Chapter 4 - THE MAN AT THE DOORVictor did not shout.
That was what frightened me most.
He stood on the other side of the apartment door speaking in the same calm voice he used during business meetings.
“Tessa, open the door.”
She pressed one finger against her lips.
Noah pulled Eli behind the sofa.
I motioned for Marcus to stay quiet.
Victor knocked again.
“You know how this works.”
Tessa looked at me.
I whispered:
“Back exit?”
She nodded.
The apartment building was old.
There was a fire staircase behind the kitchen.
We moved quickly.
Marcus carried the metal box.
I carried the ledger.
Tessa held both boys.
We reached the kitchen.
Then Victor spoke again.
“I know Mr. Rossi is there.”
I stopped.
He knew.
How?
A crash came from the hallway.
The door had been forced.
Marcus drew his weapon.
“Move.”
We pushed through the rear door and ran down the stairs.
Snow fell in thick sheets.
We reached the alley.
An SUV waited.
Marcus opened the rear door.
“Inside.”
We climbed in.
The vehicle pulled away.
For the next five minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Noah said:
“He killed Mom.”
Tessa gasped.
“Noah!”
The boy's voice shook.
“She told me he came the night before she died.”
I looked at Tessa.
She couldn't meet my eyes.
“Is that true?”
“She was sick,” Tessa whispered.
“That's not an answer.”
“She had cancer.”
“I know.”
“She was getting worse.”
“What did she say about Victor?”
Tessa looked down.
“She said he wanted something.”
“What?”
“The trust.”
I frowned.
“What trust?”
She pointed at the ledger.
“Your father's trust.”
I had never heard of it.
My father had left me his company, a house, and a small collection of properties.
At least that's what I'd been told.
I turned to Marcus.
“Did you know about a Rossi family trust?”
“No.”
“Get a lawyer.”
He nodded.
The next morning, my attorney confirmed something shocking.
There had been a trust.
Created fifteen years before my father's death.
It contained nearly twenty-eight million dollars.
I stared at him.
“Where is it?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“On paper?”
“Yes.”
“It was liquidated eleven years ago.”
“By whom?”
He hesitated.
“Victor Hale.”
I stood so fast my chair struck the wall.
“How?”
“Power of attorney.”
“Who signed it?”
“Your father.”
“My father was already dead.”
The lawyer nodded.
“That is the issue.”
We looked at each other.
Someone had forged my father's signature.
I asked for the original documents.
He gave them to me.
The signature looked perfect.
Too perfect.
My father always signed with a slight upward curve at the end.
This signature did the same.
I almost believed it.
Then I noticed the date.
My father had been dead for six months.
The next page listed a beneficiary.
Tessa's mother.
My hands went cold.
“Why would my father leave money to her?”
“Perhaps he had an affair.”
“I don't care about an affair.”
I threw the file onto the desk.
“I care that someone stole twenty-eight million dollars.”
My attorney looked at the ledger.
“Where did you get this?”
“Tessa.”
He went pale.
“You need to know something.”
“What?”
“This ledger may implicate more than Victor.”
“How much more?”
He pointed at the final page.
“Look at the account number.”
I did.
It wasn't Victor's personal account.
It was mine.
Money had been moved from the trust into one of my corporate accounts.
Then transferred into private investment funds.
Funds I had never seen.
Funds that still appeared active.
Victor had been stealing from me for more than a decade.
And suddenly the food in Tessa's bag looked almost irrelevant.
This was no longer about a maid taking leftovers.
This was about someone quietly draining my empire while using poverty and fear to hide his trail.
I called Victor.
He answered immediately.
“Zo.”
“You stole from the Rossi trust.”
Silence.
Then a soft laugh.
“You're finally looking.”
“Where's the money?”
“Safe.”
“For you?”
“For people who understand how the world works.”
“You forged my father's signature.”
Another pause.
“You should be careful with accusations.”
“I have the ledger.”
He sighed.
“You have a ledger.”
“You're finished.”
“No.”
His voice became almost gentle.
“You are.”
I stared through the window.
“Why?”
“Because you have no idea what your father promised.”
“What did he promise?”
Victor's reply chilled me.
“To protect the boys.”
I looked at Tessa.
She was standing across the room.
Victor continued.
“If you expose me, the first people who lose everything won't be you or me.”
“Who?”
“The Cole brothers.”
The line went dead.
I turned.
Tessa already knew.
Her eyes were wet.
“He knows where they are,” she whispered.
“No.”
I looked at Marcus.
“Move them.”
“Where?”
“My estate.”
Tessa immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“I'm not asking.”
“You don't understand.”
“I understand that Victor is threatening two children.”
“He isn't the only one.”
I stopped.
“What?”
She looked at me.
“My father is alive.”
The room went silent.
“What?”
Tessa reached into her pocket.
She pulled out an old photograph.
A man standing beside a train station.
Older.
Thinner.
But unmistakably the same man from another photograph of my father's estate.
My father was beside him.
And beneath the image was a handwritten sentence.
HE KNOWS WHY YOUR FATHER WAS REALLY KILLED.
I looked at Tessa.
“You said your father disappeared.”
“He did.”
“Then how do you know he's alive?”
“Because he called me last night.”
“What did he say?”
She swallowed.
“He told me to keep you away from the boys.”
“Why?”
May you like
Tessa's voice dropped to a whisper.
“Because the person Victor is afraid of isn't Victor.”
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