Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
“My mother was already dead,” Alessandro said.
Camille shook her head.
“Not when the plan began.”
Margaret Voss rose from her chair.
“This meeting is over.”
“Sit down,” Alessandro said.
Margaret looked toward Edward Whitmore.
For the first time, the two seemed uncertain which of them should speak.
Camille remained standing.
“I was nineteen when Elena Romano discovered the missing money,” she said. “Your father told my uncle that she was asking too many questions.”
Alessandro stared at her.
“My mother was ill.”
“Yes. But she wasn't confused.”
Camille's voice strengthened.
“She knew the foundation was being robbed.”
Margaret folded her hands.
“Elena misunderstood several transactions. We were managing complicated investments.”
“Investments?” Rachel asked from the doorway. “You took money meant for injured workers.”
Edward turned toward her.
“This is a private family matter.”
Rachel stepped into the room.
“My father was one of the men you threatened. That makes it my matter.”
Edward looked away.
Alessandro gestured toward the chair.
“Continue, Camille.”
She swallowed.
“Your mother confronted Vittorio. She told him she'd bring the records to you.”
Alessandro remembered Elena's final weeks.
She'd insisted he visit more often.
She'd tried to discuss the foundation.
He'd always been busy.
“Why didn't she?”
“Vittorio convinced her that exposing the fraud immediately would close the hospitals receiving foundation support. He promised to repay the money and remove Edward from future contracts.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
Camille wiped her cheeks.
“Instead, he ordered Margaret to move the remaining records.”
Margaret shook her head.
“That is an unfair characterization.”
Camille turned toward her.
“You were there when Elena cried because the money for children's surgeries was missing.”
Rachel stared at Margaret.
“You watched her cry?”
Margaret's face tightened.
“I spent twenty years keeping that foundation open.”
“With stolen money?” Alessandro asked.
“With money from people who believed their donations were being used properly.”
“Then why didn't you stop the theft?”
Margaret looked down.
“Because by the time I understood how deeply it went, I was signing papers I couldn't explain.”
For a moment, she looked like an exhausted older woman rather than the polished administrator Alessandro had always known.
Then he noticed the gold watch.
“Where did you get that?”
Margaret covered it with her other hand.
“My husband gave it to me.”
“Daniel Bennett remembers it.”
Her expression stiffened.
“He remembers you at the construction office,” Alessandro continued. “And Camille says you arranged the road intervention.”
Margaret looked toward Camille.
“You promised never to discuss that.”
Camille laughed bitterly.
“You threatened to ruin me if I did.”
Edward stood.
“Both of you need to stop.”
Alessandro turned toward him.
“Sit down, Edward.”
Edward remained standing.
“I have attorneys.”
“Then call them.”
Alessandro placed the microfilm on the desk.
“Because I intend to give this to the authorities.”
Edward's face drained.
“You can't.”
“Why?”
“Because your signature is on the payments.”
“It was forged while I was unconscious.”
“Prove it.”
Alessandro leaned forward.
“I will.”
Camille turned toward Edward.
“You told me the documents would protect the family.”
“They would have.”
“You made me sign a plan to stop Nicholas on the road!”
Edward's composure broke.
“Nicholas was going to destroy everything!”
Alessandro stared at him.
“He was going to tell the truth.”
Edward looked toward the window.
“You've never built a company from nothing, Alessandro. You inherited an empire.”
“And you helped steal from people who had nothing.”
Edward's shoulders sagged.
For years, he'd told himself the original construction accident was unavoidable.
The safety system had been faulty.
Repairs were expensive.
Delays would bankrupt the project.
Then Thomas Morgan discovered the alarms had been disabled.
The truth became a financial threat.
Edward had chosen to hide it.
And every decision afterward had been designed to protect the first lie.
Margaret spoke quietly.
“The road intervention wasn't supposed to be fatal.”
Alessandro turned toward her.
“What was it supposed to be?”
“A staged breakdown. Nicholas's car was to be stopped before he reached a meeting with a federal investigator.”
Rachel's eyes narrowed.
“Who changed the plan?”
Margaret looked toward Edward.
Edward shook his head.
