Chapter 5 - THE ACCOUNT IN MY SON’S NAME
Leo Carter had twenty-three million dollars on paper.
In reality, he had twelve dollars inside a dinosaur bank.
I preferred the dinosaur bank.
Roman’s financial team traced the account.
Opened offshore.
Beneficiary listed under a trust created three months before Leo was born.
Administrator:
Ethan Carter.
Contingent administrator:
Megan Carter.
My signature appeared on the paperwork.
I stared.
“That isn’t mine.”
Roman nodded.
“We know.”
“Ethan forged it?”
“Possibly.”
“Why?”
“To move money where the thief couldn’t easily access it.”
“So he hid stolen money behind our child?”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“It looks that way.”
My anger returned.
“He used Leo.”
“Maybe.”
“Stop defending him.”
“I’m not.”
“You keep saying maybe.”
“Because I don’t know.”
That stopped me.
Roman did not romanticize Ethan.
He simply refused to invent certainty.
I sat.
“What happens if authorities find the account?”
“If we handle this correctly, evidence can show Leo was used without knowledge.”
“He’s five.”
“Exactly.”
“And me?”
“Your forged signature matters.”
I laughed bitterly.
“My life now depends on handwriting analysis.”
“For a while.”
Then Marco brought new information.
The account no longer held twenty-three million.
It held nine.
“Where did the rest go?”
“Withdrawn over five years.”
“By who?”
“Someone with Ethan’s access credentials.”
Roman looked at me.
“Meaning Ethan could have been funding his life.”
My stomach turned.
Or someone else was using his identity.
We needed him.
Instead, we got a message.
An address.
No name.
No explanation.
Just:
BRING MEGAN. NO ROMAN.
I laughed.
“No.”
Roman raised an eyebrow.
“I assumed you’d want to go.”
“I do.”
“Then?”
“I’m not going without security.”
His mouth almost smiled.
“Good.”
“I’m traumatized, not stupid.”
“Useful distinction.”
The address led to an abandoned rail yard on the South Side.
Roman stayed far enough away to satisfy whoever watched.
Marco came closer.
I entered the warehouse alone.
My heart pounded.
Then a man stepped from behind a steel column.
Ethan.
Alive.
I stopped breathing.
He did too.
“Megan.”
I slapped him.
Hard.
The sound echoed.
He accepted it.
I slapped him again.
“You were alive.”
“Yes.”
“You missed five years.”
“I know.”
“Leo thinks his father is dead.”
“I know.”
“You watched us?”
His face broke.
“Yes.”
That hurt worst.
“You watched?”
“From a distance.”
“You watched me work doubles?”
“Yes.”
“Watched me choose between rent and medicine?”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“And you stayed gone?”
“I sent money when I could.”
“No.”
“I did.”
“Not enough to matter.”
“I couldn’t make it obvious.”
“You decided that.”
“Yes.”
Same mistake.
Men deciding silence was protection.
I stepped back.
“Why?”
Ethan looked toward the shadows.
“Because Roman’s father ordered me killed.”
I froze.
Roman’s father had been dead three years.
Vittorio Duca.
Legendary.
Feared.
Roman had inherited everything.
“He framed you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I found the theft.”
“So he was stealing?”
“No.”
Ethan shook his head.
“He was covering for Roman.”
My chest tightened.
“For Roman?”
“Yes.”
“The missing money went through companies Roman controlled.”
I thought of the man who bought Leo’s antibiotics with my own paycheck because I refused charity.
The man who had not lied yet.
At least not that I knew.
“Are you saying Roman stole twenty-three million dollars?”
Ethan looked at me.
“No.”
He swallowed.
“I’m saying someone wanted everyone to believe he did.”
“Who?”
Before he could answer, a gunshot cracked.
Ethan shoved me down.
Glass shattered.
Marco’s men stormed in.
Roman appeared despite instructions.
Ethan drew a weapon.
Roman drew his.
For one terrible second, the two men aimed at each other.
Then Ethan shouted:
“Your brother is alive.”
Roman froze.
I stared.
Roman had told me his younger brother, Adrian Duca, died seven years earlier.
Ethan lowered his weapon slowly.
May you like
“He’s the one who stole the money.”
And according to Ethan, Adrian had spent seven years pretending to be dead while building an empire beneath Roman’s.
