Chapter 7 - THE MAN WHO CONTROLLED THE BOOKS
“Anthony DeLuca?”
Luca stared at the insurance copy.
The name seemed to disturb him more than the financial numbers.
Anthony had joined the Moretti businesses when Luca was twenty-two.
He had helped rebuild their legitimate operations after years of chaos inside the family.
He attended birthdays.
He sent flowers when Caroline died.
And every Christmas, he brought Oliver a model airplane.
Now his name appeared on an authorization connected to a guarantee nobody could explain.
Marco shook his head.
“Anthony wouldn't do this.”
Luca placed the paper on his desk.
“That's what I thought about everyone in this room.”
I stood near the doorway.
I had been preparing to leave for my mother's appointment when the records arrived.
Luca noticed my coat.
“Emily, you should go.”
“I will, sir.”
He paused.
“Is there something else?”
I hesitated.
“There might be.”
Luca looked up.
“Tell me.”
“Anthony was at the mansion yesterday morning.”
Marco frowned.
“He comes here all the time.”
“Yes. But he wasn't meeting with you.”
“Who was he meeting?” Luca asked.
“Mrs. Bellini.”
Vanessa had spent twenty minutes in Caroline's office with Anthony.
I hadn't thought much of it then.
She was engaged to Luca, and Anthony handled company finances.
But I'd noticed something afterward.
Vanessa had asked me to remove the wastebasket.
Inside were pieces of pale yellow tracing paper.
Luca slowly stood.
“Was she practicing signatures that morning?”
“I can't say for certain. But Oliver later told you he saw her using yellow paper.”
Marco turned toward the desk.
“Do we still have the wastebasket?”
“The trash was collected yesterday afternoon.”
Luca nodded.
“Then don't worry about it.”
He looked at Richard, who had returned early that morning to assist with the court filings.
“Preserve the original documents, the printer records, and access logs. Nobody is to alter anything.”
Richard nodded.
“I've already contacted an independent forensic accountant.”
“Good.”
Luca paused.
“And Anthony?”
Richard looked uncomfortable.
“He's scheduled to attend the emergency board meeting this afternoon.”
“Then he'll have an opportunity to explain.”
I left the mansion shortly afterward.
My mother's appointment was at a hospital on the north side of Chicago.
She had been receiving treatment for a chronic heart condition for nearly two years.
Some days she could walk around her apartment and complain about my cooking.
Other days, climbing six stairs left her exhausted.
That morning, she sat beside me in the examination room, wearing the faded green cardigan she'd owned since I was in college.
“You look tired,” she said.
“I didn't sleep much.”
“Work?”
I nodded.
She studied my face.
“Emily.”
I looked at her.
“You're doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Pretending everything is fine so I won't worry.”
I gave a small laugh.
“I learned it from you.”
She smiled.
Then she reached for my hand.
“You don't have to carry everybody, sweetheart.”
I thought of Oliver.
His trembling fingers.
His blue notebook.
The way he'd asked if I could stay in his family.
“I know, Mom.”
But I wasn't certain I believed it.
After the appointment, my phone showed a message from Luca's office manager.
The message contained a request to return to the mansion whenever my mother's appointment was finished.
There was no threat.
No urgency.
But I knew the day wasn't over.
When I arrived, the mansion was unusually quiet.
Vanessa's engagement flowers had been removed from the entrance hall.
The enormous portrait of Luca and Vanessa, displayed for the dinner, leaned against a wall.
Two housekeepers were carrying it toward storage.
I found Oliver in the sunroom with his hearing aid in place.
He was working on a puzzle.
“Miss Emily!”
He ran toward me.
I hugged him.
“How's Captain Rocket?”
“Better.”
“Good.”
He pointed to the puzzle.
“Uncle Marco helped me.”
Marco stood near the window.
He looked as though he'd aged ten years overnight.
“Emily,” he said quietly.
“Mr. Moretti.”
He glanced at Oliver.
“Could you give me a minute?”
Oliver looked up.
“Are you going to fight?”
Marco's face softened.
“No, buddy.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Oliver returned to his puzzle.
Marco led me into the hall.
“I owe you an apology.”
I was startled.
“For what?”
“For standing there while Vanessa humiliated you and Oliver.”
He looked down.
“I saw what she was doing. I told myself Luca would handle it. I didn't want another problem.”
“You knew she was hiding his progress?”
“I knew she wasn't encouraging him. I didn't know she'd falsified the information.”
I studied him.
“Why didn't you ask Oliver?”
Marco closed his eyes.
“Because the answer might have forced me to choose between my brother and the business.”
At least he wasn't pretending anymore.
“Oliver loves you,” I said.
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“Then show him he can trust you again.”
Marco nodded.
“I intend to.”
The board meeting began at four.
Luca allowed me to stay in the adjacent sitting room with Oliver.
