Chapter 3 - The Account Belonging to a Dead ManBy eight the following morning, Alessandro Moretti had locked down every financial account associated with his father's old household office.
He hadn't ordered a raid.
He hadn't threatened the staff.
He hadn't dragged everyone into a room and demanded confessions.
Instead, he contacted Nora Ellis, an independent attorney with experience in corporate fraud, and asked her to supervise an audit of the suspicious payment.
That decision irritated his uncle.
Lorenzo Moretti arrived shortly after breakfast, carrying a black leather briefcase and wearing the expression of a man who believed he had the right to enter any room in the house.
At sixty-one, Lorenzo was a handsome older man with silver hair, immaculate suits, and the kind of charming public personality that made strangers trust him.
He had spent decades managing family investments and charitable foundations.
After Renato's death, he had helped Alessandro consolidate control of the family businesses.
Alessandro had always considered him difficult.
But useful.
Now, for the first time, he wondered whether those were simply polite words for dangerous.
"An independent audit?" Lorenzo repeated.
Alessandro remained seated behind his desk.
"Yes."
"Of household expenses?"
"Of unauthorized transactions."
Lorenzo gave a short laugh.
"Alessandro, the estate has hundreds of transactions every month. There's no reason to involve outsiders because someone misplaced a receipt."
"Someone used my dead father's authorization."
The amusement disappeared from Lorenzo's face.
For half a second.
Then it returned.
"An administrative error."
"Possibly."
"Then let Celia handle it."
Celia Grant was the estate's operations director.
She managed vendor payments, maintenance contracts, staffing budgets, and the complicated financial paperwork that kept a mansion of this size functioning.
She had worked for Lorenzo long before Alessandro inherited the property.
"She'll cooperate with Nora," Alessandro said.
Lorenzo's gaze sharpened.
"You're treating a housekeeping issue like an attack."
Alessandro looked up.
"Someone threatened my employee's sister."
That stopped Lorenzo.
"Which employee?"
"Emily Carter."
Something passed across his uncle's expression.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Alessandro saw it.
And remembered it.
"Why would anyone threaten a housekeeper?" Lorenzo asked.
"That's what I'm finding out."
Lorenzo slowly set down his briefcase.
"Alessandro, I've watched you build this empire from the wreckage your father left behind. Don't let a pretty young woman persuade you to start distrusting your family."
The room became very quiet.
"Be careful," Alessandro said.
Lorenzo frowned.
"Excuse me?"
"Emily hasn't persuaded me to do anything. Someone tried to use my father's accounts to make her steal from me."
"I'm merely suggesting that you don't allow personal feelings to interfere with business."
Alessandro stood.
"Then perhaps you should do the same."
For the first time in years, Lorenzo left his nephew's office without having the final word.
Downstairs, Emily sat at the kitchen table with Sophie.
Her younger sister had arrived just before dawn, escorted by Marco after she'd agreed to leave student housing temporarily.
Sophie was twenty-two, with dark brown hair, her mother's stubborn green eyes, and the permanently exhausted expression of someone surviving nursing school on coffee and determination.
She was also furious.
"You should have told me somebody was threatening you."
"I found out last night."
"And you went on a date with a criminal?"
"I went on a date with someone I thought was normal."
"Which is what makes this worse."
Emily rubbed her forehead.
"I know."
Sophie softened.
"I'm not angry at you."
"You sound angry."
"I'm scared."
Emily reached across the table.
Sophie took her hand.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Sophie said something unexpected.
"Mom knew something about that Moretti family."
Emily looked up.
"What?"
"I remember her arguing on the phone once."
"When?"
"Maybe a month before the accident."
Emily leaned forward.
"What did she say?"
Sophie frowned, searching her memory.
"I was fifteen. I was supposed to be asleep. She was in the kitchen."
"Who was she talking to?"
"I don't know."
"Do you remember anything?"
Sophie stared at the table.
"She said, 'Those families were promised that money. I won't sign something I know is false.'"
Emily felt a chill move down her spine.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't know it mattered."
