Chapter 5 - THE MILLIONAIRE WHO WANTED A CHILD|
Brandon Wells was not accustomed to being frightened.
He had spent twenty years building a public image as a successful developer who rescued failing properties and transformed neglected neighborhoods into luxury districts. Newspapers praised his charitable donations. Politicians attended his fundraisers. Investors treated his word as a guarantee.
Few people knew that several of his most profitable projects had been financed through companies connected to men who preferred not to appear on paper.
Franco Richetti knew.
For eighteen months, the two men had maintained an uneasy business arrangement. Wells provided legitimate investment channels. Franco's shipping companies provided the infrastructure that moved goods across borders. The arrangement had been profitable until Franco discovered that Wells was redirecting payments to a rival group.
Then Wells had made a mistake.
He had threatened Franco's younger brother.
The threat became a shooting. The shooting became a war. And the war ended with Franco's brother dead and Wells believing that the Richetti family had lost its most vulnerable secret.
He had been wrong about the secret.
He had been wrong about the family.
At his penthouse, Wells stood before the windows overlooking Central Park while his security chief placed a folder on the desk.
“We confirmed the boy's identity,” the man said.
Wells opened the folder.
Tyler Cooper.
Six years old. Born in New York. Raised by Samantha Cooper, a waitress with no criminal record and few financial resources.
There was no father listed on the birth certificate.
Wells smiled.
“So the ghost left an heir.”
“Apparently.”
“Does Richetti know?”
“We believe he suspects it.”
Wells closed the file.
“Suspicion makes people reckless. Certainty makes them predictable.”
He walked toward the bar and poured himself a drink.
“Find out where they're staying. I want the boy's routine, his doctor, everyone he speaks to. No contact unless I authorize it.”
“What's the objective?”
Wells looked out at the city.
“Leverage.”
The next morning, Samantha received a call from Marello's manager. He claimed the restaurant had reviewed security footage and discovered that she had violated several workplace policies.
“You are suspended pending investigation,” he told her.
“What policies?”
“Bringing a child into the restaurant without authorization, disrupting a customer's dinner, and damaging company property.”
“Brandon Wells broke the glass.”
“That is not our concern.”
She almost laughed at the absurdity.
“Who told you to do this?”
“We're ending the conversation now, Samantha.”
The call disconnected.
Her job was gone. Her income was gone. And the landlord had already left two messages asking when she intended to pay the balance.
Franco listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he offered to cover her lost wages.
“No,” she said.
“Then let me have my attorney challenge the suspension.”
“No.”
“Your rent—”
“I said no!”
Tyler looked up from his drawing.
Samantha lowered her voice immediately.
“I'm sorry, sweetheart.”
Franco waited until the boy returned to his crayons.
“You don't have to accept money from me,” he said. “But you shouldn't have to choose between protecting your son and buying groceries.”
“I've been doing both for six years.”
“And you've done an extraordinary job.”
She looked at him sharply, unprepared for the sincerity.
He continued.
“Your courage isn't in question. The situation is.”
Samantha sank into a chair.
“Why does Brandon care about Tyler?”
Franco hesitated.
“Because Wells believes my family is built around power and inheritance. He thinks a child gives him something he can use to control me.”
“Does he?”
Franco looked toward the bedroom.
“He can hurt me through Tyler. That's not the same as controlling me.”
Samantha hated the implication.
“He is not your weakness.”
“No,” Franco said. “He's a child who deserves to be safe.”
That afternoon, an envelope arrived from Marello's. Inside was Samantha's final paycheck and a photograph taken through the restaurant window the previous Thursday.
The image showed Franco watching Tyler.
Someone had circled the boy's face in red ink.
Across the bottom, a message had been typed.
Tell Richetti to hand over the port contracts, or the next photograph will be taken at a funeral.
Samantha read it once.
Then she handed it to Franco.
May you like
His face became frighteningly calm.
“Luca,” he said, “cancel every meeting. We have a war to end.”
