Chapter 7 - What Our Fathers Buried
For the first time that night, Luca looked afraid.
Not for himself.
For the past.
We went to Daniel Reed’s office in the Loop.
Luca’s attorney had converted the top floor of an old insurance building into a fortress disguised as boring legal real estate.
He arrived in sweatpants beneath a wool coat and did not waste time asking why the four of us looked as though we had escaped a hostage situation.
He simply unlocked the door.
“Phones in the box.”
Vanessa hesitated.
Daniel looked at her.
“Especially yours.”
Twenty minutes later, he had seen the photographs.
The fake passports.
Teresa’s phone.
My father’s ledger page.
Anthony Moretti’s recording.
Daniel removed his glasses.
“I told you not to marry her.”
Vanessa stared.
“This feels like a strange moment for that victory lap.”
“It’s all I have.”
Luca cut in.
“Can you trace my father’s contact with Daniel Dawson?”
Daniel looked at me.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
His expression changed.
“I know that name.”
My heart stopped.
“How?”
He walked to an old filing cabinet.
Not digital.
Paper.
He searched for almost a minute.
Then removed a folder.
DANIEL DAWSON.
Inside was a letter.
My father had written it.
To Anthony Moretti.
I knew the handwriting.
Mr. Moretti,
If you are sincere about cooperating, I need documentation tying S.M. directly to the transfer accounts.
Without it, the state will not move.
You were right about one thing.
Someone inside my office is leaking information.
Until I identify that person, do not call me again.
I stared at the page.
“My father was investigating Salvatore.”
Daniel nodded.
“Apparently.”
Luca looked at him.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“This was in your files.”
“My predecessor represented your father.”
Daniel pointed to the date.
“I joined the firm six months later.”
Vanessa sat down.
“What happened to Claire’s father?”
I already knew the official answer.
Car accident.
Wet road.
Guardrail.
Instant death.
Daniel opened another document.
State police supplemental report.
There had been a witness.
A truck driver saw another vehicle behind my father moments before the crash.
Black Cadillac.
No plate recorded.
I thought of Salvatore’s old photographs.
Black Cadillacs everywhere.
My chest tightened.
Luca noticed.
He didn’t touch me.
I appreciated that.
He only said, “We don’t know what happened.”
“Don’t protect me from it.”
I answered.
“I’m not.”
His voice was quiet.
“I’m protecting the difference between suspicion and proof.”
That was the first moment I understood why people followed him.
Not because he was loud.
He almost never was.
Because when everyone else wanted certainty, Luca could survive inside doubt.
Daniel opened the Moretti trust documents.
“We need to understand the wedding deadline.”
Dominic leaned forward.
Daniel explained.
Anthony Moretti had built a succession clause after his wife’s death.
If Luca died unmarried, interim control of family voting shares passed to an executive committee.
Dominic chaired it.
If Luca married, his spouse received temporary control until any estate dispute was resolved.
If both Luca and Dominic became unavailable before a valid marriage, trusteeship passed to the senior surviving Moretti family representative.
Salvatore.
Vanessa looked sick.
“He set all of us against each other.”
Daniel nodded.
“He created three possible paths.”
“Luca dies before the wedding.”
“Dominic becomes the obvious beneficiary.”
“Luca dies after the wedding.”
“You become the obvious beneficiary.”
“Luca and Dominic turn on each other.”
“Salvatore steps in.”
Dominic laughed bitterly.
“He didn’t care which one worked.”
“No.”
Daniel closed the file.
“He only needed one.”
My phone rang inside the secured box.
Everyone froze.
Daniel checked the number.
Unknown.
Luca nodded.
I answered on speaker.
“Hello?”
A weak voice whispered.
“Claire?”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“Teresa?”
Vanessa stood.
Dominic turned toward the windows.
Teresa sounded exhausted.
“I don’t have long.”
“Where are you?”
“A motel.”
“What motel?”
“I don’t know.”
“Teresa—”
“Listen.”
I heard traffic.
A train horn.
Then her breathing.
“The accounts aren’t the real thing.”
Luca leaned closer.
“What does that mean?”
Teresa heard him.
“Mr. Moretti?”
“Yes.”
“The fifty-two million wasn’t stolen.”
Dominic frowned.
“What?”
“It was moved.”
“For what?”
She began crying.
“To pay people.”
“What people?”
“Judges.”
“Police.”
“Inspectors.”
“Union officials.”
“Politicians.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Teresa continued.
“The ledger is evidence of everything.”
“Where is it?”
Luca asked.
“I copied it.”
“Where?”
“In a safe-deposit box.”
“Which bank?”
She gave an address.
Daniel wrote it down.
Then Teresa whispered, “But there’s something worse.”
I looked at Luca.
“What?”
“The payments didn’t start with Salvatore.”
The room went silent.
Teresa took a trembling breath.
“They started with Anthony Moretti.”
Luca’s face froze.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“The original ledger has his signature.”
Luca stared at nothing.
The hero in one recording had just become something else again.
Teresa spoke quickly.
“Salvatore didn’t build the system.”
“He inherited it.”
“And now he’s trying to erase everyone who can prove that.”
A sound exploded through the phone.
A door opening.
Teresa gasped.
“No.”
“Teresa?”
Footsteps.
Then a man’s voice.
Far away.
“Phone.”
The line went dead.
I whispered her name.
Nothing.
Then a text arrived from Teresa’s number.
Only an address.
And underneath it:
COME ALONE OR SHE DOESN’T WALK OUT.
Luca read it.
Dominic looked at him.
“You’re not going alone.”
Luca put on his coat.
May you like
“Yes.”
He was.