Sophie looked miserable.
"After Mom died, everything was so awful. We were just trying to survive."
Emily squeezed her hand.
"You didn't do anything wrong."
"Maybe she was scared."
Emily thought about the nights their mother had checked the locks twice.
The afternoon she'd abruptly stopped taking certain work calls.
The envelope she'd hidden inside an old sewing box.
Emily had forgotten those details for years.
Now they returned with uncomfortable clarity.
"Do you still have Mom's sewing box?" she asked.
Sophie frowned.
"Yes. It's in the storage closet at my apartment."
Emily stared at her.
"Why?"
"Because it belonged to Mom."
"No. I mean, why did you keep it?"
Sophie looked surprised.
"Because you told me never to throw away the things she loved."
Emily swallowed.
Their mother had loved sewing.
Even when money was tight, she'd repaired their clothes, made Halloween costumes, and taught both daughters how to fix a torn hem.
That wooden sewing box had been one of the few belongings they refused to sell after her death.
Emily looked toward the kitchen windows.
For the first time, she wondered whether it might contain something more than needles and thread.
Margaret Bell entered carrying fresh coffee.
She was sixty-four, with silver-streaked hair and the gentle but commanding manner of someone who had spent forty years managing demanding households.
"Emily, dear, Mr. Moretti asked whether you would join him in the study after breakfast."
Sophie immediately stiffened.
"Why?"
Margaret set down the pot.
"To discuss what happens next."
Emily stood.
"Tell him I'll be there."
Margaret lingered.
Then she looked at Sophie.
"You have your mother's eyes."
Both sisters froze.
Emily turned slowly.
"You knew our mother?"
Margaret's expression changed.
"Oh, my."
She placed one hand against her chest.
"I thought I recognized the surname when you were hired, but I didn't connect it. There are so many Carters."
Emily stepped closer.
"Margaret?"
The older woman pulled out a chair.
"Your mother came here once. Years ago."
"To the mansion?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Margaret's eyes grew troubled.
"She came to see Mr. Renato."
Emily felt the kitchen tilt.
"When?"
"A few weeks before she died."
"Did she speak to him?"
"Not that day."
"Why not?"
Margaret hesitated.
"Mr. Lorenzo was here. He told her Renato wasn't receiving visitors."
Emily's heart began pounding.
"What happened?"
"Your mother insisted that what she had to say was important. She was terribly upset."
"Did Lorenzo let her in?"
"No."
Margaret looked down.
"He threatened to call security."
Sophie pressed a hand to her mouth.
Emily whispered, "What did Mom do?"
"She left an envelope."
"With whom?"
Margaret's face went pale.
"With me."
Nobody moved.
Then Emily asked, "What did you do with it?"
"I gave it to Mr. Lorenzo. He told me it was company correspondence and that he would see it reached Renato."
Margaret's eyes filled.
"Oh, dear God."
Emily gripped the back of the chair.
"Did you ever see my mother again?"
Margaret shook her head.
"No."
Her voice broke.
"The next time I heard her name was in the newspaper. There had been an accident."
Upstairs, Alessandro was reviewing the foundation records when Emily entered.
He looked at her face and immediately stood.
"What happened?"
"Margaret knew my mother."
He listened without interrupting as Emily explained.
When she finished, Alessandro walked to the window.
"My uncle told you she had come here?"
"Margaret said he stopped her from seeing your father."
Alessandro closed his eyes.
He remembered the final months of Renato's life.
His father had been exhausted.
Angry.
Consumed by the missing money and his deteriorating health.
He'd stopped trusting nearly everyone.
Including, on some occasions, his own son.
Alessandro had believed grief and betrayal were responsible.
Now he wondered how much of that suspicion Lorenzo had encouraged.
"I need to see the folder Daniel asked for," Emily said.
Alessandro turned.
"You don't need to steal it."
"I know."
He studied her.
"Do you want to be present when Nora examines it?"
"Yes."
"Then you can be."
The answer was so simple that Emily almost didn't believe him.
"You're really going to let me see your father's confidential documents?"