The doors remained partly open because Oliver wanted to see his father.
He could not follow every word in the distant conversation, even with his hearing aid.
I offered to turn on captions for a movie.
He shook his head.
“I want to know if Dad's okay.”
I squeezed his shoulder.
“He'll tell you.”
Inside the meeting room, Anthony DeLuca arrived carrying a leather briefcase.
He was in his late fifties, with neatly combed gray hair and a calm voice.
He greeted Luca as though nothing unusual had happened.
“Luca. Marco. Richard.”
Luca didn't return the greeting.
“Sit down.”
Anthony looked around.
“What's this about?”
Luca slid the insurance copy across the table.
Anthony read it.
His expression barely changed.
“Where did you get this?”
“From the insurer.”
Anthony nodded slowly.
“Then you finally found the archived version.”
Marco stared.
“You knew it existed?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell us?” Luca asked.
Anthony folded the paper.
“Because the archive doesn't contain the complete transaction history.”
“Then show us the complete history.”
Anthony sighed.
“Luca, I've been trying to keep this company solvent for years.”
“By using my son's trust?”
“By keeping your businesses from falling into the hands of creditors.”
Luca leaned forward.
“Answer the question.”
Anthony looked at him.
“Yes. I approved the original corporate guarantee.”
Marco looked sick.
“Anthony—”
“I believed it was authorized under the family office's legacy arrangements.”
“Caroline never consented,” Luca said.
Anthony's expression changed.
“She objected after she discovered the structure.”
“And you ignored her.”
“No. I tried to unwind it.”
Luca stared.
“For three years?”
Anthony opened his briefcase.
He removed an old ledger.
Several pages were marked with red tabs.
“The loans were tied together. Removing one guarantee would trigger defaults elsewhere.”
“So you concealed it.”
“Yes.”
The admission was quiet.
Almost ordinary.
That made it worse.
Anthony continued.
“Caroline understood the danger. She asked Daniel Whitmore to help identify which securities had been improperly pledged.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“Then Daniel wasn't the one who planned the original scheme?”
Anthony shook his head.
“Not at first. He discovered it during a records review.”
Luca's eyes narrowed.
“At first?”
Anthony looked toward Mr. Bellini, who had entered with Richard.
“Daniel approached Bellini after Caroline died. He had evidence. He wanted the debt refinanced before the truth became public.”
Mr. Bellini looked furious.
“You were part of those discussions.”
“Yes,” Anthony replied. “And I regret it.”
Luca stood.
“Regret doesn't return my son's shares.”
Anthony closed the ledger.
“No. But the original accounts might.”
He placed a second document on the table.
“There's a reserve account containing proceeds from properties acquired using the disputed guarantee. I set it aside when I realized the trust might have suffered losses.”
Luca stared.
“How much?”
Anthony told him.
Marco sank into his chair.
It was enough to cover a substantial portion of the disputed debt.
Not enough to solve everything.
But enough to change the immediate danger.
Luca looked coldly at Anthony.
“You hid money while telling me the business was collapsing?”
“I was protecting it from being absorbed into the merger.”
That was the reversal nobody expected.
Anthony had helped create the problem.
But he'd also preserved the funds that might prevent Oliver's shares from being seized.
Before Luca could respond, Richard's phone vibrated.
He read the message.
Then stood.
“The court has scheduled an emergency hearing for tomorrow afternoon regarding the proposed trustee replacement.”
Luca nodded.
“Good.”
Richard didn't sit.
“There's more.”
“What?”
“The lender has submitted additional evidence.”
He looked toward Vanessa.
She had followed her father into the room.
Her face went white.
Richard continued.
“The evidence includes a sworn statement claiming Luca agreed that Oliver was no longer capable of participating meaningfully in ordinary family communication.”
Luca stared.
“Who made that statement?”
Richard hesitated.
Then looked toward the sitting room.
Toward me.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Emily Carter,” he said.
Everyone turned.
I shook my head.
“I never signed anything.”
Richard looked at the page.
“The statement is attributed to you.”
Luca walked toward me.
“Emily?”
I could barely speak.
“Sir, I never said those things.”
He nodded.
“I believe you.”
Then Richard read the final paragraph.
The statement claimed I had personally observed Oliver failing to recognize his father's voice, his name, and everyday household sounds.
It was the exact opposite of everything I'd witnessed.
I stepped forward.
“Let me see it.”
Richard handed me the page.
My name appeared at the bottom.
But there was something stranger than the forged signature.
The statement listed my employment address as the home where I'd lived before moving to Chicago.
An address I'd given only once during my hiring process.
I slowly looked toward Vanessa.
Then toward Anthony.
“Who had access to my original employment application?”
Anthony frowned.
“Our personnel department.”
Vanessa looked away.
May you like
And I realized something terrible.
Someone hadn't merely forged my signature. They had used my private personnel records to make the lie look authentic.
