Chapter 3 - THE DEAD MAN WHO KEPT PAYING THE BILLS
Dante took Talia somewhere she hadn’t expected.
Not a mansion.
Not a nightclub.
Not some underground room filled with armed men.
He took her to a twenty-four-hour diner in Brooklyn.
They occupied the booth farthest from the windows while two of his men watched the entrances.
Talia wrapped both hands around untouched coffee.
“You knew my father.”
“I met him twice.”
“You were nineteen when we disappeared.”
“Twenty.”
“He worked for your family.”
Dante nodded.
“My father trusted Vincent with information he wouldn’t trust to blood relatives.”
“And then?”
“Then your house burned.”
Talia’s eyes hardened.
“My mother died in that fire.”
“I know.”
“My father supposedly died three days later.”
Dante studied her.
“Supposedly?”
Talia pulled out her phone.
She opened her banking app and showed him a series of deposits.
Five thousand dollars.
Every month.
Same date.
Different shell companies.
Dante leaned closer.
“How long?”
“Four years.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Because when dead men send money, asking questions can be expensive.”
“The payments are for Noah?”
“Physical therapy. Surgery. Whatever insurance doesn’t cover.”
Dante scrolled through the company names.
His expression changed.
Talia noticed.
“What?”
“I know this one.”
“Which?”
“Crown Harbor Consulting.”
“So?”
“It was created by one of my father’s accountants.”
Talia’s fingers tightened around the phone.
“That proves nothing.”
“It was dissolved eight years ago.”
“Then how is it sending money?”
“That’s an excellent question.”
Dante called one of his men.
“Mateo. Trace every payment into an account ending 6119. Quietly.”
He ended the call.
Talia stared at him.
“You didn’t ask permission.”
“I’m trying to keep your brother alive.”
“You don’t know him.”
“No. But someone does.”
Her phone rang.
Noah.
Talia answered instantly.
“Hey.”
“You okay?” Noah asked. “You never texted after work.”
“I’m fine.”
“You sound weird.”
“Long night.”
A pause.
Then Noah said something that made Talia straighten.
“There was a guy here earlier.”
“What guy?”
“Said he was from the clinic.”
“What did he want?”
“Asked whether I still needed transportation on Fridays.”
Talia looked at Dante.
Dante was already signaling his men.
“Noah, lock the apartment door.”
“Talia—”
“Now.”
She stood.
They were out of the diner in seconds.
During the drive, Mateo called back.
Dante put him on speaker.
“I traced the latest transfer,” Mateo said.
“Where did it originate?”
“Geneva, then Montreal, then a private account in Manhattan.”
Talia held her breath.
Mateo continued.
“The authorization requires biometric confirmation.”
“Whose?”
There was a long silence.
Then Mateo said the name.
“Vincent Vale.”
Talia stared through the windshield.
May you like
Her father had not died fifteen years ago.
And three days earlier, a supposedly dead man had personally authorized her brother’s therapy payment.
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