Chapter 3 - Behind the Gates of the Costa Estate
I called Gregory.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
I typed, WHAT DO YOU MEAN BECAUSE OF ME?
No response.
I tried his private number.
Disconnected.
By the fourth attempt, my hands were shaking.
I left the bedroom and walked downstairs.
Roman was in a study at the end of the corridor.
Unlike my father’s office, his wasn't designed to impress anyone.
Dark shelves.
Old desk.
A few framed photographs.
Laptop open.
Legal pads covered with handwriting.
He glanced up.
“What happened?”
I handed him my phone.
He read Gregory’s messages twice.
“Can your people find him?”
“Yes.”
“Please.”
Roman picked up his phone.
He didn't ask why.
Within five minutes, three people were looking for my brother.
That efficiency should have frightened me.
Instead, it reminded me how little power I'd ever had inside my own family.
Roman ended the call.
“Last location was Manhattan.”
“Gregory lives in Connecticut.”
“He used his credit card at a hotel near Grand Central forty minutes ago.”
I frowned.
“Why would he go there?”
“To leave.”
“Or meet someone.”
Roman nodded.
“You're thinking like an investigator.”
“I’m thinking like a sister.”
“Same skill. Worse emotions.”
I stared at him.
“Do you have siblings?”
His expression closed instantly.
“One.”
“Older?”
“Was.”
The single word stopped me.
“I’m sorry.”
He turned toward his laptop.
“Don't be. It was a long time ago.”
I recognized the tone.
Conversation over.
I sat across from him.
“Can I ask something else?”
“You probably will regardless.”
“Why did you lend Dad money?”
Roman leaned back.
“Thomas wanted to acquire the Boston waterfront property before a competitor.”
“He told the board financing came from private equity.”
“It came from me.”
“Why?”
“Because the property was supposed to be worth twice the purchase price after rezoning.”
My accounting instincts awakened.
“When was the loan made?”
“Fourteen months ago.”
“How much originally?”
“Five million.”
I sat forward.
“He repaid one point six?”
“Yes.”
“With what?”
“Cash transfers through three Miller subsidiaries.”
“Which ones?”
Roman opened a folder.
He slid a page toward me.
My stomach tightened.
Crescent Build.
Miller Site Services.
Atlantic Project Management.
All familiar.
“All three are operating companies,” I said.
“Meaning?”
“They shouldn't have had enough free cash to send you that much.”
“But they did.”
“Then payroll, materials, or vendor obligations had to be funded somewhere else.”
“Debt?”
“Probably.”
Roman studied me.
“You think your father borrowed money to repay borrowed money.”
“I think Dad built a financial carousel.”
“How long can that continue?”
“Until one horse breaks.”
“Which horse?”
“The Boston project.”
A phone rang.
Roman answered.
He listened.
His gaze shifted to me.
“Bring him.”
“What?”
He hung up.
“They found Gregory.”
“Where?”
“Outside the gate.”
I stood so quickly my chair scraped backward.
Minutes later, the front doors opened.
Gregory entered wearing jeans, a winter coat, and the expression of a man who had spent several hours questioning every decision of his life.
He saw me.
“Sades.”
I hadn't heard the childhood nickname in years.
I crossed the foyer.
“What is happening?”
His gaze moved to Roman.
“Can we talk alone?”
“No,” I said.
Gregory blinked.
“No?”
“You ignored me while Dad treated me like furniture for years. Tonight he tried to use me as debt collateral. You've officially lost private-conversation privileges.”
His face changed.
Shame.
Good.
I needed him to feel some.
Roman gestured toward the study.
Gregory stopped.
“I'm not going anywhere with him.”
Roman's expression remained flat.
“You drove to my house.”
“I came for my sister.”
“And she's in the study.”
Gregory looked at me helplessly.
I walked past him.
He followed.
Inside, I shut the door.
“Start talking.”
Gregory rubbed both hands over his face.
“Dad and Daniel know you've been copying reports.”
My blood went cold.
“What reports?”
“Vendor reconciliations. Transfers. Audit exceptions.”
“I make backups.”
“Not those.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard them talking.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Before or after Dad offered me to Roman?”
Gregory flinched.
“After.”
Of course.
“What did they say?”
“That you'd been building some kind of file.”
I stared at him.
I had.
Not because I believed a crime was happening.
Not initially.
I kept irregularity reports because Daniel had a habit of verbally approving exceptions and then denying he'd seen them.
Self-protection.
Nothing more.
At least that was how it began.
Over time, the folder had grown.
Too many inconsistencies.
Too many unexplained vendors.
Too many transfers.
“Where is it?” Roman asked.
Gregory looked at me.
“You tell him.”
“I didn't.”
“What?”
“I never told anyone about it.”
Gregory went pale.
Roman immediately understood.
“So someone accessed her workstation.”
I nodded slowly.
“Daniel has administrator rights.”
“What’s in the file?” Gregory asked.
“Enough questions to make someone nervous.”
“No,” he said. “I mean exactly.”
I listed the largest anomalies.
North Harbor.
Property-management fees.
Equipment leases paid to companies with no equipment.
Consulting fees routed through Delaware corporations.
Gregory sank into a chair.
“Oh God.”
“What?”
He looked toward Roman.
“One of those companies.”
“Which one?”
“Harbor Crown Holdings.”
I knew the name.
We had paid Harbor Crown nearly nine hundred thousand dollars.
“What about it?”
Gregory's voice dropped.
“I own it.”
Silence.
I thought I misheard.
“You what?”
“I didn't create it.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“Dad put it in my name.”
My heartbeat pounded against my ribs.
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“Why?”
“He said it was for estate planning.”
I laughed once.
No humor.
“Estate planning?”
“I believed him.”
“Did nine hundred thousand dollars land in your account?”
“No!”
“Then where did it go?”
“I don't know.”
Roman’s voice cut through us.
“Who has signing authority?”
Gregory looked miserable.
“Dad.”
Of course.
I stood and walked to the window.
Outside, security lights reflected off wet stone.
Everything was becoming clear.
And worse.
Dad hadn't merely mismanaged Miller Development.
He had built entities using his own children’s names.
“Is there anything under mine?” I asked.
Gregory didn't answer.
I turned.
“Gregory.”
His face told me before his voice did.
“Yes.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“I don't know all of it.”
“What company?”
He swallowed.
“Sadie Holdings.”
I couldn't breathe.
Roman stood.
“What is Sadie Holdings?”
Gregory looked at me.
“A company registered in Delaware.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“What does it own?”
Gregory hesitated.
Then he said the words that changed the entire case.
May you like
“The Boston property.”
---
