Chapter 8 - Vanessa and I Shared a Cell Wall
Federal holding was colder than television makes it look.
Not emotionally.
Literally.
Every surface seemed designed to remind you that comfort was a privilege granted elsewhere.
Mara met me in an interview room within two hours.
She placed a legal pad between us.
“Do not speak to anyone about the accounts without me.”
“I know.”
“Do not explain your family history.”
“I know.”
“Do not mention Carter.”
“That one seems difficult since agents arrested me at his house.”
Mara sighed.
“Especially do not make jokes.”
“No promises.”
She almost smiled.
Then her expression changed.
“Diana, the indictment is detailed.”
“How detailed?”
“Someone built it over eighteen months.”
Vanessa.
“Can you prove the signatures are forged?”
“Eventually.”
“That is not a comforting word.”
“It is an honest one.”
I appreciated that.
“What about Vanessa?”
“She’s in the same facility.”
“Can I see her?”
“No.”
“Is she charged with trying to kill Dominic?”
“State charges pending. The federal team is holding her on financial conspiracy.”
“Did she shoot him?”
“Dominic was stabbed, not shot.”
That surprised me.
“Vanessa stabbed someone?”
“Three times.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“According to Dominic, because he threatened you.”
I laughed.
Mara did not.
“You believe him?”
“I believe he gave that statement.”
“Vanessa framed me for federal crimes because she loves me?”
“People are inconsistent.”
“That’s generous.”
“Your sister may hate you and still believe only she is allowed to hurt you.”
That sentence landed too cleanly.
I remembered Vanessa’s hand across my face.
I remembered her screaming when the gallery windows shattered.
I remembered being five years younger and sick with the flu while she sat outside my bedroom door all night because Mom was away.
People were inconsistent.
That was the curse.
At arraignment, the government asked for detention.
They described me as sophisticated, internationally connected, financially concealed, and linked to organized crime.
I nearly looked behind myself again.
Mara stood.
“My client earns fifty-eight thousand dollars a year and has never traveled outside North America.”
The prosecutor replied, “She controls gallery infrastructure used for international transfers.”
“I schedule FedEx pickups.”
The judge looked at me.
Mara whispered, “Do not help.”
I closed my mouth.
Carter sat in the back row.
He wore a charcoal suit and the expression of a man attending a funeral he intended to avenge.
Vanessa was brought in for a separate hearing immediately after mine.
Our eyes met across the courtroom.
She had a bruise along her jaw.
Her hair was pulled back.
No makeup.
For once, neither of us looked like the roles we had been assigned.
The beautiful sister.
The invisible sister.
Just two exhausted women in federal custody.
The judge released me on strict conditions after Mara produced employment records, family property ties, and evidence suggesting identity theft.
Vanessa was detained.
As marshals led her away, she turned.
“Diana.”
The room went quiet.
Her lawyer grabbed her arm.
She ignored him.
“Don’t trust Dominic.”
I stared.
“Why?”
She looked toward Carter.
“Because Carter isn’t the brother he wants dead.”
Then they took her through the side door.
Outside, cameras waited.
Someone had leaked everything.
“DIANA! DID YOU LAUNDER MONEY FOR CARTER BATTALIA?”
“ARE YOU ROMANTICALLY INVOLVED?”
“IS VANESSA VALE A MEMBER OF THE BATtALIA ORGANIZATION?”
“DID YOUR FATHER ORDER THE FIRE THAT KILLED ALESSANDRA?”
The last question stopped me.
Carter’s hand touched my back.
“Keep moving.”
I did.
At the car, I turned.
“Who is the other brother?”
Carter’s face went still.
“What?”
“Vanessa said you aren’t the brother Dominic wants dead.”
Carter opened the door.
“Get in.”
“No.”
“Diana.”
“You know something.”
He looked at the reporters, then at me.
“Not here.”
We drove to Mara’s office instead of Carter’s home because my release conditions prohibited contact with known subjects of the investigation unless counsel approved.
Mara took visible pleasure in telling Carter he could not order federal law around.
At her conference table, Carter finally spoke.
“My father had another son.”
“Another?”
“Before me. Before Dominic.”
“Name?”
“Gabriel.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
“Of course.”
Carter’s eyes narrowed.
“Supposedly.”
There it was.
“Supposedly?”
“He vanished the same night my mother died.”
“How old?”
“Seventeen.”
“Body?”
“No.”
“Why does Dominic want him dead?”
“Because if Gabriel is alive, he has the strongest claim to everything my father controlled before his death.”
“You said you wanted that network destroyed.”
“I do.”
“Does Gabriel?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Vanessa know?”
“Apparently.”
Mara’s assistant entered carrying an envelope.
“No return address. Hand delivered.”
Mara opened it with gloves.
Inside was a photograph.
Three teenagers standing outside a boxing gym.
Young Carter.
Young Dominic.
And an older boy between them.
Gabriel.
On the back someone had written:
ASK DIANA WHY HE HAS HER EYES.
Everyone looked at me.
I stared at the photo.
The older boy did have my eyes.
Same shape.
Same dark ring around the iris.
My stomach turned.
Carter whispered, “No.”
Mara said, “We need DNA.”
I looked at Carter.
“What are you thinking?”
He did not answer.
I did.
“If Alessandra was my mother…”
Carter closed his eyes.
Gabriel might not have been Salvatore’s son either.
He might have been Daniel Vale’s.
My full brother.
And if he was alive, my father had hidden another child from me.
Before anyone could speak, Mara’s phone rang.
She listened for ten seconds.
Then looked at me.
“Vanessa wants to make a proffer.”
“What does she want in exchange?”
“Your charges dismissed.”
My throat tightened.
“What is she offering?”
Mara’s voice lowered.
“She says she can prove she forged every document under your name.”
I stared.
“Why would she confess now?”
Mara looked grim.
“Because she says Dominic has Gabriel.”
“And?”
May you like
“And if Vanessa doesn’t get out within forty-eight hours, Dominic says he’ll kill him.”
That night, after release, I stood alone in Mara’s guest office and studied the photograph of Gabriel until my eyes hurt. I searched my memory for a brother-shaped absence and found nothing. No birthday card. No whispered phone call. No unexplained place setting at holidays. Yet I remembered my father disappearing one weekend every spring and returning quieter. Vanessa used to joke that he had a second family. We had laughed. Now I wondered whether children sometimes tell the truth accidentally because adults have trained them to call it a joke. I copied the photograph and placed the original in Mara’s evidence file. For once, I did not chase the mystery immediately. I wrote down what I knew, what I suspected, and what I feared. Gabriel existed. Gabriel might be my brother. Vanessa knew more than she admitted. Everything else could wait until proof arrived.
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