Chapter 5 - What the Foundation Was Hiding
Sofia's letter contained no accusations.
That was what made it unsettling.
She named no thief.
No conspiracy.
No crime.
Instead, she described a pattern.
Small charitable accounts had been closed early. Investment returns had been reported differently in different records. Donations intended for hospitals had sometimes passed through businesses connected to trustees.
"I can't believe nobody found this," I said.
Dante sat across from me at the dining table.
"Someone may have."
"And?"
"And someone may have decided it was easier not to ask questions."
His voice carried no admiration for that choice.
The letter ended with a request:
If discrepancies continue after my death, the foundation should be independently audited. No Moretti and no business partner of a Moretti should control that audit.
Dante read the line repeatedly.
Then he closed the laptop.
"What are you going to do?"
"Exactly what she asked."
"Independent audit?"
"Yes."
"Even if it creates problems?"
He looked at me.
"Especially if it creates problems."
The decision cost him.
I understood that over the next few days.
Accounts were frozen for review.
Board members called.
Attorneys arrived at the mansion.
Several people warned Dante that opening decades of records could damage the family name.
He listened.
Then asked the same question every time.
"Are the records accurate?"
Whenever the answer became evasive, his patience disappeared.
Not loudly.
Dante rarely raised his voice.
He simply became very still.
And people began telling the truth.
I remained at my mother's apartment during most of it.
Three days after the engagement party, Vanessa appeared at our door.
I almost shut it.
"I deserve that," she said.
Mother called from the sofa.
"Invite her in."
"Mom."
"People say more interesting things when they're uncomfortable."
Vanessa heard her.
To my surprise, she smiled.
"Your mother may be terrifying."
"You're only discovering that?"
Vanessa stepped inside.
She wore jeans and a plain coat.
Without diamonds and perfect makeup, she looked younger.
Almost tired.
"I brought something."
She placed a folder on the table.
"What is it?"
"Copies of my father's investment reports."
"Why give them to me?"
"Because Dante's lawyers won't speak to me."
"Can you blame them?"
"No."
She sat.
"My father knew about Sofia's concerns."
Dante arrived twenty minutes later after I called him.
The tension between him and Vanessa filled the room.
Still, he didn't insult her.
She didn't pretend everything was fine.
They behaved like two people discovering that an important part of their relationship had been built on assumptions neither had bothered to examine.
Vanessa opened the folder.
"My father and Lorenzo created a management agreement twelve years ago."
Dante frowned.
"I've seen it."
"Not this version."
She passed him a page.
"The copy in your foundation files removes paragraph eleven."
Dante read it.
His face changed.
"What does it say?" I asked.
He handed it to me.
Paragraph eleven guaranteed Bennett Holdings an unusually large fee if the Moretti Foundation merged certain assets with Bennett-controlled companies.
I didn't understand all the language.
But I understood the final clause.
The agreement became permanent if there was a marriage between the two families.
I stared at Vanessa.
"Your engagement."
She nodded.
"My father stood to gain millions."
Dante leaned back slowly.
"Did you know?"
"No."
"Vanessa."
"I knew the marriage helped business. I didn't know about this."
Her eyes filled, but she refused to look away.
"You think I would marry someone for a contract?"
Dante's answer was quiet.
"I think both of us agreed to marry without asking ourselves enough questions."
That hurt her.
I saw it.
But she nodded.
"Yes."
For the first time, I realized something uncomfortable.
I had imagined Vanessa as the obstacle between Dante and me.
But Vanessa wasn't an obstacle.
She was a person.
A flawed one.
So was Dante.
So was I.
Love wasn't a prize awarded when the wrong woman left the room.
It was a decision people had to become capable of making honestly.
Vanessa turned to me.
"I was cruel to you."
I said nothing.
"I thought you represented something I couldn't compete with."
"Which was?"
"Someone he trusted without negotiation."
My throat tightened.
"Dante and I aren't—"
"I know."
She looked at him.
"That was worse."
He frowned.
"Why?"
"Because you weren't even having an affair. You simply cared what she thought."
The silence became painful.
Dante looked toward me.
I looked away.
Vanessa closed the folder.
"I don't expect forgiveness."
"Good," I said.
She almost smiled.
"I probably deserved that."
"But I'm glad you came."
Her smile disappeared.
"Thank you."
After she left, Dante remained.
Neither of us mentioned her observation.
Instead, we discussed practical things.
The audit.
My mother's care.
My job.
That last subject changed everything.
"I don't think I can return to the mansion as your maid," I said.
Dante looked at me carefully.
"Because of Vanessa?"
"No."
"Because of me?"
"Partly."
He didn't flinch.
"I need my salary."
"You'll have it."
"That's exactly what I mean."
He frowned.
"I don't want you arranging my life."
Understanding slowly replaced confusion.
I continued.
"I don't know what I feel when I'm around you anymore."
His gaze lowered.
"I think you do."
"Maybe."
The word came out too quietly.
He looked at me again.
My heart hammered.
"But if I stay employed by you," I said, "I'll never know whether I'm choosing freely."
Dante was silent.
Then he nodded.
"What would make it free?"
The question nearly undid me.
"Another job."
"I can arrange—"
I gave him a look.
He stopped.
Then, to my astonishment, he laughed.
Actually laughed.
"Right."
"I'll find one."
"All right."
"You won't interfere?"
"I will suffer heroically in silence."
I smiled.
"That seems unlikely."
"It does."
For one suspended moment, the distance between us felt small.
Then his phone rang.
Marco.
Dante answered.
His expression sharpened.
"Where?"
He stood.
"I'm coming."
"What happened?"
He ended the call.
"Lorenzo's attorney contacted the auditors."
"Why?"
"He wants immunity from civil claims in exchange for records."
"Does that mean he's guilty?"
"Of something."
"Where is he?"
Dante hesitated.
"At the foundation office."
I rose.
"I'm coming."
"No."
"Dante."
"This isn't about controlling you."
"It concerns my mother's trust."
He considered that.
Then nodded.
"You're right."
We arrived downtown an hour later.
Lorenzo Moretti was waiting in a conference room.
He looked older than I remembered.
Not dangerous.
Not triumphant.
Just tired.
He glanced at me and sighed.
"You have Sofia's eyes when you're angry."
I frowned.
"I'm not related to Sofia."
"No," he said.
"But she loved your father like a brother."
Dante stopped.
"My mother knew Daniel Carter?"
Lorenzo looked at him.
"You were never told?"
"Told what?"
Lorenzo removed a sealed envelope from his briefcase.
"Daniel Carter wasn't merely Margaret's husband."
May you like
He slid it across the table.
"He was the first accountant who discovered what was happening inside the Moretti Foundation."
