Chapter 7 - The Bodyguard's Secret and the Evidence in the Blue Folder
The first thing Nicholas did was fire Peter Walsh.
The second was order an independent review of every person assigned to protect his family.
The third was call Detective Ortiz and give her unrestricted access to the security schedules, vendor contracts, and event authorizations relevant to the shooting.
I watched all three decisions happen from a chair in a conference room at the Valenti headquarters.
It was nearly ten at night.
Outside, snow drifted across downtown Milwaukee.
Inside, the atmosphere was so tense that nobody touched the coffee.
Owen Price stood beside the conference table.
His jaw was tight.
Across from him sat Bianca Valenti.
She had changed out of her gala gown into a black sweater and tailored pants.
Nicholas stood at the head of the table.
"Peter had access to the service corridors," he said. "He knew the terrace camera coverage. And he was assigned to assist with the fireworks security perimeter."
Owen nodded.
"He was hired through a contractor. His background check came back clean."
Bianca looked at him.
"Who approved the contractor?"
"Marcus Bell's office handled the procurement."
She closed her eyes.
"Of course."
I looked between them.
"Does Marcus approve every employee in this family?"
Nicholas answered.
"No. But his firm controlled legal review of outside vendors and several trust-funded properties."
"That's convenient."
"Very."
Bianca turned toward me.
"You're not wrong."
I nearly fell off my chair.
She noticed my surprise.
A reluctant smile touched her mouth.
"Don't look so shocked. I can agree with people."
"I'll notify the newspapers."
Nicholas coughed.
It might have been a laugh.
Bianca looked toward Owen.
"Where is Sarah Kline?"
"On leave pending the audit."
Nicholas's expression hardened.
"She's not coming near Grandma."
I thought of Sarah escorting me upstairs.
Reading the threatening messages.
Hesitating before calling Ortiz.
A chill moved across my shoulders.
"Do you think she was involved?"
Owen looked at me.
"We don't know."
"Then find out."
Everyone stared.
I folded my arms.
"What? I'm getting tired of being threatened by people who look perfectly friendly in hallways."
Nicholas nodded.
"That's fair."
Bianca looked almost impressed.
Almost.
The silver-haired waiter was named Raymond Pike.
He had worked as an independent security contractor and occasional fixer.
Detective Ortiz had informed us that he was cooperating with investigators through his attorney.
He had not been granted immunity.
He still faced serious criminal charges.
But he had started talking.
According to the information investigators were willing to share, Raymond had been hired to help coordinate a staged security incident during the gala.
He claimed he initially believed the objective was to create panic, embarrass Nicholas, and force a delay in the upcoming trust decisions.
He insisted he hadn't known an elderly woman would be targeted.
I didn't believe that part.
Not for a second.
A man who discussed a gunshot timed to fireworks didn't get to act surprised when somebody was shot at.
But Raymond's account provided investigators with names.
Marcus Bell.
Peter Walsh.
The younger fake waiter, whose real name appeared to be Caleb Mercer.
And an offshore consulting company that had received funds from a Valenti-affiliated vendor.
More importantly, Raymond identified a second person who had helped arrange access to the gala's security system.
Someone on the inside.
Nicholas's expression had been dark ever since the call.
"Who?" I asked.
He looked toward Owen.
"Sarah."
I felt sick.
She had stood outside my hotel room.
She had read the threats against my mother.
She had been present when I was moved between secured locations.
Owen sat down.
For the first time, he looked defeated.
"I hired her."
Nicholas said nothing.
"Her brother has gambling debts," Owen continued. "I knew about that. I didn't know she had been contacted."
Bianca folded her arms.
"Who contacted her?"
"Marcus's people. They offered to make the debt disappear in exchange for access."
I stared.
"Access to what?"
Nicholas looked at me.
"Security movements. Guest assignments. Vehicle routes."
My stomach twisted.
"She knew where I was staying."
"Yes."
"She knew about my mother."
"Yes."
I stood.
The room swayed slightly.
Nicholas moved toward me.
I held up my hand.
"Don't."
He stopped immediately.
I pressed my fingers against the table.
"I keep thinking about that hallway."
Nobody spoke.
