strive

Chương 12 - THE PRICE OF THE MORETTI NAME

The new messages made Regina's cruelty look less like panic and more like a business arrangement. Tony had agreed to reduce her debt if she delivered me to one of his properties and recovered anything my father had left in my possession. Regina had already stolen most of my inheritance, but she'd told Tony there might be copies of Elena's records in my father's storage unit. The fifty thousand dollars was real. The plan to use me was older than the final demand.

"I didn't even know the blue folder existed," I told Mara.

"They didn't know that," she replied. "They saw you as a risk because your father had helped Elena. That's enough to explain why they kept trying to find you."

For an entire morning, I was angry at a dead man. I wanted to ask why Dad had hidden his work instead of telling me, why he'd trusted paper tucked into piano keys more than the police, and why the safest childhood I could remember had been built beside dangers I'd never seen. By afternoon, I remembered that he hadn't known how short his life would be. He'd preserved what he could. It was the living who had made those records dangerous.

Mara gave Nadia the new messages and arranged for my former employers to confirm Regina's attempts to locate me. Tessa identified additional dates in the recovered transport logs. One of the warehouse workers provided an accounting password through his attorney, and the investigators began comparing payment entries with the people who'd actually received the money.

That was the part I kept returning to: other people were stepping forward. My nightmare had started with Regina telling me nobody would believe me. Now the truth was being assembled by dozens of ordinary decisions not to stay silent.

Kian was making decisions too. His company's board called an emergency meeting after rumors of the Meridian investigation appeared in a business publication. Three directors urged him to deny any connection, refuse voluntary cooperation, and let the prosecution fight for every document. A fourth suggested blaming Elena's volunteer work for inviting unstable people into the company's business.

Kian told me about the meeting in our first phone call since I'd moved out. He didn't ask how soon I was coming back.

"What did you say?" I asked.

"That my wife was right to ask questions. And that they could find another chairman if their defense required insulting her."

"Are they going to remove you?"

"They might. The board has a right to govern the company. They don't have a right to falsify its history."

A year earlier, I would've heard that as a movie line and fallen hopelessly in love. Now I asked for the difficult part.

"What happens to the people whose paychecks depend on you?"

He told me about a transition plan for the legitimate hotels and food-service businesses, outside auditors with unrestricted access, and a fund to cover wages if certain divisions had to stop operating while their accounts were examined. His lawyers had warned that voluntarily disclosing old records could expose him to serious financial penalties and scrutiny of his past conduct.

"I'm not asking you to reward me for this," he added.

"Good. I don't have a medal. I do have excellent burnt cookies."

He laughed, and the sound left me absurdly close to tears.

A week later, Regina gave a formal statement through her attorney. She admitted forging my signature, diverting money from my trust, and taking the blue folder to Meridian. She described Tony's threats but also acknowledged accepting payments for information about my temporary addresses. She had chosen the money every time a choice had been offered.

When Mara read me that last sentence, I felt something unfamiliar: relief without forgiveness. Regina hadn't been forced to love me. She had been required not to treat me as merchandise. I could pursue justice without inventing a better version of her to make myself feel less abandoned.

The investigation into Elena's death was more uncertain. Nadia said investigators had identified a driver who'd been paid by a company tied to Meridian to follow Elena on the morning of the crash. He admitted the surveillance but initially denied causing the collision. Years had passed. Much of the original physical evidence was gone. The police were reviewing the accident report and his statements rather than assuming the new payments proved murder.

I was grateful for that caution. Kian wasn't.

He called after the interview and stayed silent for so long that I thought the connection had dropped. When he finally spoke, I heard a man trying to stand in a place he'd imagined was solid and finding no floor.

"I keep remembering our last argument," he said. "I told her she was turning every accounting error into a conspiracy. She told me I didn't need to believe every fear. I needed to listen when people had something to fear."

"You can't undo that conversation."

"I know."

"But you can stop living as if every person who loves you needs to be protected from the truth."

"I'm trying, Aurora."

"I know that too."

When the call ended, I discovered I had been holding the little strawberry ring in my palm. Its plastic edges had left a red mark. I put it on my bookshelf beside Dad's notebook. Then I went to culinary school and practiced the same pastry technique until I finally stopped tearing the dough.

A few days later, the district attorney's office requested a further interview. New evidence connected the warehouse operation to false employment offers distributed through multiple agencies. The inquiry was broadening, and some suspects had begun transferring assets abroad. Prosecutors were preparing to act, but Mara warned me that an arrest was the beginning of a case, not its conclusion.

I asked her one question before agreeing to the interview.

"When this is over, will it be possible to stop being the woman everybody tried to sell?"

May you like

"It already is," she said. "You were never only that woman. They're the ones who need to answer for treating you that way."

That night, I finished my first perfect batch of éclairs. I ate one standing alone in my kitchen, then packed the rest for the people who'd helped me remember I had a future. I saved the prettiest one for a little boy who had offered me the world's most ridiculous rescue plan.

Related Stories

Other posts