Chapter 3 - ALESSANDRO CAME BACK BEFORE BREAKFAST
At 6:05 the next morning, Alessandro Romano entered Rosie’s Diner without bodyguards.
That frightened Rosa more than when he brought them.
I was already there.
Had been since five-thirty.
Mom’s oxygen supplier agreed to delay pickup after I made enough calls to ruin three people’s breakfasts.
Temporary.
Not solved.
Alessandro sat at the counter.
“Coffee.”
I poured.
Then placed the marked hundred-dollar bill beside his cup.
His eyes dropped.
Nothing changed.
“Recognize it?”
“No.”
“Victor did.”
Alessandro looked toward the kitchen.
“Where is he?”
“Not here.”
That bothered him.
Good.
I explained Westbridge.
Mom.
The cancellation.
The marked cash.
I expected anger.
Instead, Alessandro became very quiet.
“How much did your mother need?”
I stiffened.
“This is not where you hand me money.”
His jaw tightened.
“I was asking.”
“Six hundred twenty dollars a month.”
He absorbed it.
“Why was she denied?”
“Ask your foundation.”
“I will.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You don’t get to walk into one office, frighten everyone, and decide the problem is fixed because my mother gets oxygen.”
“What exactly do you think I’m going to do?”
“Probably something terrifying and efficient.”
Victor laughed from the doorway.
I had not heard him enter.
Alessandro looked annoyed.
Victor handed him a folder.
“Westbridge preliminary numbers.”
Alessandro read.
Then his expression changed.
Emergency assistance approved on paper:
$3.7 million.
Actual patient disbursements:
$1.1 million.
Difference:
$2.6 million.
One year.
I whispered:
“Where did it go?”
Victor turned a page.
Consulting.
Transportation.
Outreach.
Administrative vendors.
One vendor received more than any other.
MERCY ROUTE SOLUTIONS.
Owner:
Paul Romano.
Alessandro’s cousin.
Alessandro’s face became impossible to read.
Then he said:
“Paul told me Mercy Route was independent.”
Victor replied:
“It isn’t.”
“How long?”
“Four years.”
Four years.
Millions.
Then I asked:
“How did the marked hundred get into your wallet?”
Alessandro pulled out his billfold.
Checked the remaining cash.
Three more stamped bills.
His expression hardened.
“Victor.”
“Last night’s collection.”
“What collection?”
Victor looked at me before answering.
Alessandro had met with a restaurant owner who owed money to a Romano-controlled lending operation.
There it was.
Mafia.
Not sanitized.
The borrower repaid part of the debt in cash.
Marked Westbridge bills were mixed in.
Meaning patient-relief money entered a criminal cash stream.
Alessandro stared at the bills as though they had insulted him personally.
“Who was the borrower?”
“Dino Marchetti.”
I knew the name.
He owned a medical-supply distribution warehouse.
Then Alessandro said:
“Bring him in.”
I spoke immediately.
“No.”
Both men looked at me.
Victor actually sighed.
Alessandro’s voice lowered.
“Claire.”
“You ‘bring him in,’ he tells you whatever keeps his teeth intact.”
The diner became silent.
Rosa hid a smile.
I continued:
“You need records.”
“Receipts.”
“Bank transfers.”
“Delivery logs.”
“Not fear.”
Alessandro stared.
Then:
“What do you suggest?”
That surprised everyone.
Including me.
“Independent audit.”
“External.”
“No Romano employees.”
Victor nodded slowly.
Alessandro hated it.
I could see that.
Then he said:
“Fine.”
One word.
Huge.
Then his phone rang.
Paul Romano.
Perfect timing.
Alessandro answered.
“Paul.”
His cousin’s voice came loud enough that I heard urgency.
“Where are you?”
“Breakfast.”
“We have a problem.”
“What problem?”
“Westbridge.”
Alessandro looked directly at me.
“What happened?”
Paul said:
“Some waitress started asking questions about marked bills.”
My entire body went cold.
I had spoken to nobody except Victor.
Victor looked equally stunned.
Then Paul continued:
“I already pulled her mother’s file.”
Alessandro’s face emptied.
“How do you know who she is?”
Silence.
Paul realized too late.
Then Alessandro asked again:
“How do you know Claire Bennett?”
The line disconnected.
May you like
And the first real secret was suddenly clear.
Paul had known my name before Alessandro did.
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