Chapter 7 - THE MAN WHO WATCHED HER RETURN
Ava pushed the warehouse record away.
“You saw Conrad?”
Victoria nodded.
“At Port Liberty.”
“And you didn't tell Arthur?”
“I didn't know whether Arthur was helping me or reporting everything back to him.”
Arthur's face tightened.
“I can't blame you.”
Ava looked at the notation again.
Verified in person.
“That means somebody claimed to see you approve the transfer while Conrad was there.”
Victoria shook her head.
“I never entered the warehouse. I waited in Arthur's vehicle.”
“Then somebody lied.”
“Or somebody used the fact that I was there to make the records look legitimate.”
Arthur removed his glasses.
“I've been trying to understand how Conrad renewed the family administration agreement without triggering a review. This may explain it.”
Ava frowned.
“Explain what?”
“If someone represented that Victoria personally confirmed the transfer, the company's internal system would have treated it as valid.”
Victoria looked at him.
“Even though I had supposedly been dead for two years?”
“The certification used a restricted internal identity number. It may never have gone through the normal estate review.”
Ava stared at Arthur.
“Who approved the verification?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he lowered his eyes.
“I did.”
The diner seemed suddenly silent.
Ava leaned forward.
“You signed off on a document saying my mother approved something when you knew she hadn't?”
Arthur's voice cracked.
“I authorized the entry without reviewing the underlying transaction.”
“You were her attorney.”
“I know.”
“You were supposed to protect her.”
“I know.”
“You were supposed to protect me.”
Arthur looked at Ava.
“I failed both of you.”
Victoria sat motionless.
For years, Arthur Bell had been more than her attorney.
He had handled her father's estate.
He had attended Ava's school graduations.
He had eaten Christmas dinner at the Moretti house.
His betrayal wasn't loud.
It was worse.
It had been written in quiet signatures and appointments he never questioned.
Ava stood.
“I want you removed from anything involving my inheritance.”
Arthur nodded.
“You have every right.”
“And I want you to tell the truth about every document you approved.”
“I will.”
She looked into his eyes.
“Even if it costs you your career.”
Arthur swallowed.
“Even then.”
Victoria reached for the watch.
“We'll need an independent legal team. Arthur can cooperate as a witness, but he won't represent the family.”
For the first time, Ava felt her mother was actually listening.
Not merely protecting her.
Listening.
Outside the diner, dawn began turning the waterfront gray.
Ava was exhausted.
Her cheek throbbed.
She still wore the torn dress from the engagement party.
Victoria offered to take her somewhere safe.
Ava surprised them both.
“Take me home.”
Victoria hesitated.
“To Hawthorne?”
“No.”
Ava met her eyes.
“My apartment.”
Forty minutes later, the Mafia Queen climbed three narrow flights of stairs above a laundromat in Hoboken.
The hallway smelled of laundry detergent and old paint.
Ava unlocked a door with a loose brass handle.
Inside was a small room with a secondhand couch, a folding table, and a narrow kitchen.
There were two mugs.
Three mismatched plates.
A stack of unpaid bills beneath a small ceramic lamp.
Victoria stood at the entrance.
Ava watched her.
“This is where I've lived for fourteen months.”
Victoria entered slowly.
On the wall hung a photograph of Ava at sixteen.
She was standing beside Victoria, both laughing, the black-gold crown pendant newly fastened around her neck.
Victoria touched the edge of the frame.
“I remember this day.”
Ava set her bag down.
“I kept it because I wanted to remember you smiling.”
Victoria turned away.
Ava opened the refrigerator.
There was milk, a carton of eggs, and half a container of leftover pasta.
“Coffee?” she asked.
Victoria looked surprised.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Ava made coffee in a cheap machine that rattled loudly.
Victoria sat at the folding table.
For several minutes, neither mentioned Conrad.
Then Ava noticed her mother's attention drifting toward an envelope beside the lamp.
It was a letter from a collection agency.
Ava turned it facedown.
“Don't.”
Victoria looked up.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were thinking about paying it.”
“I could.”
“I know.”
Ava sat opposite her.
“Do you understand why I don't want you to?”
Victoria considered the question.
“Because you're afraid I'll believe money fixes what happened.”
Ava nodded.
“Exactly.”
Victoria reached for her coffee.
“Then I won't touch it unless you ask.”
Ava studied her.
It was the first promise that morning she actually believed.
At eight o'clock, they met their newly retained attorney, Rachel Mercer, by video from Ava's kitchen.
Rachel was a careful, middle-aged litigator who had no prior ties to the Moretti businesses.
She explained that Victoria's identity could be established through medical records, immigration history, and sworn witnesses.
But restoring financial authority would take additional proceedings.
Conrad could also challenge the evidence.
“We need to preserve the records before anything else moves,” Rachel said.
“What about the six o'clock closing?” Ava asked.
Rachel's expression was grim.
“The buyer claims the transaction has already been submitted. We're seeking emergency relief, but the transfer may have been structured in stages.”
Victoria clenched her jaw.
“Can we stop the terminals from being stripped?”
“We can request an immediate preservation order. The employees' representatives can also challenge certain transfers.”
Ava spoke up.
“Ruth Serrano knows about the pension records.”
Rachel turned toward her.
“Then we need Ruth's testimony.”
Victoria looked at Ava.
“Do you know where she is?”
“Manny said she lives near the old union hall.”
Rachel nodded.
“Good. Let's contact her through her brother.”
Before the meeting ended, Rachel forwarded them a filing Conrad's attorneys had submitted overnight.
The heading read:
Emergency Petition Regarding the Capacity of Ava Moretti.
Ava's stomach dropped.
Conrad was attempting to renew the order restricting her control of her inheritance.
Attached were accounts of her grief, photographs of her former apartment, and statements from people who had described her as unstable.
Then she reached the final exhibit.
It was a video still from the engagement party.
Ava standing beside the dog bowl.
Her face red from Meredith's slap.
Her hands raised as two guards restrained her.
The caption read:
Subject exhibiting aggressive behavior during private family event.
Ava stared at the screen.
“They're using what they did to me as evidence against me.”
Rachel's voice hardened.
“Yes. And they're hoping you'll be too embarrassed to challenge it publicly.”
Victoria began to speak.
Ava raised her hand.
“No.”
Her mother stopped.
Ava straightened in her chair.
“I'll speak for myself.”
Then Rachel opened the accompanying witness statement.
At the bottom was an electronic signature.
Derek Cole.
Ava stared at the name of the man who had once promised to marry her.
May you like
And beneath his signature were seven words.
“I believe Ava Moretti requires psychiatric supervision.”
