Chapter 1 - THE NAME IN THE LEDGER
Three months after Dominic Rossi bought my father’s debt, I discovered my father had been paying him for years.
Not Dominic personally.
That distinction mattered.
I was sitting in Laura’s upstairs office at 1:17 in the morning, surrounded by invoices, payroll summaries, wine receipts, vendor statements, and enough paper to remind me why respectable criminals hire accountants.
The restaurant had closed forty minutes earlier.
Sam was asleep in the apartment Dominic provided.
And I was supposed to be reconciling vendor expenses before Monday.
Instead, I was staring at one name.
BENNETT, THOMAS.
My father.
Dead four months.
Degenerate gambler.
The man whose forty-thousand-dollar debt had nearly dragged me into Varga’s hands.
According to Laura’s records, Thomas Bennett received twelve payments from a Rossi-controlled hospitality company over the previous eighteen months.
Total:
$96,000.
I read it again.
Impossible.
My father never worked for Dominic.
As far as I knew, he barely worked at all during his final year.
He gambled.
Drank.
Promised.
Lost.
Yet here he was.
Consulting expense.
Security liaison.
Warehouse coordination.
Three descriptions.
Same man.
I heard the office door open.
Dominic entered without knocking.
Naturally.
His charcoal suit jacket was gone, sleeves rolled to his forearms.
“You’re still here.”
“So are you.”
“I own the place.”
“Congratulations.”
His eyes moved to the screen.
“What?”
I turned the laptop.
For the first time since I met him, Dominic Rossi looked genuinely surprised.
“What is this?”
“You tell me.”
He sat.
Not slowly.
Immediately.
That frightened me more.
He opened three supporting documents.
Then four.
His expression hardened.
“I never hired your father.”
“Apparently someone did.”
“No.”
He pointed toward one signature.
“That approval isn’t mine.”
The signature looked like his.
“It says Dominic Rossi.”
“I can read.”
“Then explain.”
He stared at the screen.
“Who processed these?”
I checked.
Vendor authorization:
Anthony Moretti.
Dominic’s financial manager.
I knew Anthony.
Sixty.
Silver hair.
Soft voice.
He brought Sam baseball cards every Friday.
Dominic stood.
“Do not mention this to anyone.”
There it was.
The command.
I crossed my arms.
“You don’t get to tell me that.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he corrected himself.
“Please.”
Better.
“Why?”
“Because if Moretti is dirty, I need to know who else knows.”
I looked at my father’s name again.
“What if he wasn’t dirty?”
Dominic stopped.
“What?”
“My father.”
I swallowed.
“What if he really was doing something for you?”
Dominic stared at me.
Then reached for his phone.
Before he could call anyone, another detail caught my eye.
Every payment to Thomas Bennett was followed within forty-eight hours by a cash withdrawal from a Varga-linked gaming company.
Same amount.
Almost exactly.
My father had not been receiving money.
May you like
Someone had been cycling it through his name.
And the final payment was issued three days after he died.
