The Sixth Son

They thought their father's dubious confession at the end of his life might have some merit, but more than eighty years had passed—who would care now? In all the years, their parents had not considered it worth mentioning. It could hardly be threatening today—right? And who were these men at the funeral? They could have been distant friends of their father. It was odd that he never mentioned it, but there had been so many business contacts over the years. And even if true, such associations were ominous, and their father would surely have mentioned them before now. Or were they just the ravings of a dying man? They decided to stop the speculation and not mention it to the rest of the family. However, a few weeks later, a chance article in the Baltimore Sun about the persistence of organized crime, particularly the New York crime families, revived Francesco's interest. The news report highlighted a sideline criminals were using to extort revenue from the weak and vulnerable. Bogus tax-exempt charities and foundations were used as "fronts" to pay off loans of indentured immigrants. The "indentured immigrants" part struck a chord with Francesco. What if someone financed his parents when they arrived in New York? His father mentioned a "letter" and someone named "Maranzano." He searched for the name and found Salvadore Maranzano, murdered in New York in 1931. The Bonano crime family reportedly replaced the Maranzano clan and still operated in New York through convicted crime boss Joseph Mancuso. A chill ran through Francesco. It could not be, Francesco thought. Geovani Mancini had established a respected business in Maryland. He had grown the company from a modest hardware and machine parts store to the Mancini Industrial Equipment & Parts Company, a significant and respected national machine and parts distribution center. Francesco, as Chief Executive Officer (CEO}, and Erin, the Chief Financial Officer (CFO), still headed the company. It was still family-owned, with brothers and sister, their children, and grandchildren all participating as employees and owners in its growth. No outside funding or influence had contributed to their success. They would know. Their fiscal history confirmed this. So, it was Geovani's legacy that this supposition threatened. "Your father was a legend…" the mystery man had said. "Anything we can do for you or your famiglia… Don Francesco…" It was a scene right out of The Godfather. "You're home early. You feeling okay?" Erin said from the kitchen as Francesco walked through the front door. "Got an itch I can't scratch," he said, walking over to her. "An itch, I can handle. Those dizzy spells you keep having are another matter. Blood pressure, okay?" She continued cutting up vegetables for a ziti casserole. "It's not that kind of itch," he said. "Listen, how far back does the business outlay data go? Can you access the data on your computer here?" As the company's CFO for the past forty years, Erin was the company's financial wizard, overseeing the company's significant financial transactions. Accessing the virtual file system from their home was a bonus that Francesco seldom abused. Erin stopped her cutting and looked at her husband quizzically. She said, "We scanned most fiscal paper data into virtual folders ten years ago. I think it captured all relevant data back to Adam and Eve. And yes, I can access it here through a VPN on my PC. Why?" "Need to check something. Is there a recurring expenses folder?" "Naturally." She was feeling annoyed. "So yes, by category. Are you going to tell me?" "As I say, it's an itch. I'm just making sure about some things. Probably nothing; it's not worth mentioning." "Okay, follow me," she said, putting down the knife and walking towards the hallway. She added, "You know, you could pass for John Wayne with that swagger and tall, silent persona. Not as good looking, though." Erin led him into her back office, where she eased herself slowly into a chair behind a personal computer and started striking the keyboard. At a prompt, she reached for a key fob in a drawer, scanned it, and typed in a set of numbers. Afterward, Erin typed more instructions until some spreadsheets were displayed on the screen. She turned and faced Francesco. “Per request, Hondo.” She rolled the office chair to one side to give him a clear view of the monitor. He bent over and stared at the screen. "How far back does the data go?" He asked. "We digitized back to 1960. We may have hard-copy documents at the office that go back further. If the rats haven't eaten them." "Do you have a file for charitable contributions? Go back to 1960 through 1970." She typed some more, and other spreadsheets displayed. She read for a while, then said, "Okay, there are eight contributions listed for 1960, but only four that are recurring through 1970." She highlighted the four and copied them to a blank document, which she sent to the printer. She handed the paper to Francesco. He reread the names several times and paused. Erin said, "While you were reading, I ran the names for the next twenty years. The Italian-American Brotherhood is the only one that repeats. The donation is $4,000 every April. I am checking now for current years." She was typing some more. After a moment, she turned to him with a look of concern. "The same, Cecco. What does it mean?" Francesco was still staring at the paper. He asked, "Does it say where we send the contributions?" "Not on these papers. It would be on the worksheets for tax returns at the office." She continued staring at him and waited. "Cecco?" After a moment, he said, "We may have a problem, Irish." He told her about Giovani's deathbed disclosure and that he had mentioned it to two of his siblings. She could not think of a clever comeback.