Chapter 2 - THE COMPANY WITH MY SIGNATURE
By sunset, my marriage was no longer the only thing collapsing.
Someone had built an entire financial crime around my identity.
Nathan spread the documents across Richard's library table.
“Harbor Crest Consulting,” he read. “Established fourteen months ago.”
“I've never heard of it.”
Vincent stood by the window.
“I know.”
I looked at him.
“Stop saying you know things after I find out everyone else knew them first.”
He flinched.
Good.
Nathan continued.
Harbor Crest had received $6.4 million from Moretti construction subsidiaries through fake consulting invoices.
The company then moved money through three accounts.
One belonged to another shell company.
One went overseas.
The third had purchased a condominium in Miami.
All under paperwork carrying versions of my signature.
“Why use Claire?” Nathan asked.
Richard answered.
“Because if the scheme was exposed, it would look like Vincent was funneling company money to his wife.”
Nathan nodded slowly.
“Which would destroy Vincent with the board and expose Claire to criminal investigation.”
Exactly.
It wasn't theft alone.
It was a weapon.
I sat down.
“Who had my passport?”
Vincent answered reluctantly.
“The family office keeps copies of executive-family identification for travel and security.”
“Who can access it?”
“Six people.”
“Names.”
He gave them.
Richard.
Vincent.
The family attorney.
Security director Paul Mercer.
Chief financial officer Marco Moretti.
And—
“Sophia,” I said.
Vincent shook his head.
“No.”
“She was granted temporary access to investigation files.”
“When?”
“Four months ago.”
I laughed.
“So the woman everyone thinks is sleeping with my husband also had access to the documents used to frame me.”
“She didn't create Harbor Crest. It predates her access.”
That was useful.
It was not comforting.
Nathan leaned toward me.
“Claire, we're separating two issues.”
I looked at him.
“The marriage and the fraud.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Vincent looked as though the distinction hurt him.
Also good.
My phone vibrated.
The company chat.
Apparently my three-in-the-morning message had become the largest internal scandal Moretti Holdings had seen in years.
Screenshots were everywhere.
Someone had already leaked one to a business reporter.
The headline draft read:
MORETTI CEO'S WIFE PUBLICLY ACCUSES HUSBAND OF AFFAIR WITH SECRETARY.
Vincent cursed.
I stared at him.
“That's the part bothering you?”
“No.”
“Because twenty-eight million dollars is missing, somebody forged my identity, and apparently the true crisis is embarrassment.”
“Claire, that's not what I meant.”
Richard interrupted.
“The board meets tomorrow.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Why?”
“Marco called an emergency session.”
That name again.
Marco Moretti.
Vincent's cousin.
Forty-two.
Chief financial officer.
Son of Richard's late younger brother, Gabriel.
I had always liked Marco.
He sent flowers on birthdays.
Remembered wine preferences.
Had once driven me home from a charity event when Vincent was stuck in a meeting.
Nathan asked, “What does he want?”
Richard's mouth became thin.
“To discuss whether Vincent's personal situation has compromised his ability to lead.”
Vincent laughed coldly.
“Fast.”
“Very.”
I looked at Richard.
“You suspect Marco.”
“I suspect everyone.”
Including me, I realized.
He saw that.
“I don't believe you stole the money.”
“Thank you for the overwhelming vote of confidence.”
Richard sighed.
Then Nathan picked up one page.
“Wait.”
He pointed to the incorporation filing.
Harbor Crest's registered address wasn't random.
I recognized it.
Riverside Drive.
My North Shore mansion.
The property my father had given me before my marriage.
My property.
Vincent stepped closer.
“That company is registered at your house?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“It's registered at a house nobody from Moretti Holdings should have any legal reason to use.”
Nathan was already searching property records.
Then he went still.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward me.
Three months earlier, someone had attempted to file a commercial lien against my mansion.
The claimant was a Moretti Holdings subsidiary.
The filing had been rejected because the property belonged solely to me.
I stared at Vincent.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
For once, I believed him immediately.
Because the expression on his face was pure fury.
Richard looked at the subsidiary name.
Then cursed under his breath.
“Who controls it?” I asked.
Neither man answered quickly enough.
Nathan did.
“Marco Moretti.”
May you like
And suddenly the scandal inside my marriage had a second audience.
Someone inside the Moretti family had been preparing to reach my property long before I told five hundred employees Vincent could move out.
