Chapter 7 - A Contract With My Name on It
The contract made no sense until Rebecca explained its language. The document described a "domestic access liaison" who would provide entry to the Moretti properties. It listed my name, employment dates, and a forged signature. I felt sick. Someone intended to make me appear responsible for the theft of evidence. Vanessa had threatened to fire me, but she had prepared something far worse than unemployment.
Luca's first reaction was anger. "I'll make sure no one believes it," he said. Rebecca corrected him. "We make sure the facts show it is false. Influence is not evidence." He accepted the rebuke. Watching a powerful man allow himself to be corrected was unfamiliar to me. I had grown up believing people with money always found a way to win an argument. Luca was learning that winning was not the same as being right.
A handwriting examiner compared the signature with my employment forms. The forgery was crude, but the metadata showed the contract had been printed at a property office owned by a Bellini associate. Rebecca also obtained security footage of Vanessa entering that office two days earlier. The evidence was not yet enough to establish every crime, but it gave us a clear picture of how the frame-up was supposed to work.
Emily wanted to confront Vanessa publicly. Michael argued for patience. Their first serious disagreement since arriving in Chicago unfolded over a plate of toast. "She made me think my father hated my baby," Emily said. "She doesn't get to walk around smiling." Michael took her hand. "I don't want her free either. I want her convicted." Emily looked away, then nodded. Luca sat quietly through the exchange, letting his daughter and her partner make their own decision.
That afternoon, I returned to the mansion to collect my belongings. Luca insisted Marco accompany me, but he waited outside my room. The house felt larger without the engagement guests, and my small quarters seemed strangely unfamiliar. I found a note in my work drawer from Vanessa: YOUR MOTHER'S TAXES ARE DUE IN NOVEMBER. THINK CAREFULLY. It had been left before the dinner. She had been using my family's financial vulnerability as leverage long before I understood the game.
I brought the note to Rebecca. She examined the paper and asked whether I wanted to file a complaint about the threat. "Yes," I said. The word felt stronger than I expected. For years, I had accepted mistreatment because losing a paycheck seemed worse than swallowing an insult. Now I understood that silence had a cost, too.
Luca offered to pay my mother's property taxes. I declined. "I appreciate it, but I don't want another person holding my home in their hands." He didn't argue. Instead, he asked what I wanted. I told him I wanted a fair salary for the work I had already done, written references, and the freedom to leave if I chose. He said I would have all three. The next morning, the household manager delivered my final wages and an additional payment for unused leave, documented properly.
The moment felt small compared with the danger surrounding us, but it mattered. Luca had begun to see me as someone with choices. I had begun to see myself that way, too.
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Near dusk, Rebecca received a message from federal investigators. Victor Hale had attempted to leave the country and been detained for questioning. In his luggage, agents found a flash drive containing scans of the cabinet documents. One file was labeled SOFIA—FINAL MESSAGE. It had been created three days after Sofia's death.
The dead woman had apparently left another message. Or someone wanted us to believe she had.