"She looked at me like she was helping. She asked whether I needed water. She told me I could call her if I got scared."
My voice broke.
"And the entire time, she was giving information to the people threatening my mother?"
Nicholas looked furious.
But not at me.
"That's what we're trying to determine."
I turned toward Owen.
"You trusted her."
His face changed.
"Yes."
"Did you check her phone? Her work accounts? Anything?"
"Investigators are examining the records."
"That isn't what I asked."
He looked down.
"No. I didn't know she was compromised."
I wanted to scream.
Not because I believed Owen had deliberately failed.
But because every part of this nightmare seemed to involve someone trusting the wrong person.
Carlo trusted Marcus.
Daniel trusted Carlo to protect him.
Teresa trusted her own son.
Nicholas trusted his employees.
And I had trusted a man who cheated on me and then told me I was unreasonable for leaving.
Trust was beginning to look like the most dangerous word in the English language.
I stepped back.
"I need some air."
Nicholas nodded.
"There's a secure terrace on this floor. Owen can check it first."
I stared at him.
"No terraces."
His expression changed.
"Right."
He looked genuinely embarrassed.
Despite everything, I laughed.
It came out cracked and exhausted.
"Maybe just a hallway."
"There's a lounge down the corridor."
"Perfect."
I walked away before anyone could see me cry.
The lounge was empty.
A small Christmas tree stood beside the windows.
Somebody had placed a bowl of candy canes on the coffee table.
I picked one up.
Then put it down.
My mother loved candy canes.
She always bought them after Christmas when they were discounted and kept them in a glass jar until Easter.
For a moment, I wanted nothing more than to sit beside her in the laundromat kitchen while she complained about the neighbors.
Instead, I was involved in a criminal investigation that seemed to grow worse every hour.
I pressed my palms against my eyes.
"Audrey?"
Nicholas stood in the doorway.
I hadn't heard him approach.
"Can I come in?"
I nodded.
He entered.
Then stopped a few feet away.
"Do you want to be alone?"
"No."
He sat in the chair opposite mine.
Not beside me.
Not close enough to touch.
That small consideration almost made me cry harder.
"I thought I was brave last night," I whispered.
"You were."
"I wasn't. I was terrified."
"Those aren't opposites."
I looked at him.
He continued.
"Brave people get scared. They just don't always let fear make the decision."
I wiped my cheeks.
"You sound like your grandmother."
"She's considerably wiser."
"Clearly."
A small smile appeared.
Then faded.
Nicholas rested his elbows on his knees.
"I owe you an apology."
"For what?"
"For Sarah. For assuming the people around me could be trusted to keep you safe."
"You didn't know."
"That's not the same as being free of responsibility."
I looked at him.
He seemed exhausted.
For the first time, I noticed the faint shadows beneath his eyes.
The silver beginning to appear near his temples.
The way his shoulders held tension even when he sat still.
"Do you ever stop being responsible for everyone?" I asked.
He considered the question.
"No."
"That sounds lonely."
He looked toward the window.
"It is."
The honesty caught me off guard.
I waited.
He continued.
"My father died when I was twenty-eight. Everyone expected me to become him overnight. The businesses, the employees, the family obligations, the people who'd depended on him."
"And the criminal operations."
He nodded.
"Those too."
"Did you want that life?"
"No."
"What did you want?"
He stared at the Christmas tree.
Then smiled faintly.
"I wanted to design buildings."
I blinked.
"Seriously?"
"Architecture. I studied it for two years."
"What happened?"
"My father needed me."
I looked at him.
"Doesn't anyone in this family ever get to choose their own future?"
He laughed quietly.
"Grandma says the same thing."
"Your grandmother is extremely smart."
"Yes."
He turned toward me.
"I've spent years trying to change what this family is. But I'm beginning to understand that I can't simply announce a better future while the old crimes stay buried."
I studied him.
"Then don't."
He looked surprised.
"Don't what?"
"Don't bury them."
He sat back.
"That could cost me everything."
"Maybe."
"My company."
"Maybe."
"My reputation."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Nicholas, half of Milwaukee already thinks you have people buried beneath your parking garages."
He laughed.
A real laugh.
