Chapter 3 - The Audit of Betrayal
I called my Chief of Security,
Marco,
into the room.
"Take my mother,
sister,
and brother to the study,"
I commanded.
"Seal the doors."
"And bring me the financial records for the last five years."
Emma reached for my hand,
her skin rough against mine.
"Leo,"
"don't,"
she whispered,
ever the saint.
"They are your family."
"No,"
I said,
kissing her forehead.
"You are my family."
"They are merely thieves who share my name."
I led her to our master bedroom,
a room she hadn't been allowed to sleep in for three years.
I found out they had moved her to the attic,
into a room with no heat and a single window.
The rage inside me moved from a fire to a cold,
deadly ice.
I drew a warm bath for her,
my hands trembling with a tenderness I hadn't felt in years.
As she washed away the grease and the shame,
I stood by the window,
watching the gates of my estate.
Marco entered with a thick folder.
"Boss,"
he said,
his voice grim.
"It’s worse than we thought."
"They didn't just spend the allowance you sent."
"They forged your signature on three offshore accounts."
"They sold the properties in Italy."
"And the way they treated Mrs. Moretti..."
He hesitated,
looking at the bathroom door.
"Tell me,"
I said.
"They told her you were dead,
boss."
"Three years ago."
"They told her the money was gone and if she didn't work,"
"they would throw her onto the streets with nothing."
I felt my heart stop.
They had convinced my wife I was a ghost.
They had used my "death" to enslave her.
"Marco,"
I said,
my voice a whisper from the depths of hell.
"Call the bank."
"Freeze everything."
"Every card,"
"every account,"
"every trust fund."
"I want them to feel what it’s like to have nothing."
May you like
"And then,"
"bring them to me."