"Only the portions relevant to your mother, with Nora handling any legal restrictions."
"Why?"
Alessandro's expression grew serious.
"Because if my family had something to do with Catherine Carter's death, you deserve the truth."
Emily swallowed.
"And if the truth makes your family look terrible?"
"Then we deal with that."
He paused.
"I've spent too many years protecting a name. I'm beginning to wonder who paid the price."
An hour later, Nora Ellis arrived.
She was a sharply dressed attorney in her early forties, with a direct manner and little patience for intimidation.
After hearing Emily's account, she insisted that the young woman obtain independent legal advice before reviewing sensitive financial records or speaking with investigators.
"I work for Mr. Moretti," Nora explained. "That means my first legal duty is to him. You need someone whose only job is to protect you."
Emily looked at Alessandro.
He nodded.
"She's right."
Nora arranged a referral to an attorney unconnected with the Moretti family.
Only then did they examine Renato's old study.
The room smelled of leather, polished oak, and books that had not been opened in years.
A heavy walnut desk stood beneath a portrait of Renato Moretti.
Alessandro unlocked the lower drawer.
Inside were dozens of old folders.
Blue.
Brown.
Black.
And one empty space.
Nora frowned.
"Where's the blue leather folder?"
Alessandro stared at the drawer.
"It was here."
Marco checked the inventory.
"The folder was listed in the estate records six years ago."
"Who last accessed this room?" Alessandro asked.
Marco glanced at his notes.
"Several housekeeping staff. Maintenance personnel. Celia. And two members of the family."
"Which two?"
Marco hesitated.
"You."
"And?"
"Your uncle Lorenzo."
Alessandro looked at the empty space.
"Check the cameras."
Twenty minutes later, they watched footage from the previous afternoon.
A woman entered the study.
She wore the estate housekeeping uniform.
Brown hair tied in a low bun.
Her face partly turned away from the camera.
She approached the desk.
Opened the drawer.
And removed the blue folder.
Emily stared.
The woman looked exactly like her.
Same height.
Same uniform.
Same hairstyle.
Then the timestamp appeared.
4:17 p.m.
Emily shook her head.
"That isn't me."
Alessandro said nothing.
At 4:17, Emily had been in the linen room.
Trying on the red dress.
Talking to Jenna over video call.
She had the call history to prove it.
Marco paused the recording.
Then enlarged the woman's left wrist.
A narrow silver watch gleamed beneath her sleeve.
Emily looked at it.
"I don't own a watch."
Margaret leaned closer.
Then her face changed.
"Oh, goodness."
Alessandro looked at her.
"What?"
"That watch."
"Do you recognize it?"
Margaret nodded.
"Yes."
She swallowed.
"I gave it to Celia Grant for her birthday."
The room became silent.
Alessandro stared at the screen.
The woman wearing Emily's uniform had entered his father's private study with access to the household's most sensitive records.
And she had apparently wanted everyone to believe Emily was responsible.
Then Marco received a message from his financial investigator.
He read it.
His expression hardened.
"Boss."
"What?"
"We found another payment."
"To Daniel?"
"No."
Marco turned the screen toward him.
A transfer had been made from a vendor account controlled by Celia Grant.
The recipient was an offshore consulting company previously linked to Victor Salvatore.
The amount was fifty thousand dollars.
And the transfer had been approved under a familiar name.
Lorenzo Moretti.
Emily stared at the screen.
Her mother's visit.
The missing envelope.
The stolen folder.
The payment to Daniel.
Everything was pointing toward the same man.
But the worst revelation was still waiting.
Because that afternoon, Sophie called Emily from the apartment where they'd gone to retrieve their mother's sewing box.
And her voice was shaking.
"Emily?"
"Sophie, what's wrong?"
"I found something."
"What?"
"A letter."
Emily gripped the phone.
"From Mom?"
"Yes."
There was a long silence.
May you like
Then Sophie whispered the words that changed everything.
"She wrote that if anything ever happened to her, we should never trust Lorenzo Moretti."
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