“I never ordered anyone hurt.”
Camille began to cry.
“I believed him.”
Alessandro studied the three faces.
There was guilt in all of them.
But guilt wasn't the same as the complete truth.
He needed to know who had turned an intended interception into a fatal crash.
Margaret reached for her gold watch.
Her fingers pressed against the clasp.
Alessandro noticed.
“Take it off.”
She froze.
“Why?”
“Because you've touched it every time Nicholas's accident has been mentioned.”
Margaret stared at him.
Then slowly, she unclasped it.
She placed it on the table.
Alessandro examined the back.
An inscription had been engraved inside.
E.R. — FOR THE TRUTH, NOT THE GLORY.
His mother.
“This was Elena's watch,” he whispered.
Margaret nodded.
“She gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Shortly before she died.”
Alessandro pressed the small release beside the clasp.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a thin strip of folded paper.
His mother's handwriting filled the tiny space.
Margaret, if Vittorio refuses to repay the families, give Alessandro the blue ledger.
Beneath it were four more words.
Nicholas knows where it is.
Alessandro looked up.
“Where's the ledger?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I never saw it.”
Camille whispered, “That's not true.”
Margaret turned sharply.
“Camille.”
Camille stood straighter.
“You showed it to me the night Nicholas died.”
Alessandro moved around the desk.
“Where is it now?”
Camille looked toward Edward.
“He took it.”
Edward shook his head.
“I burned it.”
“Then why did Nicholas hide the watch?”
Edward said nothing.
Rachel remembered the trunk.
The torn uniform.
The missing photograph.
And the sleeve with its stained label.
She suddenly understood something.
“Claire didn't hide the photograph inside the uniform by accident.”
Everyone looked at her.
Rachel continued.
“Someone took the uniform to Edward's house. Someone knew it contained evidence. But they never found the other compartment.”
Alessandro frowned.
“What other compartment?”
Rachel pulled out a photograph of the damaged sleeve.
“My father taught me how old uniforms were made. Seamstresses sometimes reinforced sleeves with a double layer of fabric.”
She pointed to the torn stitching.
“Someone cut through the outer layer but stopped before reaching the lining.”
Alessandro looked toward Marco.
“Bring the uniform.”
Camille whispered, “You can't.”
Alessandro turned.
“Why?”
Her face went white.
“Because the uniform wasn't supposed to contain anything.”
Rachel stepped closer.
“What did you think was inside?”
Camille looked down.
“A list of names.”
“What names?”
“The people who helped your father conceal the payments.”
The uniform arrived minutes later.
Rachel placed it on the desk.
Using small sewing scissors, she carefully opened the reinforced seam.
Inside lay a flat blue fabric pouch.
She pulled it free.
It contained a folded ledger page.
And a small photograph.
The photograph showed Elena Romano sitting in a hospital garden.
Beside her was Claire.
Behind them stood Nicholas.
The three were smiling.
On the back, Elena had written:
Claire is not an enemy of this family. She is the person who can save it.
Alessandro swallowed.
Then Rachel unfolded the ledger page.
It contained dates, amounts, and the names of companies receiving foundation money.
At the bottom, in red ink, was a handwritten note.
Final transfer must be approved by V.R. before N.R. discovers the beneficiary.
The beneficiary's name was partially obscured by an old stain.
But one line remained readable.
ACCOUNT HOLDER: C. WHITMORE.
Camille stared at it.
“That isn't my account.”
Alessandro looked at her.
“Then whose is it?”
Camille began shaking her head.
“No. No, that can't be.”
Edward lowered himself into the nearest chair.
Margaret closed her eyes.
Rachel looked from one to the other.
“Who is C. Whitmore?”
Camille's voice was barely audible.
“My mother.”
Alessandro frowned.
“Your mother died when you were fourteen.”
Camille nodded slowly.
“That's what my uncle told me.”
Then Margaret whispered:
“Catherine Whitmore didn't die.”
Edward covered his face.
And Alessandro finally understood why the name Catherine Moore had been chosen for Claire's confinement.
May you like
It wasn't random.
It belonged to the woman the Whitmore family had erased before Claire.
