Chapter 12 - The Price of a Costa Name
The envelope contained no anonymous confession, only a note from a lawyer representing Vincent Sarto. His client was willing to preserve and produce relevant records to investigators, the note said, provided he received formal advice about his own legal exposure.
Miriam put it down on her desk. “He wants leverage.”
“Does he have evidence?” Sloan asked.
“He claims he does. We won't take shortcuts to get it.”
Sarto's lawyer sent the materials through an established legal channel to the authorities, not to Roman's private security team. By late afternoon, investigators had confirmed that original accounting records, insurance claim documents, and internal project emails existed. Some directly contradicted public statements made by Hayes Development and Commissioner Bell.
Preston denied everything.
Investigators also began looking again at Adriana Costa's fatal collision. A suspicious payment in Sarto's old records had been dated within days of her death, and the threatening message sent to Sloan was added to the investigative file. The connection was not yet proof of murder. Roman made himself accept that distinction, however badly he wanted an immediate answer. Adriana deserved truth that could withstand scrutiny, not a verdict shaped by grief.
Roman had problems of his own. His board called an emergency meeting after lenders threatened to suspend financing on two legitimate developments. Several directors blamed his public cooperation with investigators, arguing that the Costa company would never recover from the damage to its reputation.
“You've made us look guilty,” said the oldest board member, Carlo Mendez. “Your father would have handled this privately.”
Roman looked across the long polished table. “That's part of the problem.”
Mendez leaned forward. “You'll throw away decades of work for a woman you've known a few weeks?”
Sloan, invited to attend the section concerning Harbor Point, rose from her chair. “I'm not a bargaining chip. This isn't about whether Roman is in love with me. It's about whether your company benefited from harm done to other people.”
Mendez glared. “You have no standing here.”
“No,” she said. “But the people whose homes flooded do. And they won't disappear because you close the door.”
Roman did not smile. He merely placed the historic finance guarantee and his own renewal authorization in front of the board.
“This transaction needs a full independent review,” he said. “I've already informed the auditors and my attorney. Any company funds connected to the Harbor Point scheme will be subject to recovery or restitution where the law requires it.”
Mendez pushed back his chair. “Then I move to remove you as chief executive.”
Three hands rose. Two stayed down. The remaining votes were not enough.
Roman retained his position, but the message was clear: part of his company still believed power existed to protect itself from accountability.
Miriam handed Roman a written list of immediate governance changes: preserve all relevant communications, commission an external review, separate conflicted employees from document handling, and establish a way for staff to report concerns without retaliation. He read every line and signed the authorization for the review. The board had tried to frame the problem as a public-relations crisis. For Roman, the harder truth was that the controls his company had lacked were precisely the ones that might have protected Thomas Mercer years earlier.
Sloan waited while an assistant made copies. A younger employee passed them in the hall and quietly said that people in the accounting department had been afraid to question Sarto. Roman asked Miriam to ensure those employees could speak to independent reviewers without going through company management.
Outside the meeting room, Sloan caught up with him near the elevators.
“You could have let me fight that alone,” he said.
“I wasn't fighting for you. I was fighting for what was right.”
He gave a small smile. “I know. That's why it mattered.”
That evening, Sloan faced a different struggle. Her father watched the flood coverage from his care-facility bed, his hands trembling. When the reporter showed the damaged retaining wall, Thomas's face crumpled.
“No,” he whispered. “No.”
Sloan sat beside him. “It wasn't your design, Dad. They changed it.”
“People...”
“People are safe. The evacuation happened in time.”
He began to cry. Sloan held him, remembering the way he'd once carried her out of their house after a childhood nightmare. She had spent years thinking she needed to restore his old strength before they could be a family again. Now she understood that family could also mean sitting together through what neither could fix.
At the next therapy session, Thomas asked for paper. Very slowly, with his stronger hand, he wrote a date that matched Adriana's tape and added two initials: V.S. Then he drew the shape of an insurance file stamped PAID.
Miriam preserved the note as a lead rather than treating it as conclusive proof. She arranged for Thomas's doctors to assess his ability to participate in a formal interview, with accommodations and without pressure. Sloan was grateful. Her father's story would be heard, but his health would come first.
The emergency court hearing opened two days later. Residents sought temporary restrictions on further construction and orders to preserve records. The city presented its initial inspection findings. Leila explained the gap between original drainage calculations and the altered plan, carefully distinguishing what she'd measured from what still required investigation.
Preston's attorney argued that the storm had been extraordinary and that the court should avoid punishing developers before the facts were known.
The judge listened, asked pointed questions about the missing revision log, and granted interim protections while requiring further production of records and expert evidence. It wasn't a final victory, but the construction cranes stopped moving.
Outside the courthouse, reporters surrounded Sloan. Someone shouted, “Are you Roman Costa's wife or not?”
She looked toward Roman, standing beside his attorney a few steps away. The answer used to frighten her. Now it felt wonderfully simple.
“No,” she said. “We aren't married.”
“And are you together?”
Sloan smiled despite her exhaustion. “That's personal. The flooded homes aren't. Ask about them.”
Later, Roman walked her to her car.
“Would you still be here,” she asked, “if I never loved you?”
He looked startled, then answered steadily. “Yes. The evidence would still be the evidence. And you would still deserve respect.”
Sloan stepped closer. “Then I'd like to find out what loving you could mean when nobody is pretending.”
He brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek and waited. This time she kissed him without hesitation.
May you like
Across town, Preston was returning to his office when two investigators arrived with a warrant to search specified company records.
His receptionist stood to greet them. Preston stopped in the doorway, suddenly remembering every document he'd ordered shredded—and every person he'd assumed would stay afraid.
