Chapter 4 - The Father Who Sold Me
I refused to believe it.
Not because the evidence was weak.
Because the alternative was unbearable.
My father had not simply made a terrible mistake.
He had planned it.
Anthony showed me bank transfers.
Payments from Elias Moretti.
Thomas Evans.
Every three months.
For years.
I stared at the numbers.
“This is impossible.”
“It isn't.”
“He hated Elias.”
“Maybe.”
“I saw them fight.”
“People perform hatred.”
I felt sick.
Anthony gave me space.
Then I saw one payment.
The date was the week my mother died.
I froze.
“What is this?”
Anthony looked.
“Forty thousand.”
“Why would Elias pay him?”
“I don't know.”
Another payment.
Then another.
I looked at the pattern.
“It wasn't gambling.”
“What?”
“My father said he lost money at the casino.”
Anthony looked closer.
“These amounts were never used at casinos.”
“No.”
“Where did they go?”
I traced the accounts.
A restoration company.
Then a shipping company.
Then a charity.
I stared.
“It was moving money.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
Anthony shook his head.
We spent the day tracing it.
The money eventually reached one account.
A private storage facility in New York.
Locker 818.
I went with Anthony.
Inside was a box.
Photographs.
Paintings.
Contracts.
And a recording.
My father.
Talking to Elias.
“I'll get her to work for him.”
Elias laughed.
“She won't agree.”
“She'll have no choice.”
My blood went cold.
“How much?”
“Four hundred.”
“And when she works it off?”
“She won't.”
“Why?”
“Because he'll keep her.”
My father's voice was clear.
“He likes useful people.”
I stopped the recording.
I couldn't breathe.
Anthony stood beside me.
“Emma.”
“My father sold me before I ever met you.”
Anthony said nothing.
I laughed.
It sounded broken.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“He planned it.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew.”
“I suspected.”
I turned.
“You should have told me.”
“I wanted proof.”
“You could have told me.”
“I know.”
I pushed past him.
He caught my wrist.
I pulled away.
“Don't.”
He released me.
“I'm sorry.”
I looked at him.
“Did you know the debt was fake?”
“No.”
“Was it?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“The original debt was eighty thousand.”
I stared.
“Then where did the four hundred come from?”
“Interest.”
I laughed bitterly.
“My father agreed to impossible terms.”
“He knew.”
I felt tears burning.
“He didn't need to sell me.”
“No.”
“He chose to.”
“Yes.”
I turned toward the door.
Anthony stepped in front of me.
“Where are you going?”
“Away.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
“You can't.”
“Watch me.”
“There are people after you.”
“I don't care.”
“I do.”
I froze.
Anthony's voice was quiet.
“If you walk out now, Elias will find you.”
“I'd rather take my chances.”
“He won't give you a chance.”
He stepped closer.
“He knows what you found.”
I stared at him.
“What did I find?”
“The truth.”
He held my gaze.
“And now you are the most dangerous person in this city.”
That night, I stayed.
Not because I was his prisoner.
Because I finally understood that outside his walls, I was in greater danger.
I went to the library.
Anthony found me there.
“I brought you something.”
It was an old wooden box.
Inside was a letter from his grandmother.
I opened it.
If Emma ever learns the truth, tell her she was not chosen because she was weak.
She was chosen because she was capable.
Elias wants her expertise.
Thomas wants her money.
But Anthony must never treat her like either.
She deserves a choice.
I looked up.
Anthony's eyes were wet.
“Did you know she wrote this?”
“No.”
“You never read it?”
“No.”
“Then why did you bring it?”
“Because it's time you had the choice she wanted you to have.”
He placed a passport on the table.
A new identity.
A flight ticket.
Enough money to disappear.
“You can leave tonight.”
I looked at him.
“What about the debt?”
“I forgive it.”
“Why?”
“Because it was never yours.”
I stared at him.
“And if I stay?”
“You stay because you want to.”
He walked away.
For the first time since my father had pointed at me and called me payment, someone had given me something far more valuable than money.
A choice.
May you like
And I realized I didn't want to leave.
Not yet.
