Chapter 4 - Dinner With the Devil
Patrick Sloane greeted me beneath a chandelier shaped like falling ice. He was sixty-two, silver-haired, and fond of calling himself a businessman. In Chicago, that word could conceal almost anything.
Arthur sat to his right. Camille occupied the chair opposite mine, wearing a diamond necklace I had given her during our engagement announcement. She smiled when I entered, but her eyes checked the doorway behind me.
“Where are the children?” she asked.
“Safe.”
Patrick lifted his glass. “That's a peculiar answer.”
“It's the only one you're getting.”
Dinner arrived in courses none of us wanted. Patrick spoke about port access, municipal permits, and the importance of stability. Arthur described the guardianship as standard estate planning. Camille watched me with the expression of someone waiting for a familiar explosion.
I let them speak.
At last Patrick leaned forward. “You have enemies, Roman. We all do. A man with your responsibilities needs a plan in case his judgment becomes compromised.”
“Compromised how?”
“Grief. Exhaustion. Anger.”
Camille reached across the table and touched my hand. “We only want to help you.”
I moved my hand away. “Then explain why Dr. Trent entered my building at two in the morning.”
Arthur’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
Patrick recovered first. “A medical consultation.”
“With whom?”
Silence.
I rose. “You have until tomorrow to send all proposed documents to Evelyn Shaw. From now on, everything goes through counsel.”
Patrick's smile grew thin. “You'd let a stranger come between families?”
“My children aren't bargaining chips.”
He placed his napkin on the table. “Be careful what you call a threat. Sometimes it's only a warning about consequences.”
I left without touching dessert.
Outside, Victor waited beside the SUV. He showed me a photograph sent by an investigator working with Evelyn: Dr. Trent entering Arthur's office with a sealed medical kit. The same investigator had located records suggesting Trent had certified incapacities in several disputed inheritance cases. Nothing yet proved criminal conduct, but the pattern justified deeper inquiry.
“Patrick knows the kids are gone,” Victor said.
“I assumed he would.”
“There's more. A woman has been asking about Naomi at her old apartment.”
I called Naomi from the car. She answered on the second ring, calm until I mentioned the apartment.
“My brother kept a storage unit,” she said. “I never opened it. I was afraid someone was watching.”
“Where?”
She gave me the address. Evelyn insisted that investigators handle the unit, preserving the chain of custody. By morning, they had obtained access through the appropriate legal process with Naomi’s cooperation.
Inside was a box of accounting ledgers, a disposable phone, and a sealed envelope addressed to Naomi. Daniel's handwriting covered the front.
The letter was brief. He said he had discovered payments connected to the delivery truck that struck Isabella’s car. He had also found a transaction routed through a company associated with Arthur. Daniel did not know who ordered the collision, but he feared Isabella had uncovered the same network.
Naomi read the letter twice before handing it to me. “He was alive when he wrote this,” she whispered.
May you like
There was no date on the envelope. The phone contained a voice memo made in a parking garage. Daniel said someone had offered him money to disappear. In the background, a train horn sounded. Then came a second voice, familiar enough to make my blood run cold.
Arthur Velez said, “You should have stayed out of Roman Moretti’s family.”
