Let us begin." He reached down, opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out the letter.

"Um, Lorenzo," I said hesitantly. "Before we really get into everything, I need to ask you something."

"I think I know what it is," Lorenzo pulled open another drawer and produced my grandfather's silver chain with the rose. "You left it here last night."

I gasped. "Yes, I did. Thank you so much!" I grabbed the length of silver and quickly slipped it over my head, determined not to lose it again. "I was so worried when I couldn't find it. I cannot thank you enough."

"Don't mention it," Lorenzo smiled. He lifted the letter once more. "Now, let us continue." He brought out his spectacles and placed them on his nose. "This morning, I scoured the letter front and back, reading and re-reading it. I used every method in the book to detect any sort of invisible ink, and yet, I only found this." Lorenzo flipped the letter to the back and pointed to the left corner. "A small number code."

I took the letter from Lorenzo and squinted at the tiny print. Indeed, in very minuscule writing, in my grandfather's handwriting were three numbers: Seven, fifteen, and eighty-three.

"Hold on a minute," I exclaimed, familiarity hitting me in the face. "That's my birthday!" I stared at the page in amazement.

"What?" Lorenzo gasped.

"Yes!" I looked up at him. "I was born on July fifteenth, nineteen eighty-three. Seven, fifteen, eighty-three." A wide smile grew on my face as I gazed down at the tiny numbers.

"Well, what might it mean?" Lorenzo asked eagerly.

My smile fell. "I- I don't know." What could it mean? I looked at Lorenzo. "But, that day, mi abuelo always told me the story of my birth and how that day was very special to him. You see, I wasn't supposed to be born." I hesitated before going further. "I came early, in the eighth month. The doctors told my mother that I wouldn't survive, even if I did, I would have so many health problems. And with the AIDs epidemic raging in the eighties, that made everyone vulnerable. But I survived. Mi abuelo never left my mother's side, and he was the first one to hold me after she did. He gave me the name of Roseina, after the flower, to inspire me and comfort me..." I trailed off, realizing how deep I had gone. I saw all of them watching me with sympathetic yet confused faces.

"While that is a touching story, Signorina," Giovanni's deep voice reverberated in the quiet room. "How does that connect to why he left it on the back of the page?"

I looked back down at the letter. "I don't know." I swiped my thumb over the little date. Then I looked closer. Something looked different. "Wait a minute." I pulled the letter up to my face for closer inspection.

"What? What is it?" Lorenzo's excited voice came from behind the paper.

"There's a very tiny dot over the three," I said. Then I got an idea. I put the letter down. "Lorenzo, do you have a pen and a piece of paper I could use?" He nodded and opened a drawer in his desk, producing a ballpoint pen and a white sheet of paper. I grabbed them and leaned over the desk.

"What are you doing?" I heard Luca ask. I held up a finger and continued my work.

My mind whirled as the pen scratched over the page, crossing out here and there. Finally I circled my answer and showed it to everyone in the room.

"It's a bank account number!" I exclaimed gleefully. I passed it to Lorenzo, who stared at it in complete amazement.

"How did you do that?" He asked looking at me. "How do you know?"