Chapter 4 - The Money Under My Name
Uncle Antonio had taught me how to tie a tie.
That sounds insignificant.
It wasn't.
My father taught me how to fight.
How to recognize weakness.
How to calculate interest on a debt.
How to fire a gun before my hands were large enough to hold it properly.
Antonio taught me ordinary things.
How to tie a Windsor knot.
How to order wine without sounding like a fool.
How to apologize to a waiter if someone at the table acted badly.
When I was eleven, he took me to Fenway.
When I was thirteen, he gave me my first proper suit.
When my mother died, he was the one who sat outside my bedroom without asking me to talk.
So when Frank told me Antonio had built a network stealing money through Sofia's foundation, my mind rejected it before reason entered the room.
“No.”
Dominic looked at me.
We were back at Moretti House.
Rain struck the library windows.
Sarah's documents covered a table.
“What did Frank say?”
I told him.
Dominic's response wasn't denial.
That bothered me.
“You think it's possible.”
“I think everything is possible now.”
Antonio chaired the foundation board.
He signed vendor renewals.
He knew executive access procedures.
And more importantly, he belonged to the only generation of Morettis who knew how the legitimate and illegitimate parts of our empire connected.
“He doesn't need money,” I said.
“That has never stopped rich men from wanting more.”
“It isn't about money.”
I knew Antonio.
Or thought I did.
If he had done this for six years, there had to be another reason.
We reviewed Sarah's spreadsheets again.
Eleven million from the charity.
But nearly forty million more had passed through the vendor network from other Moretti companies.
Construction.
Freight.
Real estate.
“That's not skimming,” Dominic said.
“No.”
“It looks like money being redirected.”
“To where?”
He traced several transfers.
Eventually the funds converged into a private equity vehicle in Luxembourg.
Beneficial owner hidden.
Then one transfer returned to Massachusetts.
Nine million dollars.
Used to purchase industrial property north of Boston.
I recognized the address.
“That's Alvarez territory.”
Dominic looked up.
The meeting I'd skipped that morning had been with Rafael Alvarez and two representatives from his organization.
The property sat in an area both groups had quietly avoided contesting for years.
“What if someone is using your money to buy assets in Alvarez territory?” Dominic asked.
“It looks like I'm preparing expansion.”
“And if Alvarez discovers it?”
“War.”
The word landed heavily.
Antonio wasn't simply stealing.
Someone was engineering conflict.
Why?
My phone rang.
Antonio.
For a moment, I just stared at his name.
Then answered.
“Uncle.”
“Nicholas.”
His voice was calm.
Warm.
Exactly as always.
“I heard something happened with Frank.”
“Who told you?”
“People talk.”
“Too much.”
A brief silence.
“You missed your Alvarez meeting.”
“Yes.”
“Rafael is insulted.”
“He'll survive.”
“This isn't the time to be careless.”
Interesting choice of word.
“I'm dealing with something.”
“Anything I can help with?”
I looked at Sarah's files.
“Do you know Sarah Carter?”
Silence.
Not long.
But long enough.
“Foundation accountant?”
“Yes.”
“I met her a few times.”
“When?”
“At board meetings.”
“She disappeared.”
“I hadn't heard.”
Lie.
I knew instantly.
Antonio was many things.
A good liar wasn't one of them when speaking to me.
He'd always relied on my affection more than his skill.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“Her children are with me.”
This time, silence stretched longer.
“Nicholas.”
Something changed in his tone.
“Why?”
“I found them.”
“Where?”
“Street.”
“What were they doing?”
The question was wrong.
Not Are they safe?
Not What happened?
Where.
“What does it matter?”
“I was curious.”
“You're rarely curious without purpose.”
He exhaled.
“Don't become paranoid.”
“I'm not.”
“You've sounded suspicious of everyone since your father died.”
“My father was poisoned.”
“And you found the man responsible.”
“Yes.”
What I didn't say was that Antonio had helped me.
He had given me names.
Evidence.
Advice.
He had guided my hand toward the traitor.
Suddenly I wondered whether that story had been complete.
“Come to dinner tonight,” Antonio said.
“No.”
A pause.
“You always come on Thursdays.”
“Tonight I'm busy.”
“Nicholas.”
“Yes?”
“Whatever Sarah Carter told you, remember frightened people often misunderstand what they see.”
I stood slowly.
“I never said she told me anything.”
Antonio said nothing.
Then:
“Good night, nephew.”
He hung up.
Dominic stared at me.
“He knows.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
I called the guest house.
Emma answered.
“Hello?”
“It's me.”
“You took forever.”
“Sorry.”
“Leo threw up.”
My heart jumped.
“Is he okay?”
“Doctor says medicine.”
“Good.”
Then her voice lowered.
“There's an old man here.”
Every muscle in my body locked.
“What old man?”
“He says he's your uncle.”
I was already moving.
“Emma, listen carefully. Where are the guards?”
“He's talking to them.”
“Go into the bedroom with Leo.”
“Why?”
“Lock the door.”
“Is he bad?”
I looked at Dominic.
He was grabbing his coat and weapon.
“I don't know yet.”
“That's not an answer.”
“Emma.”
She recognized my tone.
“Okay.”
“Take Leo.”
“He's sleeping.”
“Take him anyway.”
I heard movement.
Then Antonio's voice came faintly through the phone.
“Emma?”
She gasped.
The line disconnected.
We drove faster than I had driven since I was nineteen.
The guest house gate stood open.
Two guards were on the ground.
Alive.
Sedated.
Inside, the living room was empty.
“Emma!”
Nothing.
I ran upstairs.
The bedroom door was locked.
I hit it.
“Emma, it's Nicholas.”
Silence.
Then a tiny voice.
“Prove it.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
“What?”
“Mom said bad people pretend.”
I thought quickly.
“You sold forty-three candy bars this morning.”
The lock clicked.
Emma opened the door three inches.
Leo was in her arms.
I pushed inside.
“You okay?”
She nodded.
“He left.”
“Antonio?”
“I think.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Leo?”
“No.”
“What did he want?”
She held out something.
A photograph.
Antonio had left it on the bed.
The picture showed Sarah Carter alive.
Sitting in a chair.
Today's newspaper beside her.
Emma began crying.
“Mom.”
I turned the photo over.
A message had been written in black ink.
BRING SARAH'S LAPTOP TO THE OLD MORETTI WAREHOUSE.
MIDNIGHT.
COME ALONE OR HER CHILDREN BECOME ORPHANS.
Emma stared at me.
“You're going, right?”
“Yes.”
Dominic said immediately, “No.”
I looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
“That's exactly what he wants.”
“Sarah is alive.”
“And he knows you care now.”
Emma whispered, “Please.”
Dominic looked at her.
Then away.
I put the photograph inside my jacket.
“I'll go.”
“Nicholas.”
“Not alone.”
“You just said—”
“I'll let Antonio believe I am.”
Dominic understood.
I looked at Emma.
“Your mother is alive.”
“Bring her back.”
I nodded.
May you like
This time I didn't qualify the promise.
“I will.”
