Chapter 10 - The Price of Keeping Someone Alive
The photograph of Isabella Ferretti holding a baby should have made Dominic happy.
Instead, it nearly broke him.
We met the following morning at a legal-aid office arranged through Detective Shaw, where an independent attorney had agreed to advise me about my rights as a witness.
Her name was Nadia Brooks.
She was forty-two, sharp-eyed, and unimpressed by expensive suits.
Dominic arrived with Gabriel and a lawyer of his own.
Nadia immediately separated us.
"Before anyone discusses evidence, I want something understood."
Dominic nodded.
"Go ahead."
"Miss Bennett is not your employee."
"I know."
"She is not your investigator."
"Agreed."
"And she will not be pressured into reviewing documents, visiting dangerous locations, or providing information outside the proper investigative process."
Dominic looked at me.
"Agreed."
Nadia continued.
"If your interests conflict, she will be advised independently."
"Of course."
I almost smiled.
For the first time since the dinner, someone in a room with Dominic Rinaldi was giving orders and he was listening.
Nadia turned toward me.
"Are you comfortable continuing?"
"Yes."
"Then we'll talk."
Dominic placed the photograph on the table.
His hand trembled.
Only slightly.
But I noticed.
"That's Isabella," he said.
He touched the image without covering her face.
"And that's Sofia."
For several seconds, he couldn't continue.
Gabriel looked away.
I waited.
Finally, Dominic spoke.
"I met Isabella in Boston."
"We were both twenty-three."
"She was studying art history."
"Her family wanted her to work in finance."
"She hated business."
I watched his face.
"Did you love her?"
"Yes."
The answer was immediate.
"What happened?"
"My father found out."
"He disapproved?"
"He thought the Ferretti family was trying to get close to us."
"Was he right?"
"About some of them."
Dominic looked down.
"But not about Isabella."
"Why did she leave?"
"She told me she needed time."
"And then?"
"She vanished."
"Did you look for her?"
"For years."
"What did her family say?"
"That she'd returned to Italy."
"And later?"
"That she'd died."
I studied him.
"Did you believe them?"
"I didn't know what else to believe."
I looked at the baby in the photograph.
"And you never knew she was pregnant."
He shook his head.
"Never."
Silence.
Then Nadia asked, "When did you first hear about Sofia?"
Dominic looked up.
"Nine months ago."
"From whom?"
"Celeste."
"How?"
"She brought me a private investigator's report."
"What did the report say?"
"That Isabella had given birth."
"That Sofia was alive."
"And that locating her would require cooperation with Vetro Capital."
Nadia's expression hardened.
"Cooperation involving the agreement you nearly signed?"
"Yes."
I stared at him.
"Dominic."
He looked at me.
"Did you agree to transfer control of your European companies because Celeste promised to find your daughter?"
He swallowed.
"Yes."
The room went silent.
I felt something shift inside me.
Until then, I had seen Dominic as a man surrounded by wealth and danger.
A powerful figure whose life had somehow collided with mine.
But in that moment, I saw a father who had discovered he might have a daughter and then allowed his desperation to become a weapon someone else could use.
"Did Celeste know Isabella personally?" I asked.
"Yes."
"How well?"
"They moved in the same circles."
"Did she ever tell you?"
"No."
"Not when you married?"
"No."
"Not during your marriage?"
"Never."
I stared at him.
"How long have you been married?"
"Eleven years."
I shook my head.
"She kept that from you for eleven years."
Dominic said nothing.
He didn't need to.
Nadia asked for a copy of the disputed agreement.
Dominic's lawyer supplied an authenticated working draft.
I examined the Italian appendix under her supervision.
The language was more disturbing than I remembered.
The disputed provision wasn't merely a clause allowing delegated authority to survive death or incapacity.
It formed part of a much larger sequence.
Several provisions had been drafted to activate after specified corporate certifications.
One referred to beneficiary verification.
Another to contingent succession rights.
And a third to a named individual whose identity had been concealed in the English summary.
I pointed to the line.
"Here."
Nadia leaned closer.
"What is it?"
"The original Italian refers to a designated heir."
Dominic's face changed.
"An heir?"
"Yes."
"Whose?"
"The text doesn't say."
His lawyer frowned.
"The English summary describes a contingency beneficiary."
"That's incomplete," I said.
Nadia looked at the paragraph.
"Can you explain the difference?"
"A beneficiary can receive rights under an agreement."
"But the Italian language suggests this person's status is tied to a succession claim."
Dominic leaned forward.
"Sofia."
I shook my head.
"We can't assume that."
"But it could be."
"Yes."
I turned another page.
A name appeared in a referenced schedule.
Not Sofia.
Not Isabella.
A different name.
Elena B.
My breath caught.
Nadia noticed.
"Mara?"
I stared at the letters.
Elena B.
My mother's name was Elena Bennett.
The attached schedule was missing from the draft.
I looked at Dominic.
"Why is my mother referenced in this agreement?"
He went pale.
"I don't know."
Nadia immediately reached for the document.
"We need to stop and verify that reference."
I nodded.
But something inside me had already begun to unravel.
Because my mother had received money from companies connected to Vetro.
Because Lucia had asked about my education.
Because someone had selected me for Dominic's dinner.
And because a document connected to his missing daughter now appeared to contain my mother's initials.
Then Dominic's attorney received a message.
He read it.
His face tightened.
"Mr. Rinaldi."
Dominic looked up.
"What?"
"The hospital just contacted the police."
My stomach dropped.
"Daniel?"
The attorney nodded.
"He's awake."
I pressed a hand against my chest.
"Thank God."
But the attorney wasn't finished.
"He says he remembers who handed him the bottle."
Dominic stood.
"Who?"
The attorney looked at me.
May you like
Then at Nadia.
"He says it was Mara Bennett."
