Chapter 3 - “Why would they care about me?”
“Because you saw me.”
“I saw you bleeding in an alley.”
“You also saw the men who came for me.”
“I barely looked at them.”
“I know.”
I stood.
“Does Claire know?”
“No.”
“Vincent?”
“Yes.”
“Are you having me watched?”
Silence.
“Roman.”
“Yes.”
Anger flooded me.
“No.”
“Megan—”
“No. You do not get to put men outside my apartment.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then what?”
“A car has been watching your block from a distance.”
“That is the same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“To me it is.”
I paced.
“You should have told me.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“After how long?”
“Four days.”
“Four days?”
“I wanted confirmation.”
“Of what?”
“That the questions were real.”
“Who was asking?”
“A man named Stephen Kesler.”
I stopped.
Kesler.
David.
“My old manager?”
“His brother.”
I stared at the wall.
“Why would David’s brother care?”
“That is what I’m trying to determine.”
Then Roman said something that made the room feel colder.
“Stephen Kesler worked for my company eleven years ago.”
“What company?”
“Moretti Property Group.”
“What did he do?”
“Accounting.”
“And?”
“He was fired after money disappeared from several renovation projects.”
“How much?”
“Almost four million dollars.”
My mouth went dry.
“Was he prosecuted?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Roman was silent too long.
“Roman.”
“Because my father handled it privately.”
I didn’t like the phrase.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Stephen returned part of the money and disappeared.”
“And your father let him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I never understood.”
I thought about David.
Laura.
The building Roman owned.
The alley behind it.
“Did you know David was Stephen’s brother?”
“No.”
“Until?”
“Yesterday.”
My heart beat faster.
“Roman, why were you behind Laura the night I found you?”
Silence.
I already knew I wasn’t going to like the answer.
Finally:
“Because someone sent me records showing money is disappearing from my properties again.”
I closed my eyes.
“And you thought Stephen was involved.”
“Yes.”
“Was he the person you were meeting?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“My accountant.”
“What happened to him?”
“He never arrived.”
“Where is he now?”
Roman didn’t answer.
“Roman?”
“We can’t find him.”
The room seemed suddenly too quiet.
I thought about the kitchen.
David throwing my paycheck.
Roman appearing.
Stephen asking about me.
“Does David know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you asked him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if he is involved, asking warns him.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“This is insane.”
“Yes.”
“I have a child.”
“I know.”
“Then I want nothing to do with this.”
“I know.”
“No, Roman. I mean it.”
“So do I.”
His voice was quiet.
“I called because you deserve the truth.”
I looked toward Leo’s bedroom.
“What do I do?”
“Nothing different tonight.”
“And tomorrow?”
“I’ll arrange—”
“No armed men.”
Pause.
“All right.”
“No surveillance without telling me.”
“All right.”
“If there’s a real threat, police.”
Another pause.
“Roman.”
“Yes.”
“Police.”
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because this stopped being only my problem when someone asked about you.”
I sat down.
“Good.”
Then he added:
“Megan.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That stopping to save me followed you home.”
I closed my eyes.
“I made that choice.”
“Yes.”
“And I would make it again.”
He went silent.
“Don’t make me regret saying that.”
“I’ll try.”
The next morning, two detectives came to the Langford.
Roman had contacted them.
That mattered too.
I answered every question.
Told them everything.
Then I returned to work.
For three days, nothing happened.
On the fourth, Claire called me upstairs.
Roman was waiting.
So was Vincent.
And a woman I didn’t know.
“This is Detective Sarah Kim.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
Detective Kim placed a photograph on the table.
A man in his fifties.
Thin face.
Wire-frame glasses.
“Do you recognize him?”
“No.”
Roman said:
“That’s Daniel Cross.”
“My accountant?”
“The one who disappeared?”
“Yes.”
Detective Kim looked at me.
“He was found this morning.”
My chest tightened.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
Relief.
“He checked himself into a hospital in Milwaukee.”
“Why?”
“He’d been hiding.”
“From whom?”
She opened a folder.
“Mr. Cross says he discovered a long-running financial scheme involving commercial properties owned by Moretti Property Group.”
I looked at Roman.
His jaw was tight.
Detective Kim continued.
“He claims the scheme predates Mr. Moretti’s leadership and began under his father.”
“How does David fit?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“And Stephen?”
“We’re investigating.”
Roman slid a photocopy toward me.
It was an old invoice.
Eleven years old.
At the bottom was a signature.
Anthony Moretti.
Roman’s father.
Beside it:
Stephen Kesler.
And beneath both names, handwritten in faded blue ink:
Evelyn Bennett.
I stared.
My mother’s name.
My mother, who had died when I was seventeen.
My mother, who had worked nights for years and never told me much about the office job she’d held before she got sick.
My fingers went cold.
“No.”
Roman watched me.
“What?”
I pointed.
“That’s my mother.”
Nobody spoke.
Detective Kim looked from me to the paper.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
Roman’s face changed.
