Chapter 6 - THE BARGAIN MY MOTHER NEVER TOLD ME ABOUT
My mother's letter remained spread across the kitchen table when Dante arrived the next morning.
I'd agreed to let him visit for one reason.
I wanted him to read every word.
He stood beside my small table while I watched his expression.
When he finished, he didn't speak.
“Did your father know?” I asked.
Dante looked at the letter.
“I believe he did.”
“Then why didn't he stop Frank?”
“My father believed private problems should be solved privately. He protected the family name before anything else.”
“Even when innocent people suffered?”
Dante swallowed.
“Yes.”
I wasn't prepared for that answer.
I'd expected excuses.
Instead, I was standing across from a man admitting that the father he'd respected had allowed terrible things to happen.
“My mother trusted him,” I said.
“I know.”
“She gave up her job.”
“I know.”
“She spent her final Christmas worrying whether she'd done enough to protect me.”
Dante closed his eyes briefly.
“I can't change what he did, Olivia.”
“Then don't repeat it.”
He looked at me.
That was the moment something shifted between us.
Not forgiveness.
Not affection.
Something more difficult.
Responsibility.
Dante brought records from the Moretti family charitable fund.
He didn't ask me to trust his interpretation.
He laid the pages on the table and explained what each one meant.
Harbor House had received grants for years.
At least on paper.
But after 2018, a growing portion of the rescue budget had gone to a company called North Pier K9.
The payments were described as training services, maintenance, and animal rehabilitation.
Then Dante pointed to an entry.
October 2023.
$48,000.
Recipient: Nora Marshall.
“That money didn't go to your mother,” he said.
“Obviously.”
“There's an account attached to the payment. My auditors are tracing where it actually went.”
I studied the numbers.
“Why would Frank use her name?”
“Because she had once been an authorized vendor for the rescue. Someone kept that record active after her death.”
I felt sick.
My mother had been buried for three years.
Yet someone was still using her identity to move money.
Dante reached across the table.
He stopped before touching my hand.
“Olivia, I'm going to get to the bottom of this.”
“Don't make promises you can't keep.”
He nodded.
“Then I'll show you what I do instead.”
That afternoon, we returned to Harbor House.
Mrs. Alvarez was waiting with a woman named Iris Hale.
Iris worked with an independent animal-welfare organization that inspected and supported struggling rescues.
She had short gray hair, sensible shoes, and the unmistakable expression of someone who didn't tolerate excuses.
“Mr. Moretti,” she said. “I understand your family owns this building.”
“Through a charitable property trust.”
“Then we have a serious problem.”
She spread several inspection photographs across a table.
The rear kennels were deteriorating.
Water had damaged the walls.
The heating system needed repairs.
And nineteen rescued dogs were still being cared for by volunteers.
“Why wasn't I told animals were being housed here?” Dante asked.
Mrs. Alvarez folded her arms.
“Because nobody from your office has visited in years.”
He accepted the criticism.
Iris tapped another document.
“The property has been scheduled for redevelopment. The trust's management committee approved the closure.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Dante frowned.
“I never approved that.”
“Frank Bellini signed as the trust's authorized operating representative.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where will the dogs go?”
Iris hesitated.
“The receiving facility listed on the transfer plan is North Pier K9.”
Nobody spoke.
Then Mrs. Alvarez said, “Over my dead body.”
Dante began examining the approval records.
Frank had been entrusted with day-to-day management authority for several Moretti properties.
That included Harbor House.
He could issue operational instructions without requesting Dante's personal approval for every decision.
Dante had built a system around trusted lieutenants.
And Frank had learned how to use it.
“Can you cancel the transfer?” I asked.
“I'm suspending Frank's authority. But the property committee also needs to reverse the closure.”
“How long will that take?”
“Longer than it should.”
Iris looked toward the kennels.
“We can't rely on the committee. We need a safe temporary placement plan for every animal.”
“Then we'll make one,” I said.
She studied me.
“Have you handled frightened dogs before?”
I looked toward Orion.
“Apparently, I have.”
Mrs. Alvarez smiled sadly.
“Your mother would have liked that answer.”
For the next two hours, we made lists.
Which dogs needed medication.
Which were elderly.
Which could safely share a room.
Which needed quiet spaces.
Dante offered his private kennels.
Iris refused to move animals without an independent welfare assessment.
To my surprise, Dante agreed.
No argument.
No threats.
For once, he was listening to people who knew more than he did.
Then a volunteer came in carrying a yellow notice she'd found attached to the rear entrance.
Iris read it.
Her face changed.
“What is it?” I asked.
She handed me the paper.
It was a revised removal order.
The transfer hadn't been scheduled for the following week.
Someone had moved the date forward.
The instruction was stamped with North Pier's name.
ALL ANIMALS TO BE COLLECTED AT 6:00 A.M. TOMORROW.
Below that was a smaller line.
Unclaimed or noncompliant animals may be classified for disposal.
I stared at the words.
Nineteen animals.
Some old.
Some sick.
Some terrified of strangers.
And in less than twelve hours, the same operation that had taken Bear from my mother was coming back for them.
Dante took the notice from my hand.
May you like
His expression went cold.
“Frank is going to learn,” he said, “what happens when I stop letting other men make decisions in my name.”
