Chapter 5 - THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
“Someone is building a case against me,” I told Vincent.
He was standing across the dining room when I showed him the certification.
He read it twice.
Then his expression turned frighteningly still.
“Whoever did this is going to answer for it.”
“Not with your men,” I said immediately.
“Claire—”
“I mean it. I don't want anyone threatened, dragged into a warehouse, or frightened into saying whatever you want to hear.”
His jaw tightened.
“That isn't what I was suggesting.”
“Then tell me what you were suggesting.”
He looked at me for several seconds.
“Getting the records before someone destroys them.”
“Good. We can agree on that.”
I had already contacted an attorney who specialized in financial fraud and nonprofit disputes.
Her name was Rachel Grant.
She was fifty-three, had spent twenty years challenging corporate misconduct, and spoke with the patience of someone who didn't need to raise her voice to be heard.
When I explained the situation, she asked one question.
“Are you prepared for the possibility that your husband may be implicated?”
I looked across the room at Vincent.
“Yes.”
“Even if the evidence hurts him?”
I thought about the unsigned divorce petition still sitting on Ruth's kitchen table.
“Yes.”
Rachel agreed to represent me independently.
She also recommended a forensic accountant who had no connection to Moretti businesses.
For the first time since discovering the forged authorization, I felt that someone was working for me rather than for my husband's last name.
The next morning, we met Rachel in her downtown office.
She examined the company records and listened without interruption.
Then she pointed toward a particular transaction.
“Look at the original approval number.”
I leaned forward.
“What about it?”
“The receiving bank required two authorizations for transfers above five hundred thousand dollars. Peter's code appears as the financial officer.”
“And the second?”
She enlarged the document.
A security authorization belonging to Leo Santoro.
I stared at the screen.
“No.”
“Do you recognize it?”
“Yes.”
Leo had told me he wanted to protect me.
He had refused to reveal my location to Vincent.
He had helped me find the fraudulent property filing.
And now his security code appeared on a transfer that could send me to prison.
Rachel watched my expression.
“You trust this man?”
“I thought I did.”
“Then we need to find out whether he authorized the transaction or whether someone used his credentials.”
I nodded.
But another memory had already begun troubling me.
Six months earlier, a young employee from Vincent's accounting department had stopped me in the mansion's driveway.
Her name was June Ellis.
She couldn't have been more than thirty-five.
She'd been holding a manila envelope.
“Mrs. Moretti, could I speak to you privately?”
Before she could explain, one of Vincent's security men approached.
“Mr. Moretti doesn't want business discussed at the residence.”
June had lowered her eyes.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble.”
Two weeks later, I heard she'd resigned.
At the time, I assumed she'd found another job.
Now I wasn't so sure.
Rachel located her employment information through records we could lawfully access.
June had worked in accounts payable for eleven years.
She hadn't resigned.
Her employment had been terminated.
The reason listed was unauthorized disclosure of confidential financial information.
I asked Rachel to contact her.
By late afternoon, June agreed to meet us at a public diner near the marina.
She arrived carrying an ordinary canvas tote bag.
Her hair was shorter than I remembered.
She looked tired.
When she saw me, she stopped.
“Mrs. Moretti.”
“Please call me Claire.”
She sat down slowly.
“I tried to tell you.”
“I remember.”
“I thought you ignored me.”
The words hurt.
“I didn't understand what you were trying to say.”
June looked at the coffee between her hands.
“I found duplicate invoices. Payments to Northbridge for work that hadn't been done. Then I noticed the transfers coming out of Rosalie House.”
“Why didn't you report them?”
“I did. To Peter.”
“What happened?”
“He told me the foundation had approved everything.”
“And you believed him?”
“For about three days.”
She gave a humorless smile.
“Then I noticed your signature on a document dated the week you were in California with your mother.”
My heart skipped.
“My mother was having surgery.”
“I know. That's why I checked.”
I remembered that trip.
Vincent had promised to come to California for the weekend.
Instead, he claimed a business emergency.
Later, I learned he had taken Evelyn to Miami.
“June, why did they fire you?”
“Because I copied the ledger entries.”
“Do you still have them?”
She hesitated.
“I kept my original notes and copies of records I was authorized to review. I didn't know who I could trust.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“You can give them to the independent investigators. We'll document how you obtained them.”
June nodded.
Then she reached into her bag.
She removed an old employee identification card.
On its reverse side, several numbers had been written in blue ink.
“These are the transfer references,” she said. “I memorized the important ones because I was afraid the files would disappear.”
I compared the numbers with Rachel's printout.
They matched.
“Who approved them?” I asked.
“Peter prepared the requests.”
“And Leo?”
June stared at me.
“Mr. Santoro handled the security clearance.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did you ever speak to him?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
She looked genuinely miserable.
“He told me there were matters I didn't understand. He said Mr. Moretti had authorized the restructuring.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
“Then why didn't you go around him?”
“I tried. That's when I came to your house.”
I remembered the guard interrupting us.
“Who ordered security to stop you?”
June looked down.
“Leo.”
For a moment, the diner seemed impossibly quiet.
I thought about all the times Leo had brought flowers when Vincent forgot a birthday.
All the times he'd driven me to the airport.
The evenings he'd sat in our kitchen and asked after my mother.
I had believed his kindness was separate from his loyalty to Vincent.
Now I wondered whether the two had ever truly been separate.
June removed one final sheet from her bag.
“This is why I lost my job.”
It was a printed transaction log.
Three transfers.
Almost two million dollars.
All routed through the fraudulent consulting company in my name.
Peter's authorization appeared on each.
Leo's security code appeared on each.
But the third transfer contained something different.
A handwritten instruction had been scanned into the system.
Expedite. No questions to Mrs. Moretti.
Beneath it was Leo's signature.
I knew that signature.
I'd seen it on Christmas cards for seven years.
And this time, unlike mine, it looked genuine.
Rachel examined the page.
“This isn't proof that Leo understood the fraud,” she said carefully.
But I was already remembering his first words on the telephone.
I know enough to understand why you left.
Perhaps Leo knew far more than he'd admitted.
I stood, took the printed log, and turned toward the window.
Outside, parked across the street, was Leo's familiar dark sedan.
He wasn't hiding.
May you like
He was sitting behind the wheel, waiting.
And for the first time, I understood that the man who had promised to protect me might also be the man who had helped trap me.
