Chapter 7 - MY WIFE WAS CALLED A THIEF BEFORE SHE COULD DEFEND HERSELF
“Then we stop the gala.”
I said it without hesitation.
Vincent shook his head.
“That won't stop Rafe.”
“Why not?”
“Because he's already prepared his story.”
Isabella stood beside the table, clutching her blue notebook.
“What story?”
Vincent looked at her reluctantly.
“That you stole foundation money, disappeared with it, and kept Dominic from his daughter because you were afraid he'd discover the truth.”
Isabella stared.
Then she laughed bitterly.
“Four years of hiding, and now he wants people to believe I chose it?”
My heart tightened.
I remembered how proud she had been of the foundation.
She'd personally visited families receiving medical assistance.
She knew the names of children whose surgeries the organization helped fund.
She'd once spent an entire Thanksgiving delivering groceries because she couldn't bear the thought of someone eating alone.
To call her a thief was more than an accusation.
It was an attempt to destroy the person she had worked so hard to be.
“We'll expose him first,” I said.
Isabella shook her head.
“With what? My handwritten notebook?”
“It contains names and dates.”
“It contains my handwriting. Rafe will say I created it.”
She was right.
I hated that.
We spent the afternoon checking the foundation's archived records.
Not through Rafe's security division.
I went directly to Eleanor Finch, the retired foundation treasurer.
Seventy-three years old.
Silver hair.
Reading glasses hanging from a chain.
She'd worked with Isabella for years.
When I brought her to Mrs. Whitaker's bakery, Eleanor stopped in the doorway.
“Isabella?”
My wife stood.
“Hello, Eleanor.”
The older woman's hands began trembling.
“Oh, my dear girl.”
They embraced.
Eleanor cried openly.
“I thought we'd lost you.”
Isabella pressed her face against the woman's shoulder.
“I thought nobody remembered me.”
Eleanor pulled back.
“Remember you? Honey, I still have the birthday cards you wrote me.”
For the first time since our reunion, I saw my wife smile without fear.
Then Eleanor noticed the notebook.
Her expression changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“I never stopped keeping records,” Isabella said.
Eleanor opened the book.
She studied several pages.
“These are the transfers I questioned before I retired.”
I leaned forward.
“You remember them?”
“I remember refusing to approve them.”
“Who approved them instead?”
“Rafael Kessler.”
Vincent exhaled sharply.
Eleanor continued.
“After I refused, Rafe told the board I'd become confused and should step down. Isabella was the only one who defended me.”
I looked at my wife.
She was staring at the older woman with tears in her eyes.
For years, she'd believed her work had vanished.
But someone remembered.
Someone knew.
“Do you have any original records?” I asked.
Eleanor nodded.
“The foundation stored its carbon-copy receipt books in the old administrative office. They were supposed to be kept for audits.”
“Can Rafe reach them?”
“Of course.”
I looked at Mason.
“Then we need to secure them before he does.”
That evening, I contacted Detective Maeve Sullivan, a financial-crimes investigator who had previously examined suspicious transactions involving our legitimate companies.
We weren't friends.
She knew perfectly well what kind of man I was.
But she also knew how to follow evidence.
I showed her the notebook.
The order.
The surveillance footage.
And the records Eleanor had retained.
Maeve listened without interrupting.
Finally, she looked directly at me.
“If you want my help, Mr. Moretti, you don't get to decide which crimes matter.”
I understood.
“You'll have my cooperation.”
“Even if your own people are implicated?”
I thought of Vincent.
“Yes.”
She studied my face.
“That's a very expensive promise.”
“I know.”
Later, Sophie fell asleep on the bakery's couch with her stuffed elephant tucked beneath her chin.
Isabella sat beside her.
I watched from the doorway.
“She's beautiful,” I whispered.
Isabella smiled faintly.
“She asks about you almost every day.”
My throat tightened.
“What do you tell her?”
“That you're somewhere far away.”
I sat beside them.
“And that you love her?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
I looked at my sleeping daughter.
“Thank you.”
Isabella touched the butterfly necklace hanging from Sophie's backpack.
“I wanted her to know you existed. Even when I wasn't sure you wanted us.”
I took her hand.
She didn't pull away.
For a moment, everything felt possible.
Then Mason entered carrying a tablet.
“Boss. The newspapers have started publishing.”
I opened the first article.
A photograph filled the screen.
Isabella.
Sophie.
Me.
Taken outside the hospital earlier that day.
Above it was a headline accusing my wife of stealing eighteen million dollars from the foundation before vanishing four years earlier.
The article quoted an unnamed senior security official.
Isabella read the words over my shoulder.
Her face went pale.
Then we reached the final paragraph.
Rafe had announced that he would address the allegations at tomorrow night's gala.
He had also named Isabella as the person responsible.
My wife slowly stood.
For a moment, I expected her to crumble.
Instead, she lifted her chin.
“I'm going.”
“Bella—”
“No.”
Her voice was steady.
“He took my home. My husband. My reputation. Four years with the people I loved.”
May you like
She looked directly into my eyes.
“Tomorrow, Dominic, he's going to look at the woman he tried to erase.”
