Chapter 7 - THE PRICE OF TRUSTING THE WRONG MAN
Roman stared at the authorization.
Then he said something I hadn't expected.
“That signature is mine.”
Elena turned toward him.
“What?”
“I signed it.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Roman looked at Ruth.
“After the funeral, Vincent told me the older records had been copied and stored electronically. He said the originals contained private medical information and should be destroyed securely.”
“Did you verify that?” Ruth asked.
“No.”
Elena looked away.
Roman's face tightened.
“I thought I was protecting our mother's privacy.”
“Instead, you gave Vincent permission to destroy her work,” Elena whispered.
He didn't argue.
“Yes.”
That single word seemed to hurt him more than any accusation.
Ruth folded her hands.
“Destroying originals doesn't erase every transaction. Banks keep their own records. Vendors have account histories. And I still have Lucia's preliminary copies.”
I watched Roman breathe a little easier.
Not because he was innocent.
Because there was still something he could do.
On the drive home, Elena barely spoke.
At the mansion, she asked Roman to leave us alone in the music room.
He hesitated.
Then he obeyed.
I sat beside her while she examined the old silver bracelet.
“I spent years thinking Roman hated me,” she said.
“He doesn't.”
“I know.”
She turned the broken clasp over.
“But knowing doesn't erase the years.”
“No,” I said. “It doesn't.”
She looked at me.
“Does it ever stop hurting? When somebody you trusted turns out to be someone else?”
I thought about Gavin.
The unpaid bills.
The nights I'd sat on my kitchen floor trying to understand how a marriage could disappear while the debt remained.
“I think eventually you stop trying to make the past behave differently,” I said. “Then you decide what you're going to do tomorrow.”
Elena smiled sadly.
“You make that sound easy.”
“It isn't.”
She glanced at my knee.
“You're hurting.”
“A little.”
“You always say that.”
“I'm very consistent.”
She laughed softly.
And for a moment, neither of us was thinking about Vincent Orsini.
That evening, Roman asked me to join him in the library.
Nico Santoro, his head of security, was waiting beside the fireplace.
He was a broad-shouldered man in his forties who rarely spoke unless necessary.
Roman pointed to a chair.
“Sit down, Maya.”
“I'd rather stand.”
He accepted that.
Then he turned toward Nico.
“Tell her.”
Nico looked uncomfortable.
“I entered your apartment without permission. Mr. DeLuca ordered a security review, and I went further than I was authorized to.”
I folded my arms.
“You searched beneath my bed.”
“Yes.”
“You went through my mother's cookie tin?”
He lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Then you know why I don't trust either of you.”
Roman nodded.
“I understand.”
Nico reached into his coat and placed a small brass key on the table.
My spare apartment key.
My stomach tightened.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your superintendent.”
I looked at Roman.
“The locks are being changed,” he said. “At my expense, with your permission. Nico will no longer be assigned to anything involving your personal affairs.”
I didn't thank him.
Fixing a violation wasn't the same as doing me a favor.
Roman seemed to understand.
Then he asked Nico a question.
“Who told you Maya was receiving suspicious payments?”
Nico hesitated.
“Sir—”
“Answer.”
“Vincent Orsini.”
I went still.
Nico continued.
“He came to me the day before yesterday. Said Miss Turner might be receiving money from someone connected to an old family security problem.”
Roman's eyes narrowed.
“Why didn't you tell me that?”
“Because he said he'd already discussed it with you.”
Roman's expression went cold.
“He lied.”
Suddenly, several things made sense.
Vincent had known about my debt.
He'd authorized the anonymous money.
Then he'd made Roman suspicious of the very payments he was sending.
He had nearly succeeded in getting me fired before Elena and I could discover anything.
I looked at Roman.
“He wanted you to think I was dangerous.”
Roman nodded slowly.
“And he wanted me watching you instead of his accounts.”
The next morning, I visited the credit union where Gavin had opened the fraudulent loans.
For years, I'd avoided walking through those doors.
This time, I went with my police report, identification, and copies of the records Ruth had found.
A fraud specialist named Denise agreed to review the loan disbursements.
She couldn't erase the debt on the spot.
But she could explain where the borrowed money went.
And what she showed me changed everything.
The three loans totaled $41,800.
Only $11,800 had gone into an account Gavin controlled personally.
The remaining $30,000 had been transferred directly into a business account.
SOUTH HARBOR FLEET SERVICES.
The payments had been described as emergency vendor advances.
I stared at the screen.
“Who controlled that account?”
Denise checked the banking records available to her.
“Your husband was listed as an authorized processor, not the owner.”
“Then who was?”
She turned the monitor slightly.
The account's controlling officer was Vincent Orsini.
For three years, I had been paying for money my husband stole in my name.
Now I knew where most of that money had gone.
May you like
And when I looked at the date of the first transfer, I felt physically sick.
It was made the morning after Lucia DeLuca's funeral.
