Chapter 7 - The Man Who Tried to Buy a Dead Brother's Dream
The footsteps came from the rear corridor.
Lucian moved in front of me automatically.
I caught the sleeve of his coat.
“Don't,” I whispered.
He looked back. “Don't what?”
“Decide I'm a problem to be hidden.”
His expression flickered.
Then he nodded and positioned us beside the work lights where we could see the entrance.
A man appeared in the doorway, followed by a woman carrying a leather briefcase.
The man was perhaps forty, tall, with expensive shoes completely unsuited to the dust covering the theater floor.
“Mr. Moretti,” he said. “I was hoping we'd find you here.”
Lucian's voice became cold.
“Identify yourself.”
“Daniel Vale. Harbor Meridian Restoration.”
The woman raised her hand slightly. “Claire Bennett. Counsel.”
I glanced at Lucian.
He didn't look surprised.
“Your father administered my brother's trust,” Lucian said.
Daniel nodded. “And I'd like to clear up a misunderstanding before it becomes public.”
“Interesting choice of venue.”
“You haven't returned my calls.”
“You haven't made any.”
Daniel's smile disappeared.
Claire opened the briefcase.
“We have documents indicating that certain assets connected to the Montrose were transferred through an entity formerly controlled by Moretti Holdings. We believe the transaction may have been improper.”
“Then send them to my attorney,” Lucian said.
“We did,” Claire replied. “Yesterday.”
I looked at Daniel. “Did you send the anonymous messages?”
He studied me as though noticing me for the first time.
“Ms. Carter. I was told you were an artist.”
“I'm also capable of asking questions.”
Claire's mouth twitched.
Daniel ignored it. “I wanted Mr. Moretti to understand the emotional significance of the property.”
“By using a dead man's hospital bracelet?” I asked.
Lucian turned toward him.
Daniel's expression told us enough.
“You used Gabriel's name to pressure me,” Lucian said.
“I used information you should have known.”
“That's not the same thing.”
Claire stepped forward. “Mr. Vale, I advised against those messages.”
Daniel shot her a look.
And just like that, the balance in the room changed.
Lucian held out his hand.
“Documents.”
Claire gave him a folder. He read without speaking, his expression growing more severe.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A disputed transfer,” he answered. “My father's company borrowed against Gabriel's trust. The funds were supposedly repaid, but the repayment came through an asset sale to Harbor Meridian.”
Daniel spread his hands.
“Which means my company holds an interest in the theater's development rights.”
“Not necessarily,” Claire said sharply.
Daniel turned. “You're my lawyer.”
“And I'm telling you the documents do not establish that conclusion.”
Lucian looked at her with new interest.
“Then why are you here?”
“Because my client intends to file a civil claim unless we reach a resolution.”
“What resolution?” I asked.
Daniel looked toward the auditorium.
“Sell us the Montrose. We'll complete the renovation. Mr. Moretti can keep the naming rights and a seat on the advisory board.”
I almost laughed.
“You want the building,” I said.
“I want a commercially viable project.”
“And Gabriel wanted an arts program.”
Daniel shrugged. “People want many things.”
Lucian took one step forward.
I felt the change in him before he spoke.
“My brother was a person,” he said quietly. “Not a negotiating tactic.”
Daniel looked uncomfortable for the first time.
Lucian handed the folder back.
“Your attorney can speak to mine. You will not contact Amelia or my mother again. And you will not enter this property without permission.”
“You may not own it outright,” Daniel said.
“Then we'll settle that in court.”
Claire closed the briefcase.
“That's probably the sensible course,” she said.
Daniel glared at her.
They left without another word.
Only after their footsteps faded did I realize how hard I was gripping Lucian's hand.
He looked at me.
“Are you all right?”
“I'm angry.”
“So am I.”
“Not at you.”
“That makes one of us.”
He turned toward the trunk.
Gabriel's envelope lay untouched inside.
For a long time Lucian stared at it.
Then he sat on the edge of the stage and opened the letter.
I stayed beside him.
Luc,
If this reaches you, please don't turn it into another assignment you have to complete perfectly.
I know what Dad expects from you. I know what you expect from yourself. Sometimes I think you both forgot you were allowed to want anything.
Remember when we sneaked into the Montrose after that awful school recital? You told me the ceiling looked like a sky somebody had built indoors. You were seventeen and already planning how to fix the plaster.
