Chapter 4 - THE FORTUNE BUILT WITH STOLEN MONEY
“My casino was purchased with money belonging to elderly people?”
Alessandro stared at the property records.
He had opened the Harbor Crown Casino seventeen years earlier.
It was the first business he'd built after stepping out of his father's shadow.
He had worked sixteen-hour days renovating the waterfront building, securing licenses, negotiating contracts, and turning a failing property into one of Manhattan's most profitable entertainment destinations.
He'd always believed his father had provided the original investment from the family's legitimate real estate holdings.
Now forty-two million dollars in old transfers suggested otherwise.
Daniel spoke carefully.
“The property was purchased through three holding companies. Your father transferred ownership to you before opening day.”
“I never saw the original financing.”
“That's what the records indicate.”
Alessandro looked toward the hospital room where Grace sat beside her mother.
For years, he had considered himself the successful son.
Sebastian was the brother who brought shame upon their father.
But what if Sebastian had sacrificed his inheritance to protect people Alessandro had unknowingly profited from?
“What happened to the restitution money?” Alessandro asked.
Daniel opened another file.
“The original fund was supposed to compensate elderly Riverside residents whose savings accounts had been improperly used during a financial restructuring.”
“Who handled those accounts?”
“Your father and Arthur Whitmore.”
Alessandro clenched his jaw.
“And Sebastian discovered it.”
“That appears likely.”
“Then why didn't he come to me?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Sir, would you have believed him?”
Alessandro had no answer.
By morning, the mansion looked as though someone had canceled Christmas.
The auction decorations remained.
White roses stood beside untouched champagne glasses.
The illuminated platform was still in the ballroom.
Grace returned with Alessandro after Evelyn's physician confirmed that she could safely remain at Willow Creek under ordinary care while the disputed transfer was reviewed.
An officer had taken the forged authorization for investigation.
Grace was exhausted.
Her feet hurt.
Her mind was crowded with questions about her mother, the Romano brothers, and Camille.
She wanted nothing more than to sleep.
Instead, Camille was waiting beside the staircase.
“There she is.”
Grace stopped.
Camille wore cream silk trousers and an expensive cashmere sweater.
Her hair was perfect.
Her smile wasn't.
“I hear you took Alessandro on a little midnight adventure.”
Grace said nothing.
Camille looked at her slippers.
“Still pretending you can't walk?”
Alessandro stepped between them.
“That's enough.”
Camille smiled at him.
“Darling, I'm concerned. You've spent the entire night chasing accusations made by a confused elderly woman and her daughter.”
“My grandmother is missing.”
“She's receiving care.”
“Then tell me where.”
Camille's smile disappeared.
“Ask Sebastian.”
“I intend to.”
Alessandro held up a photograph.
“Do you recognize Evelyn Miller?”
Camille glanced at it.
“Should I?”
“You personally approved her daughter's employment paperwork.”
“I approve dozens of staff arrangements.”
“And you arranged Evelyn's nursing home discount.”
“I was being charitable.”
“Were you?”
Camille's voice sharpened.
“You are seriously questioning my generosity because this girl can't afford her mother's bills?”
Grace felt heat rise in her cheeks.
“My mother's illness isn't something for you to use against me.”
Camille turned on her.
“You'd better remember who helped you, Grace.”
“I remember.”
Grace's voice shook, but she continued.
“I remember every extra shift I worked. Every weekend I gave up. Every holiday I spent cleaning your parties.”
Camille stared.
Grace took a breath.
“And I remember you threatening my mother's care while I stood on a stage bleeding.”
Alessandro looked at her with quiet respect.
Then he turned to Camille.
“You will not speak to Grace that way again.”
Camille's eyes filled unexpectedly.
“Do you have any idea what my father will do if this auction falls apart?”
Alessandro noticed the fear beneath her anger.
“What exactly has Arthur threatened?”
She looked away.
“Nothing.”
“Camille.”
“Forget it.”
She walked toward the staircase.
But Alessandro spoke again.
“The auction is canceled. The guests will receive formal notice. And the jewelry will remain secured until the investigation is finished.”
