Chapter 6 - THE DAUGHTERS OF THE MISSING ACCOUNTANT
“Martin Vale was your father?”
Antonio Ferraro stared at me as though I'd stepped out of a photograph.
I could barely breathe.
“My father's name was Martin Clark.”
Evelyn reached toward me.
“Madison.”
I shook my head.
“No. My father worked in accounting. He died when I was twelve.”
Antonio closed his eyes.
“Martin Vale changed his name.”
Dante stepped between us.
“Dad, explain.”
Antonio looked toward the pocket watch on the floor.
“Martin discovered that someone was using our family foundation to move money. He brought the records to me because he believed innocent people were being hurt.”
“What people?”
“Families. Employees. Medical patients. People whose names were being used to justify enormous payments.”
Gabriel frowned.
“Charitable medical grants?”
Antonio nodded.
“On paper, yes.”
Dante stared.
“Our medical foundation?”
“Yes.”
The Ferraro Foundation had spent decades funding hospital renovations and treatment programs.
Dante considered it one of the few genuinely good things his family had built.
“Are you saying someone stole money from patients?”
Antonio lowered his head.
“Worse. Someone used those patients as an excuse to steal from everyone.”
I thought about Hannah.
My younger sister was twenty-four.
She'd spent the last two years undergoing treatment for a serious heart condition.
Her medical bills were the reason I worked endless hours at the Ferraro mansion.
The reason I had endured Isabella's insults.
The reason I hadn't left when Evelyn's nurse began treating her like a child.
Dante noticed my expression.
“Madison?”
“My sister's treatment.”
He waited.
“She's been receiving assistance from a private charitable program.”
Antonio looked toward Gabriel.
“What program?”
I swallowed.
“The Ferraro Foundation.”
The room went silent.
Gabriel stood abruptly.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because the foundation's patient-assistance program was discontinued fourteen years ago.”
I stared at him.
“Hannah received a payment last month.”
Dante turned toward Vincent.
“Check it.”
Vincent opened his tablet.
His expression darkened.
“Boss, there are active payments associated with the old program.”
“How many?”
“Hundreds.”
Dante looked stunned.
“Who's authorizing them?”
Vincent scrolled.
“An account registered under your name.”
Dante turned slowly toward Gabriel.
His brother shook his head.
“That wasn't me.”
Dante didn't answer.
For a moment, the room filled with the kind of silence that made every small sound seem enormous.
Then Evelyn spoke.
“Martin was a good man.”
I looked at her.
She took my hand.
“He came to see me shortly before Antonio disappeared. He was terrified.”
“Of what?”
“He said he'd found names that shouldn't exist.”
Antonio nodded.
“False identities. Employees who had never worked for us. Patients who had never entered a hospital.”
Dante frowned.
“And Michael?”
Antonio looked toward his eldest son.
“Michael was helping Martin investigate.”
Gabriel stared.
“Our cousin?”
“Yes.”
Dante remembered the photograph.
The fishing boat.
The young man who had disappeared during a storm.
“Then Michael wasn't stealing from us?”
Antonio shook his head.
“Not when he began.”
“What changed?”
Antonio looked toward the window.
“He discovered how much money was involved.”
Gabriel sat.
For the first time, I saw fear in his face.
Not fear of Dante.
Fear of remembering something.
“Father,” Gabriel whispered, “Michael came to see me after the funeral.”
Dante turned.
“What?”
“He told me the family needed someone who could keep things together.”
“And?”
“He offered to help.”
Dante approached him.
“What did you do?”
Gabriel looked ashamed.
“I gave him access to several company accounts.”
Dante stared.
“Using my name?”
Gabriel nodded.
Dante stepped backward.
“You handed our cousin my identity?”
“I believed he was protecting us.”
“For sixteen years?”
“No. I revoked the access after three months.”
Vincent looked up.
“Boss, those accounts are still active.”
Gabriel went pale.
Dante turned toward him.
“Then your cousin never stopped using them.”
Antonio lowered his head.
“That's what I feared.”
I looked down at the paper containing Hannah's address.
“Why would my sister's building be involved?”
Antonio hesitated.
“Martin lived there briefly after leaving protective custody.”
I swallowed.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he tell us he was moving to Pennsylvania?”
“Because he was frightened.”
I felt tears burning my eyes.
All my life, I'd believed my father had simply been an exhausted accountant who worked too hard.
Now I was learning he had spent his final years hiding from a criminal conspiracy.
And the family I worked for had been connected to it.
Dante stepped closer.
“Madison, I know this is difficult.”
I looked at him.
“Do you?”
He stopped.
“You're a wealthy man who just discovered his father is alive,” I said. “I'm a housekeeper who just discovered her father spent his life running from yours.”
Dante accepted the words without argument.
“You have every right to be angry.”
“My sister is sick.”
“I know.”
“And somehow her medical treatment is connected to all this.”
Dante nodded.
“I'm going to find out how.”
I wanted to believe him.
But I remembered Isabella standing over me at the banquet table.
Calling me a greedy little maid.
Ordering me onto my knees.
And I wondered whether I had ever truly been safe inside that mansion.
Vincent's tablet suddenly chimed.
He examined the screen.
“Boss, we've located Caroline Reed.”
Dante turned.
“Where?”
“At the Manhattan mansion.”
“Bring her in.”
Vincent hesitated.
“She left the property twenty minutes ago.”
“Where did she go?”
“We have footage of her leaving through the service entrance.”
Dante frowned.
“Was she carrying anything?”
Vincent enlarged the image.
Caroline wore a dark coat.
She held a small medical bag.
And beside her walked Isabella.
Dante stared.
“My sister went with her?”
“Yes.”
Antonio suddenly reached for Evelyn.
“Isabella knows.”
Dante turned.
“Knows what?”
Antonio looked sick.
“The truth about Michael.”
Gabriel stood.
“What truth?”
Antonio lowered his voice.
“Michael wasn't the person who created the false accounts.”
Dante stared.
“Then who did?”
Antonio looked at me.
I felt a chill.
“Martin discovered the real organizer shortly before he died,” Antonio said. “He sent the evidence to someone he trusted.”
“Who?”
Antonio hesitated.
Then answered.
“His eldest daughter.”
My heart stopped.
“I was twelve.”
Antonio nodded.
“Exactly.”
I shook my head.
“I don't understand.”
“He concealed the evidence somewhere nobody would think to search.”
Dante looked toward me.
“Madison, did your father leave you anything?”
I thought about the little box of belongings my mother had given me after his death.
A few photographs.
A birthday card.
An old silver bracelet.
And one thing I had never understood.
A small yellow envelope containing a handwritten instruction.
I looked toward Antonio.
“My father left me a children's storybook.”
Antonio suddenly stood.
“What storybook?”
“The one he read to us every Christmas.”
His expression changed.
“What was it called?”
I swallowed.
“The House with Thirteen Windows.”
Antonio closed his eyes.
May you like
Then whispered:
“THAT WASN'T A CHILDREN'S STORY, MADISON. IT WAS YOUR FATHER'S RECORD OF EVERYONE WHO BETRAYED HIM.”
