Chapter 3 - Mrs. Moretti Breaks the Rules
The wedding happened forty-eight hours later.
No cathedral.
No society reporters.
No flowers.
Just a Manhattan judge, two lawyers, Maya, Silas, and a marriage certificate.
When the judge said, “You may kiss your bride,” Clara immediately answered:
“No.”
The judge blinked.
Lorenzo looked amused.
“Contract?”
“Contract.”
“Understood.”
He kissed her cheek instead.
Three photographs were released to the press.
By lunchtime, Manhattan had a new obsession.
LORENZO MORETTI SECRETLY MARRIES MYSTERY WAITRESS.
By dinner, reporters knew Clara’s old address.
By midnight, they knew where she went to high school.
The next morning, Clara walked into the Moretti Foundation.
The director, Evelyn Shaw, looked horrified.
“You’re actually here.”
“I have an interview.”
“You’re Mrs. Moretti.”
“That isn’t a qualification.”
Evelyn stared.
Then smiled.
“Sit down.”
Clara got an entry-level position in family assistance.
Within a week, she discovered something Lorenzo had missed.
His foundation was paying enormous invoices to three “community housing contractors.”
Clara dropped the files on Lorenzo’s desk.
“These are fake.”
Lorenzo looked up.
“You’ve worked there six days.”
“And?”
“My auditors have worked for me six years.”
“Then your auditors need glasses.”
Lorenzo opened the first file.
Clara pointed.
“Same apartment photographs. Different addresses.”
He looked closer.
She opened another.
“Same repair invoices. Different families.”
Lorenzo’s face became still.
“How much?”
“Almost two million dollars.”
He pressed the intercom.
“Silas.”
Silas entered.
“Find me Victor Kane.”
Clara frowned.
“Who?”
“My foundation’s financial director.”
“Don’t scare him.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You have a face.”
“I have one face.”
“Exactly.”
Silas turned away, hiding a smile.
Later that evening, Lorenzo found Clara in the penthouse kitchen eating cereal.
“You were right.”
She looked up.
“About?”
“Victor Kane.”
“How bad?”
“He was stealing.”
“Are you firing him?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Lorenzo sat opposite her.
“Bellini financed the shell companies.”
Clara stopped chewing.
“My father.”
“We found something.”
Lorenzo slid an old photograph across the counter.
Daniel Vance stood outside a bank beside Victor Kane.
Clara whispered, “They knew each other.”
“Your father discovered the same scheme five years ago.”
Clara looked at Lorenzo.
“And nobody listened.”
“Apparently not.”
“Because he was nobody.”
Lorenzo did not answer.
Clara pushed the cereal away.
“My father spent his life telling me numbers don’t lie. People do.”
“We’ll find what he copied.”
“How?”
“We searched your old apartment.”
Her head snapped up.
“You what?”
“My men—”
“Without asking me?”
“They were protecting—”
“No.”
Clara stood.
Lorenzo stood too.
“Clara.”
“You don’t get to invade my life every time you decide it’s convenient.”
“Bellini is looking for evidence.”
“And that makes everything yours?”
“I am trying to keep you alive.”
“And I’m trying to remain a person.”
The words landed harder than shouting.
Lorenzo said nothing.
Clara walked away.
Ten minutes later, Maya entered the kitchen.
Lorenzo was still standing there.
“You messed up?”
“Yes.”
“Did you apologize?”
Lorenzo looked genuinely offended.
“I protect people.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He stared at the teenager.
“You’re very much like your sister.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Still taking it.”
Maya opened the refrigerator.
Then stopped.
“Dad never kept important things at home.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“What?”
“He always said the safest place was somewhere nobody valued.”
“Where?”
Maya slowly smiled.
May you like
“Clara’s old waitress locker.”
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