Chapter 1 - HIS FATHER DIDN'T DEFEND HIM
The first thing Richard Moretti did when Vincent walked into the family house was tell his son to sit down and shut up.
That surprised all three of us.
Vincent looked as though he hadn't slept.
His tie was gone. His white shirt was wrinkled. His hair, normally perfect even after twelve-hour meetings, looked like he'd been running his hands through it all morning.
“Claire.”
I didn't answer.
His gaze moved toward Nathan Brooks sitting beside me.
Something dangerous flashed across his face.
Richard noticed.
“If you threaten her attorney in my house, I'll throw you out myself.”
Vincent looked at his father.
“Dad—”
“Sit.”
Vincent sat.
Richard turned to me.
“You speak first.”
So I did.
Five nights.
Five times Vincent failed to come home.
Five times Sophia Carter had been involved.
Late meetings.
Emergency calls.
Overnight strategy sessions.
A hotel conference suite once.
Sophia answering Vincent's phone at four in the morning another time.
I described birthdays postponed, dinners reheated, messages unanswered.
I did not cry.
That seemed to disturb Vincent more.
When I finished, Richard looked at his son.
“Did you sleep with Sophia?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
I laughed.
It sounded ugly.
Vincent looked at me.
“I never touched her.”
“You stayed out all night with her five times.”
“Yes.”
“You let five hundred employees watch her leave meetings wearing your jacket.”
His face changed.
“That happened once because it was raining.”
“Wonderful. The marriage is saved.”
“Claire—”
“No.”
Richard raised one hand.
“Why were you with Sophia?”
Vincent looked at his father.
And there it was.
A hesitation.
Not shame.
Permission.
My stomach dropped.
“You know,” I said.
Richard closed his eyes.
Nathan became very still.
I looked between them.
“Richard knows.”
Vincent finally spoke.
“For six months, someone inside Moretti Holdings has been stealing money.”
I stared.
“How much?”
“Twenty-eight million.”
That was not the answer I expected.
Vincent continued.
“Sophia found the first irregularities.”
“So your secretary became your forensic accountant?”
“She has a finance background.”
“And bedrooms were unavailable?”
“We weren't in bedrooms.”
“Then where were you until three, four, five in the morning?”
“Off-site offices. Warehouses. A hotel conference room. Her apartment once because someone had broken into her office.”
I stared at him.
“You went to her apartment?”
“To retrieve backup files.”
“And couldn't send your wife one sentence?”
His jaw tightened.
“I was told the investigation had to remain compartmentalized.”
I turned toward Richard.
“Told by whom?”
Silence.
Richard answered.
“Me.”
Something inside me went quiet.
Not hurt.
Colder than hurt.
“You knew I thought my husband was cheating.”
Richard's face hardened with regret.
“I knew there were rumors.”
“I asked you two months ago whether Vincent was all right.”
He remembered.
I saw it.
“You told me marriage requires patience.”
“I was trying to protect the investigation.”
“You were protecting a company.”
“I was trying to protect you too.”
I stood.
“Stop saying that.”
Both Moretti men fell silent.
“You don't get to humiliate me and call it protection.”
Vincent rose.
“Claire, I didn't know what you believed.”
That finally made me angry.
“You didn't ask.”
He stopped.
“You never asked why your wife stopped waiting up. You never asked why I stopped coming to company dinners. You never asked why I moved my clothes into the guest closet.”
His face went pale.
“You did?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Richard looked at his son as though he wanted to strike him.
Vincent whispered, “I didn't notice.”
“I know.”
That hurt more than anything.
Nathan quietly closed his legal pad.
I reached for my bag.
Then Richard said, “Claire, before you leave, there's something else.”
I turned.
He placed a file on the table.
My name was printed across the cover.
CLAIRE BENNETT MORETTI.
Underneath were bank records.
Corporate registrations.
Wire transfers.
Nathan opened the first page.
His expression changed.
“What is this?”
Richard answered.
“The reason we couldn't tell Claire.”
I stepped closer.
One of the shell companies used to steal twenty-eight million dollars was registered in Delaware.
Its beneficial owner, according to the documents, was me.
I had never heard of it.
May you like
And whoever had created it hadn't merely forged my signature.
They had used a copy of my passport that had been stored inside the Moretti family house.