“Megan…”
I picked up the document.
At the top was the address of the property.
I recognized it.
Laura.
The building where I had been fired.
The building Roman owned.
The building behind which I’d found him bleeding.
Eleven years earlier, my mother had signed a financial authorization involving that same property.
I turned the page.
There was a handwritten note attached.
Only one sentence.
If Anthony refuses to tell Roman what really happened, give this to the Bennett girl when she is old enough.
I stopped breathing.
Roman stared at the note.
Then at me.
His voice was barely audible.
“My father knew your mother.”
And suddenly the alley no longer felt like the beginning of our story.
It felt like the place where something unfinished from eleven years ago had finally found us.
“My father knew your mother.”
Roman said it again.
Slower this time.
As though repetition might make the sentence easier to understand.
It didn’t.
I stared at the faded document.
Evelyn Bennett.
My mother’s handwriting.
I knew it from birthday cards.
Grocery lists.
The little notes she used to leave in my school lunches.
Good luck on your test.
Don’t forget your sweater.
Love you bigger than the sky.
She had been dead twelve years.
And somehow her name had been waiting inside the financial records of Roman Moretti’s family.
“What did she do for your father?”
I asked.
Roman looked at Vincent.
Vincent shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
I looked at Detective Kim.
“You?”
“We’re still establishing that.”
“Then who does know?”
Roman answered.
“Possibly my mother.”
I turned.
“Your mother is alive?”
“Yes.”
“You never mentioned her.”
“You never asked.”
“That seems to be everyone’s favorite excuse lately.”
He accepted that.
“Where is she?”
“Lake Forest.”
“Call her.”
Roman hesitated.
That was the first time I had ever seen him genuinely reluctant to do something.
“Roman.”
“My mother hasn’t been involved with the business in years.”
“I don’t care.”
“She and my father separated before he died.”
“Still don’t care.”
His gray eyes met mine.
“My mother’s health isn’t good.”
That stopped me.
“What does that mean?”
“Heart condition.”
My anger lowered.
Not disappeared.
Lowered.
“Then don’t drag her here.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Call her.”
He did.
Her name was Isabella Moretti.
She answered on the third ring.
Roman put the call on speaker after explaining I was present.
“Roman?”
Her voice was softer than I expected.
“Yes.”
“You sound serious.”
“I need to ask about someone.”
“All right.”
“Evelyn Bennett.”
Silence.
Long silence.
Then:
“Where did you hear that name?”
Roman looked at me.
“Her daughter is sitting beside me.”
Another silence.
Then Isabella whispered:
“Megan?”
My entire body went cold.
“You know my name.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I closed my eyes.
Nobody had called me sweetheart in my mother’s tone since I was seventeen.
“How do you know me?”
“I knew Evelyn.”
“How?”
“She worked for Anthony.”
Roman leaned closer.
“Doing what?”
“Books.”
“Accounting?”
“Not exactly.”
Isabella sighed.
“Your father trusted numbers more than people. Evelyn understood both.”
I looked at Roman.
“What does that mean?”
His mother continued.
“Evelyn started as an accounts clerk. She was very good. Too good, perhaps.”
“What did she find?”
Silence.
“Mrs. Moretti?”
“Call me Isabella.”
“What did my mother find?”
“A theft.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“Stephen Kesler?”
“Partly.”
“Partly?”
Isabella took a breath.
“Stephen wasn’t stealing alone.”
“Who?”
“Anthony.”
Roman went still.
I looked at him.
His face emptied.
Not anger.
Something deeper.
Disappointment arriving years late.
“My father stole from his own company?”
“No.”
Isabella’s answer came quickly.
“He moved money.”
“That’s stealing.”
“Sometimes.”
Roman’s voice hardened.
“Mother.”
“Let me explain.”
We waited.
“Your father inherited buildings with debts attached to people you would not have wanted as creditors.”
There it was.
The shadow around the Moretti name.
Isabella didn’t pretend otherwise.
“Anthony spent years trying to separate legitimate properties from obligations created by his father and uncles.”
Roman looked down.
“I knew some of that.”
“Not all.”
“No.”
“Stephen Kesler managed several renovation accounts. He discovered the old obligations and began diverting money for himself, assuming Anthony couldn’t report him without exposing the other arrangements.”
“So he blackmailed him.”
“Yes.”
“And Evelyn discovered it.”
“Yes.”
My heart beat harder.
“What did my mother do?”
“She told Anthony.”
“Then?”
“He asked her to help reconstruct the accounts.”
“Why her?”
“Because she was honest.”
That word hurt.
“She was.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because Anthony offered her money to stay quiet.”
I closed my eyes.
“And?”
“She refused.”
Of course she did.
“She told him she’d help fix the records only if he ended the old arrangements.”
Roman asked:
“Did he?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually isn’t an answer.”
“No, Roman. Not immediately.”
May you like
His jaw tightened.
“Why?”
Related Stories
