Chapter 5 - Fifty-Two Thousand Four Hundred and Ten
The investigation lasted six weeks.
It spread beyond the Moretti estate.
Charities.
Hospitals.
Shell corporations.
Politicians.
Accountants.
Rocco and Salvatore had used nonprofit medical foundations to move millions while threatening anyone who discovered the operation.
Anthony discovered it.
My mother helped him collect proof.
Anthony died first.
My mother escaped.
Cancer found her before Salvatore did.
And somehow, even while dying, she had protected me.
The hardest discovery came from Carmine.
He summoned me to his office one afternoon.
I remained employed at the estate temporarily, though everything felt different.
Nobody called me “the girl” anymore.
Probably because Carmine had fired two people for doing it.
He slid an envelope toward me.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Inside was a statement.
Balance: $0.
I stared.
Then looked at him.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Carmine.”
“The debt wasn’t legitimate.”
“What?”
“The collection agency handling your mother’s account was controlled through one of Salvatore’s companies.”
I felt cold.
“They were using her medical debt?”
“To pressure her.”
“But she’s dead.”
“They transferred the pressure to you.”
I looked at the statement again.
“So the fifty-two thousand—”
“Fabricated fees, inflated balances, illegal transfers.”
I sat slowly.
“For eleven months, I worked here because of a debt that wasn’t real.”
“Yes.”
Anger hit before relief.
I threw the envelope at him.
“You knew?”
“Not until yesterday.”
“You own half the companies involved!”
“Indirectly.”
“That doesn’t make it better!”
“No.”
I stood.
“My mother died thinking she owed them.”
“I know.”
“She apologized to me!”
Carmine said nothing.
“She apologized for leaving me debt!”
My voice broke.
“And none of it was real.”
Carmine came around the desk.
Then stopped several feet away.
He had learned that distance mattered.
“I’m sorry.”
“That doesn’t fix it.”
“No.”
“Stop agreeing with me!”
“All right.”
I glared at him.
His mouth almost moved.
“Do not smile.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m terrified.”
That actually made me laugh.
I hated him for it.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Carmine placed another folder on the desk.
“What now?”
“Your wages.”
“My wages?”
“You were underpaid.”
“I knew that.”
“I didn’t.”
He opened the folder.
“Mrs. Bell’s payroll system was controlled by Salvatore’s people. Household workers were paid off-book so money could be skimmed.”
I stared at the number.
Back wages.
Overtime.
Penalties.
It was more money than I had ever possessed.
“This is too much.”
“No. It’s what you were owed.”
“You’re paying everyone?”
“Every employee.”
“Even people who quit?”
“If we can find them.”
I looked at him.
Something about Carmine had changed since that night.
Or maybe I had finally started seeing him clearly.
“Why?”
He frowned.
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing all this?”
“Because it should have been done correctly the first time.”
“That’s not how men like you usually operate.”
“What are men like me?”
“Mafia bosses.”
He leaned against the desk.
“That direct?”
“You locked a door while I was bleeding.”
“To keep people out.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I know.”
“You terrified me.”
“I know.”
“And you’re still terrifying.”
“Less?”
I considered.
“Marginally.”
He nodded solemnly.
“Progress.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then I saw another document.
“What’s that?”
His expression changed.
“A resignation.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
I stared.
“From what?”
“The organizations my family controls.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’m restructuring legitimate businesses and cooperating with investigators on everything else.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
“Why tell me?”
“Because you deserve to know whether staying in this house puts you at risk.”
“Staying?”
“As an employee.”
Something about the way he said it made me look at him.
“And if I quit?”
“I’ll give you a reference.”
“That’s it?”
His eyes met mine.
“What else should there be?”
I didn’t know.
That bothered me.
So I picked up my folder.
“I’m quitting.”
Carmine’s face remained controlled.
“When?”
“Today.”
“All right.”
I reached the door.
“Claire.”
I turned.
He looked as if he wanted to say something.
Instead:
“You were never responsible for your mother’s debt.”
My throat tightened.
“I know.”
“No. I mean even if it had been real.”
I said nothing.
“You didn’t owe anyone your life because someone you loved got sick.”
For once, I had no answer.
May you like
I left before he could see me cry.
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