Chapter 4 - The Numbers That Shouldn’t Exist
I laughed.
It was either laugh or throw something.
“So let me understand this.”
Gregory sat across from me at Roman’s desk.
“The Boston property Dad has been promising to sell?”
“Yes.”
“The property he supposedly bought using Roman’s money?”
“Yes.”
“The property securing half the company’s future?”
“Yes.”
“Is legally owned by a corporation with my name on it?”
Gregory swallowed.
“Apparently.”
I turned toward Roman.
He looked furious.
Not with me.
That distinction mattered.
“How did you find out?” I asked Gregory.
“Daniel left documents in the library tonight. I saw your name.”
“And suddenly you developed a conscience?”
His face tightened.
“I know I failed you.”
“That's a very efficient sentence for twenty-four years of practice.”
“Sadie.”
“No. Not yet.”
I stood.
“You got everything.”
“Sades—”
“Cars. Schools. Dad’s attention. Mom’s protection. A position at the company you never wanted.”
“I know.”
“And when Dad offered me to settle a debt, where were you?”
He stared at the floor.
“Upstairs.”
“Exactly.”
“I was scared.”
“So was I.”
He looked up.
That landed.
Roman remained silent.
Maybe that was why I trusted him more with every minute.
He wasn't trying to rescue me from my anger.
He let me own it.
I sat again.
“Tell me everything.”
Gregory exhaled.
“Dad started moving assets after Granddad died.”
“That was six years ago.”
“I didn't know then.”
“What changed?”
“Eighteen months ago, he asked me to sign paperwork.”
“Harbor Crown.”
“Yes.”
“And you signed without reading?”
Gregory’s jaw flexed.
“I trusted him.”
“That seems to be the family disease.”
“I know.”
This time, I believed him.
Roman picked up his phone.
“I want incorporation records for Sadie Holdings, Harbor Crown, and every Miller-related entity registered in Delaware, Nevada, Wyoming, and Massachusetts.”
He paused.
“Tonight.”
He ended the call.
I looked at him.
“You can get that?”
“Most of it is public.”
“Most.”
A faint expression crossed his face.
“Some things require persistence.”
I decided not to ask.
By sunrise, Roman’s people had assembled enough records to fill the dining table.
Sadie Holdings had been created three years earlier.
Registered agent: a corporate service company in Wilmington.
Manager: Thomas Miller.
Beneficial owner declaration: unavailable publicly.
But attached loan documents told another story.
Someone had used my identity.
My Social Security number.
A scanned copy of my driver's license.
An electronic signature that looked like mine.
It wasn't.
My hands became numb.
“Identity theft,” I said.
Roman stood beside me.
“Yes.”
“My father stole my identity.”
Gregory closed his eyes.
Mrs. Bell quietly placed coffee near me.
I couldn't drink it.
The Boston parcel had been purchased through Sadie Holdings.
Then Sadie Holdings had borrowed against it.
Twice.
First from a commercial lender.
Then through a private financing structure involving Roman’s five million dollars.
Roman hadn't known the property was tied to me.
My father had hidden the ownership structure behind layered LLCs.
“He used Roman’s loan to cover the first mortgage,” I said.
Roman nodded.
“Then where did the rest go?”
I traced the transfers.
Three million entered an escrow account.
One point eight went toward the purchase balance.
Six hundred thousand disappeared into North Harbor.
Another four hundred thousand went to Harbor Crown.
The remaining amount bounced through several subsidiaries.
“This isn't random,” I said.
“No,” Roman replied.
“It’s engineered.”
“Yes.”
Gregory looked at us.
“Engineered for what?”
I stared at the spreadsheet.
“Extraction.”
“What does that mean?”
“Dad wasn't trying to save Miller Development.”
I highlighted the transfers.
“He was pulling value out of it.”
“Why?”
“That’s what we need to find out.”
Roman’s phone rang.
His attorney had obtained additional corporate records.
Roman put the call on speaker.
“Sadie Holdings filed an amended operating agreement seven months ago,” the lawyer said.
“Who signed it?” Roman asked.
“Purportedly Ms. Miller.”
“I didn't.”
“I assumed as much.”
“What changed?”
A pause.
“Control rights.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who got them?”
“North Harbor Strategies.”
Silence.
Roman’s gaze hardened.
“So North Harbor can sell the Boston property?”
“Yes.”
“Without Sadie?”
“Under the filed agreement, yes.”
“Can they sell it now?”
Another pause.
“There’s already a pending transfer.”
I stood.
“To whom?”
The lawyer named a company none of us recognized.
Eastbridge Urban Partners.
Purchase price:
Twenty-seven million dollars.
Gregory stared.
“Dad said the property was worth fifteen.”
“Dad lies,” I said.
Roman’s voice was quiet.
“When does it close?”
“Forty-eight hours.”
I turned to him.
“If that sale closes, Dad gets enough money to repay you.”
“Yes.”
“So why burn records?”
Roman folded his arms.
“Because repayment isn't the real objective.”
I looked back at the numbers.
Something bothered me.
If Dad wanted money, a twenty-seven-million-dollar sale solved everything.
Unless the money wasn't going to him.
I scanned the transfer documents.
Seller: Sadie Holdings.
Purchase proceeds: designated escrow.
Beneficiary distribution schedule attached separately.
“Where's the schedule?”
Roman’s attorney answered.
“Not filed.”
I looked at Gregory.
“Do you know Eastbridge?”
“No.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
Roman called one of his men.
“Find Eastbridge.”
The answer came twenty minutes later.
Eastbridge Urban Partners existed.
Barely.
Formed nine months earlier.
No employees.
No operating history.
Mailing address in Boston.
Its manager was another holding company.
That company traced to another.
And eventually to a name.
Daniel Mercer.
My throat tightened.
“Daniel is buying the property?”
Gregory whispered.
“With whose money?” I asked.
Roman stared at the documents.
Then he understood.
“Your father's.”
I looked at him.
Roman continued.
“Thomas drains Miller Development. Routes money through shells. Daniel uses those funds through Eastbridge to buy the Boston property.”
“So the property changes hands.”
“But the money never really leaves their control.”
Gregory shook his head.
“Why?”
“To erase obligations,” I said.
Roman nodded.
“Creditors.”
“Investors.”
“Taxes.”
“Maybe all three.”
My father hadn't been collapsing.
He'd been escaping.
And he had attached my identity to the entire structure.
If investigators ever came—
They wouldn't find Thomas Miller’s name at the center.
They would find mine.
I stepped away from the table.
“He wasn't offering me to Roman.”
Gregory looked confused.
“What?”
I finally understood.
Dad needed me gone.
Away from the company.
Away from my computer.
And preferably associated publicly with Roman Costa.
A crime boss.
If the fraud surfaced, what better story could Thomas Miller tell?
His unstable daughter had become involved with organized crime.
She had access to the books.
She had signed the documents.
She had stolen the money.
Roman’s face changed as he followed my reasoning.
“He was setting you up.”
I nodded.
Gregory went pale.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Dad wouldn't—”
I looked at him.
“Wouldn't he?”
Gregory had no answer.
Roman’s phone vibrated again.
He read a message.
Then another.
His expression hardened.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward me.
A news outlet had received an anonymous tip.
The headline draft wasn't yet published.
But it would be soon.
MILLER DEVELOPMENT EMPLOYEE LINKED TO COSTA ORGANIZED CRIME FAMILY IN MULTIMILLION-DOLLAR FRAUD INVESTIGATION.
Below it was my photograph.
The anonymous source had identified the employee.
Sadie Miller.
My father wasn't preparing to frame me.
May you like
He already had.
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