I smiled.
Then continued.
"You told me last night that some things deserved regret. If you want to become someone different, maybe you have to let the truth cost you something."
The amusement left his face.
He looked at me for a long time.
Then whispered, "You're right."
I shrugged.
"I say that frequently."
He smiled.
Then grew serious.
"Audrey, there's something I need to tell you."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"I know more about my father's businesses than I've admitted."
I waited.
"After he died, I inherited records of payments to people who enforced contracts through threats. I shut those arrangements down over time. But I also paid settlements that kept some victims silent."
My chest tightened.
"Why?"
"Because I thought protecting the company was the same as protecting the employees."
"And now?"
"Now I know silence helped the people who did the harm."
I looked down.
He continued.
"If this investigation leads to those records, I'm going to turn them over. All of them."
I studied his face.
"Even if you could be charged?"
"Yes."
It was a difficult promise.
Not romantic.
Not beautiful.
But it was the first one that made me think Nicholas Valenti might actually be capable of changing.
"Then I'll believe you when you do it," I said.
He nodded.
"Fair."
We sat quietly for a while.
Then he asked, "What were you planning to do at the hospital party?"
I stared.
"What?"
"Before you walked into my ballroom."
I laughed weakly.
"Drink cheap wine. Exchange ridiculous gifts. Pretend I wasn't upset about Colin."
"That sounds better than my evening."
"Marginally."
"What was in your gift bag?"
"Peppermint hand cream and fuzzy socks."
He looked fascinated.
"Fuzzy socks?"
"Christmas-themed."
"Of course."
"They have little snowmen on them."
He leaned back.
"Grandma would approve."
"She'd insult them first."
"Then immediately wear them."
I laughed.
He watched me.
And for a moment, the room felt different.
The danger outside hadn't disappeared.
The evidence still needed to be examined.
His uncle was still a suspect.
My father was still missing.
But inside that little lounge, beside a crooked Christmas tree, I was simply a tired woman talking to a man who understood the cost of carrying too much.
Nicholas reached across the space between us.
Then stopped.
"May I?"
I looked at his hand.
Then at him.
"Yes."
His fingers closed gently around mine.
Warm.
Careful.
Nothing like the possessive grip he'd used to introduce me to the ballroom.
This time, I chose to hold on.
At 11:47 p.m., Bianca burst into the lounge.
Her face was pale.
"Nicholas."
He released my hand and stood.
"What?"
"I found something in the trust audit."
She held a blue folder against her chest.
Nicholas frowned.
"What kind of something?"
"Marcus wasn't only paying security contractors."
She opened the folder.
Inside were corporate registration documents, wire-transfer summaries, and shipping invoices.
Bianca pointed to a company name.
NORTHLINE MEDICAL TRANSIT LLC.
I recognized it.
The same transportation vendor my mother had mentioned.
The company associated with fraudulent medical trips.
"The company was dissolved ten years ago," Bianca said. "That's what the public records show."
Nicholas leaned closer.
"But?"
"Some of its contracts were reassigned to a company with different owners. Then reassigned again. And again."
"Shell companies."
"Yes."
She turned another page.
"Three weeks ago, Marcus authorized a payment from a Valenti-controlled holding company to a consulting firm in Delaware."
"How much?"
"Four million, eight hundred thousand dollars."
Nicholas's face darkened.
"For what?"
Bianca swallowed.
"Security restructuring."
I felt sick.
"That sounds like a very expensive way to murder someone."
Bianca looked at me.
"Exactly."
Then she placed one final document on the table.
A signature authorization.
Nicholas stared.
"That's impossible."
"What?" I asked.
He pointed to the bottom of the page.
The signature read:
Carlo Valenti.
His father.
A man who had been dead for eleven years.
Bianca looked at her brother.
"Someone has been using Dad's signature to authorize transactions."
Nicholas's jaw tightened.
"Since when?"
She turned the page.
Then whispered, "Since the year he died."
And just like that, we discovered the worst kind of betrayal.
Carlo Valenti's name hadn't simply been used after his death.
May you like
Someone had been keeping him financially alive for eleven years.
And the money flowing through his identity had helped pay for the attempt on his mother's life.