Camille stopped.
“You don't understand what you've done.”
“Then explain it.”
She turned.
“If the original necklace isn't delivered to the buyer by Friday, my father's company loses a major financing agreement.”
Alessandro stared at her.
“There was already a buyer?”
Camille realized she'd said too much.
“It was a private arrangement.”
“For my grandmother's necklace?”
“Your family agreed to hold a charity auction.”
“My grandmother never authorized it.”
Camille's voice cracked.
“You think everything is so simple because you've always had enough money to fix your mistakes!”
Then she hurried upstairs.
Grace watched her leave.
For the first time, she wondered whether Camille was acting out of greed alone.
Or whether someone had made her just as frightened as she'd made Grace.
Alessandro called an emergency meeting with his company's independent accountant, Rebecca Sloan.
By noon, Rebecca had assembled seventeen years of archived transfers.
She spread them across his desk.
“The original Riverside accounts held funds belonging to thirty-seven elderly residents and their families.”
Alessandro frowned.
“Thirty-seven?”
“Some were housing deposits. Others were protected savings accounts intended to pay for long-term care.”
“And my father used the money?”
Rebecca nodded.
“He moved large amounts into Romano-controlled businesses during a financing crisis.”
“Arthur Whitmore signed the transfers.”
“Yes.”
“Then what happened in 2009?”
“Sebastian agreed to surrender his inheritance into a restitution fund intended to repay the residents.”
Alessandro leaned forward.
“But they were never fully repaid.”
“Some received partial settlements. Others received nothing.”
“How much remains?”
“That's what we're establishing.”
Grace stood near the window.
She thought about the elderly residents at Willow Creek.
People whose children visited on Sundays.
People who kept photographs of their grandchildren beside their beds.
People like her mother.
“What happened to those thirty-seven families?” she asked.
Rebecca looked at her.
“Several relocated. Some passed away. Others still have unresolved claims.”
Grace swallowed.
“Did anybody ever tell them where their money went?”
Rebecca lowered her eyes.
“Apparently not.”
Alessandro looked at the casino photograph above his fireplace.
For the first time, he felt ashamed of it.
“Start tracing every dollar,” he said.
Rebecca hesitated.
“You understand what that might mean for your businesses?”
“Yes.”
“You could expose the company to substantial liability.”
“I said trace it.”
That afternoon, Grace returned to Sebastian's office to help Daniel compare the original jewelry inventory with the withdrawal records.
There were twelve missing pieces.
The diamond necklace was one.
The others included two antique bracelets, a ruby brooch, a sapphire ring, and several heirlooms belonging to Vittoria's mother.
Every withdrawal had Sebastian's signature.
But something troubled Grace.
“The seal numbers.”
Daniel looked up.
“What about them?”
“Every security case has a different number, but these entries list the same employee as the receiving witness.”
Daniel examined the records.
“Camille Whitmore.”
Grace nodded.
“She was present for every withdrawal.”
Daniel opened the payment records connected to the missing jewelry.
The money had passed through a private bank, then through two Whitmore-controlled companies.
Finally, it reached a newly opened account.
Daniel frowned.
“That's strange.”
“What?”
“This account isn't registered to Sebastian or Camille.”
He enlarged the account information.
Grace read the name.
Her stomach dropped.
Grace Evelyn Miller.
The account contained deposits totaling $6.8 million.
A copy of her driver's license appeared in the application.
So did her Social Security number.
Someone had used her employment records to create the account.
Daniel immediately checked the account-opening date.
“Three weeks ago.”
Grace felt cold.
“Camille requested an updated copy of my identification three weeks ago.”
Daniel looked at her.
Grace slowly sat down.
“They weren't just trying to silence me.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“They were preparing to blame me.”
Then Daniel found one final file.
A signed statement accusing Grace of stealing the family jewelry.
It was dated the previous Thursday.
Four days before the auction.
And the person who had submitted it was Camille Whitmore.
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At the bottom, beside Grace's name, the statement carried an instruction:
Refer for criminal prosecution immediately if the necklace is questioned.
