Chapter 8 - The Recording Under the Floor
The foundation fire burned through two floors before firefighters contained it.
Nobody died.
That was the good news.
The bad news was that the records room took the worst damage.
Dominic was cleaning up.
Callahan didn’t need to say it.
We all understood.
For years I had believed power meant preventing other people from reaching me.
That night, I learned real power sometimes meant handing everything over.
Emails.
Bank records.
Internal audits.
Phones.
Property lists.
I signed authorizations allowing investigators to access my companies.
My executives thought I had lost my mind.
Maybe I had finally found it.
Claire remained hospitalized for two more days.
I visited but never entered without asking.
That became our new rhythm.
“Can I come in?”
Sometimes she said yes.
Sometimes she said she was tired.
I accepted both.
On the second afternoon, she was sitting by the window eating soup when I arrived.
“You’re staring at it like it insulted you.”
“It has celery.”
“You hate celery.”
“I have always hated celery.”
“I remember.”
Her eyes flickered.
“I know.”
I sat.
For several minutes, we said nothing.
Then Claire asked, “Why did you come to my apartment that night?”
I knew exactly which night.
The night our child was conceived.
“I missed you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the whole answer.”
“You had just divorced me.”
“The divorce was signed.”
“That didn’t stop you.”
“No.”
Rain had hammered against her windows that night.
I had spent two weeks convincing myself the pain would eventually become survivable.
Then Claire called because a box of my father’s belongings had been delivered to her apartment by mistake.
I should have sent someone else.
I went personally.
We argued.
She called me a coward.
I told her she didn’t understand.
She threw my father’s watch at me.
I caught it.
Then she kissed me.
Or maybe I kissed her.
Neither of us ever agreed about that part.
By morning, fear had returned.
I left before she woke.
“I hated myself for going,” I told her.
Claire looked down.
“I hated myself for wanting you to stay.”
“I almost did.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
She took another spoonful of soup.
“That night created our daughter.”
I stared at her.
“Daughter?”
Claire smiled faintly.
“Dr. Chen confirmed yesterday.”
A girl.
For some reason, that destroyed me more efficiently than anything else had.
I imagined a tiny version of Claire.
Dark eyes.
Stubborn mouth.
A child who had already survived more than she should have needed to.
“A daughter.”
“Yes.”
My eyes burned.
Claire looked away to give me dignity I didn’t deserve.
“Did you have a name?”
She hesitated.
“One.”
“What?”
“I’m not telling you.”
I almost smiled.
“Cruel.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I apparently deserve that.”
“You do.”
For one minute, we were almost us again.
Then her expression changed.
“Roman.”
“Yes?”
“I need you to understand something.”
I knew what was coming.
“Finding the truth doesn’t erase what happened.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t create Dominic.”
“No.”
“You didn’t make your mother do what she did.”
“No.”
“But you made the decision to leave me without trusting me.”
“Yes.”
“And if we ever become anything again…”
My chest tightened.
“If?”
Claire looked directly at me.
“Do not hear hope where I’m giving you a condition.”
“Understood.”
“If we ever become anything again, I will never live inside a cage built out of your fear.”
I nodded.
“You won’t.”
“No guards I didn’t request.”
“Agreed.”
“No decisions made for me.”
“Agreed.”
“No secrets because you think they’re protecting me.”
“Agreed.”
She studied me.
“You’re agreeing very quickly.”
“I spent six months learning the cost of not doing it.”
She almost smiled.
Then Callahan called.
The fire had failed to destroy everything.
One foundation server was stored off-site.
Backups contained records connecting Dominic, Gabriel, and my mother to fraudulent transfers.
More importantly, they showed another pattern.
Anonymous payments had been made to people connected to Claire’s former employers.
Her diner manager.
The cleaning company.
Her landlord.
My stomach turned.
“What kind of payments?”
Callahan answered, “Consulting fees.”
Claire laughed bitterly from the hospital bed.
“I knew it.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“My shifts didn’t just disappear.”
She told us the diner manager had been strangely apologetic when he cut her hours.
The cleaning company suddenly claimed a client complained about her, though no one would identify the client.
Her landlord rejected partial payment after previously agreeing to a plan.
Each small blow had pushed her closer to homelessness.
It wasn’t coincidence.
It was pressure.
Dominic hadn’t merely hidden Claire.
He had engineered desperation around her.
“Why?” I asked.
Callahan had a theory.
“He wanted her unstable.”
“For what?”
“To discredit her if she surfaced.”
Claire understood.
“If I accused the DeLuca Foundation of fraud while homeless and pregnant, I’d look desperate for money.”
Exactly.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown caller.
I answered.
Dominic.
“You opened the books.”
His voice was calm.
“Yes.”
“You always did enjoy dramatic gestures.”
“You paid people to destroy Claire’s life.”
“She could have walked away.”
“She did.”
“No.”
Dominic’s voice hardened.
“She kept copies.”
I looked at Claire.
She could hear him through the speaker.
“So this was about protecting your theft?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
Silence.
Then he laughed.
“Later it became educational.”
“What does that mean?”
“It meant proving that your empire was never yours.”
I said nothing.
“You think people follow you because they love you?”
Dominic continued.
“They follow strength. Money. Access.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I sound realistic.”
“Where are you?”
“Close enough.”
Callahan motioned for me to keep him talking.
I asked, “Why forge Marco’s signature?”
“To keep you suspicious.”
“You wanted me isolated.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because isolated men make predictable decisions.”
My gaze moved toward Claire.
He was right.
I had.
“What now?”
“Now you lose everything anyway.”
“You’re already losing.”
Dominic chuckled.
“No, Roman.”
A phone buzzed on Claire’s bedside table.
Her phone.
A message arrived from an unknown number.
One image.
My Gold Coast house.
Photographed from across the street.
Taken minutes earlier.
Dominic whispered, “I’m not running anymore.”
Then the line went dead.
Police surrounded the house.
Dominic wasn’t found.
But inside the photograph, Claire noticed something none of us did.
She enlarged the image.
“Roman.”
“What?”
“Look at the third-floor window.”
I looked.
Behind the glass was a faint human figure.
Impossible.
The house had been cleared.
Only Marco and police were supposed to be inside.
Claire pointed.
“That’s your mother’s room.”
My pulse stopped.
Callahan grabbed her radio.
At that exact moment, Marco called.
I answered.
“Tell me.”
His voice came low.
“We found a passage behind Alessandra’s closet.”
“What passage?”
“Old service stairs.”
“Where do they lead?”
“The garage.”
“And?”
Marco hesitated.
“There’s blood on the railing.”
May you like
Claire went white.
Then Marco said, “And your mother is gone.”
