Chapter 7 - THE MAN ROMAN TRUSTED WITH EVERYTHING
Patrick Vale had worked for Roman Bellandi for fifteen years.
He managed the shipping empire's finances.
He attended Mia's birthday parties.
He had even helped Roman choose Vanessa's engagement ring.
And now his face appeared in a photograph taken the night Elizabeth Bellandi vanished.
Roman gripped the desk.
“Tell me there's another explanation.”
Michael studied the photograph.
“The image is clear, sir.”
Teresa looked sick.
“I warned your father about Patrick.”
Roman turned sharply.
“When?”
“Before the accident. Your father found irregularities in several transport contracts.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I thought Patrick was protecting the company after your father died.”
Roman laughed once.
It was a terrible sound.
“Apparently, everybody was protecting me.”
Eleanor opened another folder.
“This is why Elizabeth returned to New Jersey.”
Inside was a handwritten ledger.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
And several references to Hartwell Automotive.
Roman recognized some of the companies.
They were businesses used by the Bellandi shipping group to maintain its fleet.
But the amounts didn't make sense.
Millions of dollars had been transferred for services that had never occurred.
“Patrick was moving money,” Roman said.
Eleanor nodded.
“Your father found out eleven years ago.”
Roman examined the entries.
A payment dated four days before the accident caught his attention.
Hartwell Automotive — Special Vehicle Modification.
Beside it was a number matching the Mercedes service record.
Roman looked toward Teresa.
“You knew?”
“No. I only knew your father had become suspicious.”
Michael photographed the documents.
“We need independent forensic accountants and law enforcement involved.”
Roman nodded.
But he didn't look away from the ledger.
“First, I need to know what happened to my mother.”
Eleanor turned to me.
“Emma, there's something your mother never told you.”
My stomach tightened.
“She'd been receiving money every month for eleven years.”
I stared.
“My mother could barely afford groceries.”
“Exactly,” Eleanor said.
“She refused to spend it.”
“Who sent it?”
“An account controlled by Patrick Vale.”
Roman looked up.
“Blackmail?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Not exactly. The payments began as hush money. Your mother documented every deposit but never touched the funds.”
I thought about our apartment.
The broken heater.
The nights I skipped dinner so Daniel could eat.
My mother had money?
“Where is it?” I whispered.
Eleanor handed me an account statement.
The balance was substantial.
Far more than my family had ever possessed.
I felt anger rise so quickly I could barely breathe.
“She let us suffer?”
Eleanor took my hand.
“She believed spending the money would make her part of their agreement. She wanted it preserved as evidence.”
I pulled away.
“Daniel needed treatment.”
“I know.”
“Did she?”
Eleanor's expression softened.
“She lived with that choice every day.”
I looked at Roman.
He had lost his mother.
I had spent years watching mine struggle to keep us alive.
Different wounds.
The same silence.
Roman spoke quietly.
“Emma, none of this excuses what happened to your family.”
I nodded, but I couldn't answer.
We returned to New Jersey that evening.
Roman didn't go home immediately.
He drove directly to the Bellandi shipping headquarters.
Patrick Vale was still in his office.
Roman entered without warning.
Patrick rose behind his desk.
“Roman. I thought you'd be celebrating your engagement.”
Roman placed the photograph of the black sedan on the desk.
Patrick looked down.
His expression barely changed.
“Where did you get this?”
“Where is my mother?”
Patrick slowly removed his glasses.
“I don't know.”
Roman leaned forward.
“You collected her from a residence three months ago.”
Patrick glanced at Michael.
“You're misunderstanding the situation.”
“Then explain it.”
Patrick opened a drawer.
Michael moved immediately.
Patrick raised both hands.
“It's a folder, Michael. Nothing more.”
Inside were copies of medical transport agreements.
Patrick placed one in front of Roman.
“Your mother contacted me herself.”
Roman stared.
“Why would she do that?”
“Because she believed someone was preparing to expose her location.”
“Who?”
Patrick looked exhausted.
“Vanessa's father.”
Roman shook his head.
“You expect me to believe you protected her?”
“I expect you to understand that your father's business was not as clean as you remember.”
Roman stepped closer.
“Be careful.”
Patrick looked directly at him.
“Your father was investigating Hartwell. He knew someone in the company was stealing from him.”
“You.”
“Yes,” Patrick said.
Roman froze.
Patrick continued.
“I stole money. I falsified invoices. I made myself rich.”
His voice became bitter.
“But I didn't kill your father.”
“Then who did?”
Patrick reached into the folder and removed a photograph.
It showed Roman's father standing beside another man.
The man wore a Hartwell Automotive jacket.
But this time his face was visible.
Roman recognized him.
Not Vanessa's father.
Someone else.
Patrick looked toward Teresa.
“Ask your aunt why she never told you who drove the Mercedes to Hartwell's garage.”
Roman turned.
Teresa's face was white.
May you like
Patrick spoke the final words quietly.
“Because the man who delivered that car was Roman's uncle, Anthony Bellandi.”
