Chapter 7 - THE CONTRACT WE NEVER READ
Our original marriage contract was forty-six pages.
I had signed it in twelve minutes.
Alina had taken longer.
At the time, I'd assumed she was simply careful.
Now I wondered whether either of us had understood what we were signing.
My attorney, Samuel Klein, arrived within thirty minutes.
He looked terrified when I told him about Evelyn.
“Where is the original?”
“In your firm's vault.”
“No.”
His face changed.
“What do you mean, no?”
“The original isn't there.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“It was removed six months ago.”
Luca swore.
“By whom?”
Samuel swallowed.
“Your mother.”
Alina closed her eyes.
I wanted to put my fist through something.
Instead, I asked the only useful question.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because she produced power-of-attorney documents signed by your father.”
“My father was dead.”
“The authority survived for estate administration.”
“Not for my personal marital contract.”
“I know that now.”
My voice went cold.
“You knew it then.”
Samuel lowered his eyes.
That answered enough.
“Get out.”
“Dante—”
“Before I forget Alina is standing here.”
He left.
Alina looked at me.
“You're frightening everyone again.”
“I'm trying very hard not to.”
To my surprise, she touched my arm.
The anger eased instantly.
Luca noticed.
His eyebrow rose.
I ignored him.
“We need a copy,” Alina said.
“I have one.”
She blinked.
“You do?”
“In my desk.”
I retrieved it.
We read every page.
Asset separation.
Media protection.
Family-company clauses.
Confidentiality.
Nothing unusual.
Then Alina stopped.
“Page thirty-eight.”
I leaned over.
A clause had been amended in handwriting.
Neither of us remembered it.
In the event of dissolution, all jointly protected archival materials shall transfer to the Hartwell spouse.
Luca frowned.
“What archival materials?”
I looked at Alina.
She looked at me.
Then we found an appendix we'd never seen before.
Appendix C.
Three corporate storage accounts.
One physical vault.
Access required both spouse signatures.
Alina whispered, “Dante…”
Our marriage hadn't merely linked our families.
It had locked something away.
Something neither of us could access alone.
I called the bank listed in the appendix.
After verifying my identity, the private manager hesitated.
“Mr. Moretti, that account hasn't been accessed in seven years.”
“What is inside?”
“I cannot disclose inventory by phone.”
“Who created it?”
A pause.
“Vittorio Moretti and Jonathan Hartwell.”
Our fathers.
Alina sat down slowly.
“When can we open it?”
“You and Mrs. Moretti must appear together.”
“We'll be there in an hour.”
The manager's voice changed.
“Sir…”
“What?”
“There is a note on the account.”
“Read it.”
“I don't think—”
“Read it.”
He swallowed.
“If Dante and Alina arrive together, the threat has returned.”
I went still.
Then he read the rest.
“Do not trust anyone in either family until the woman in the red photograph is identified.”
Alina frowned.
“What red photograph?”
Luca had gone pale.
I looked at him.
“You know.”
He shook his head too quickly.
“Luca.”
May you like
He finally whispered:
“I saw that photograph when I was sixteen.”
