Chapter 3 - My Ex-Husband Thought I Was Coming to Watch Him Marry Another Woman—He Didn't Know Federal Agents Were Reading the Same Guest List I Had Circled in RedThe weeks before the wedding passed quickly.
Ava grew stronger.
I learned how to sleep in fragments.
Feed her.
Change her.
Hold her.
And somewhere between midnight feedings and legal documents, I became less angry.
Not because Adrian deserved forgiveness.
Because my daughter deserved a mother who wasn't living inside old wounds.
I hired a former FBI accountant to examine the ledgers.
His name was Robert Chase.
He found something I had missed.
The transfers weren't random.
Each payment had been made shortly before a person disappeared.
He created a timeline.
Company payment.
Federal contract.
Political donation.
Disappearance.
Again.
And again.
And again.
It wasn't laundering.
It was control.
Adrian's empire was built through leverage.
People owed him money.
Then favors.
Then silence.
Then everything.
But there was another pattern.
Every major transfer passed through one company.
Aurelia Global Holdings.
The owner?
Marcus Cross.
Valentina's supposedly dead father.
I stared.
“That's impossible.”
Robert shook his head.
“No.”
“Marcus Cross died three years ago.”
“Officially.”
“Then who controls Aurelia?”
He looked at me.
“Someone who has access to its signature.”
“Valentina?”
“Maybe.”
I stared at the file.
That changed everything.
Could Valentina know?
Was she actually pregnant?
Was Adrian the father?
Or was the wedding itself part of something much bigger?
I needed answers.
I met Agent Hale again.
He had obtained additional records.
“The senator is going to the wedding.”
“I know.”
“The contractor too.”
“I know.”
“And Marcus Cross appears in financial records connected to all three.”
“What does that mean?”
“We don't know.”
I showed him the Aurelia records.
He stared.
“Where did you get these?”
“Same place.”
He sighed.
“Mia, this is beyond Moretti.”
“How far?”
“International.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Money is moving through ports in five countries.”
I swallowed.
“And the disappearances?”
“Connected.”
“So what does Adrian have to do with it?”
“We're not sure.”
That answer frustrated me.
Then Hale asked:
“Why do you think Adrian divorced you?”
I smiled bitterly.
“You know why.”
“No.”
He pointed at the ledgers.
“Do you?”
I stared.
Hale said:
“What if Adrian didn't divorce you because he thought you couldn't give him a child?”
I frowned.
“What else?”
“What if he divorced you because he wanted you away from the Moretti family before something happened?”
I didn't answer.
That possibility had never occurred to me.
Adrian had always been cruel.
But cruelty and strategy weren't mutually exclusive.
The final week before the wedding, I received a letter.
No return address.
Inside was one photograph.
Adrian.
Valentina.
And a woman I recognized immediately.
My mother.
My mother had died twelve years earlier.
The photograph was dated eight months ago.
I stared.
Someone had taken it recently.
Impossible.
Unless my mother hadn't died.
May you like
The back contained a message:
Ask Adrian what happened the night your mother disappeared.
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