You looked happy.
I want you to have that feeling again.
I don't need you to save the building. I need you to know you can choose a life that isn't an apology for somebody else's mistakes.
And Luc? Answer the phone when Mom calls. She's annoying, but she's our annoying.
Love,
Gabe
Lucian lowered the letter.
His eyes were wet.
I had never seen him cry.
Not at the hospital. Not during Francesca's return. Not even when he first saw Gabriel's portrait.
Now a single tear moved down his cheek.
“I remember that night,” he said.
“Tell me.”
“The school hired a terrible magician. Gabriel stole the man's fake rabbit.”
I blinked. “He stole a rabbit?”
“A stuffed one. He said the magician didn't deserve it.”
I laughed.
Lucian looked down at the letter.
“I spent years thinking his last request was to find you. To fix myself. To make up for missing that call.”
“Maybe he wanted you to stop treating love like a debt.”
He looked at me.
“That's annoyingly insightful.”
“Treatment side effect.”
He laughed quietly.
We carried the letters and model out of the theater. At home, Lucian called his legal team and ordered an independent review of every transaction connected to the trust. He also asked for an outside forensic accountant, someone who had never worked for his father.
I was proud of him for the second part.
The first was simply sensible.
Three days later, I had a medical appointment.
Dr. Shah studied my blood work, then asked how I had been sleeping.
“Badly,” I admitted.
“Pain?”
“Not much. Mostly thoughts.”
He nodded.
My scans were still stable, but one inflammatory marker had risen. It might mean nothing serious. It might require a treatment adjustment. More tests were scheduled.
There was a time when I would have treated uncertainty as a personal failure.
Instead, I asked questions, wrote down the answers, and called Evelyn afterward.
She listened without interrupting.
“Want me there for the next appointment?” she asked.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Really?”
“Yes, Evie. I want my sister.”
She was quiet for a moment.
Then said, “I'll bring terrible magazines.”
“Please do.”
That evening, Lucian arrived carrying a paper bag.
“Dinner?” I asked.
“Something better.”
Inside were two cheap tickets to an old musical screening in Queens.
I stared at them.
“You bought tickets?”
“Yes.”
“Like a normal person?”
“I used a website.”
“Without purchasing the theater?”
“Amelia.”
I kissed him.
He looked surprised, which was becoming one of my favorite things.
We went to the screening. Lucian knew every song, although he refused to sing. I caught him mouthing the words twice.
Afterward, we walked beneath streetlights while rain collected on the pavement.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
“About the tests?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
He waited.
“But I don't want fear to be the only thing we talk about.”
“Then what do you want to talk about?”
I considered.
“Your terrible taste in musicals.”
“It is excellent taste.”
“The leading man sang to a staircase.”
“It was a metaphor.”
“Of course it was.”
He smiled.
Then his phone rang.
His attorney.
The independent accountant had uncovered something.
The four-million-dollar trust loan had been repaid years ago. But the records showed a second transaction after Gabriel's death: a forged authorization transferring part of the trust's remaining assets into Harbor Meridian.
The signature belonged to Francesca.
Except Francesca had never signed it.
Lucian listened in silence.
Then asked, “Who witnessed the document?”
He heard the answer.
His face went white.
“Martin Vale,” he said.
Daniel's father.
And according to the accountant, the money had funded the acquisition of a different property—one that was now worth nearly thirty million dollars.
For the first time, the threat made sense.
Daniel hadn't come to the theater because he believed Gabriel owned it.
He had come because an investigation of Gabriel's trust could expose what his family had taken.
Lucian ended the call.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“We report the evidence and let the attorneys do their jobs.”
I blinked.
“No threats? No men in dark coats?”
“Disappointed?”
“Immensely.”
He took my hand.
“I spent fourteen years believing power meant making people afraid.”
“And now?”
He looked at me beneath the streetlight.
“Now I'm trying to learn what it means to make people safe.”
I leaned against him.
For one beautiful minute, that was enough.
Then my phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
The message contained a photograph of the unfinished Montrose stage.
Under it were five words.
TELL LUCIAN TO STOP DIGGING.
I showed him.
He didn't reach for his own phone.
He looked directly at me.
“Do you want to go home?”
I took a breath.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
May you like
We walked toward the car together.
But this time, I was the one who looked back.
