Chapter 5 - My Father’s Missing Millions
By nine in the morning, my life had become a headline.
The article appeared online first.
Then another.
Then two local television stations repeated it.
Nobody called me for comment.
Nobody asked whether the allegations made sense.
My photograph did the work.
Twenty-four-year-old accountant.
Daughter of a wealthy developer.
Seen leaving her family home with Roman Costa.
The story wrote itself.
The truth didn't matter.
Not yet.
Gregory paced the dining room.
“We need to call Dad.”
“No.”
“He can fix this.”
I stared at my brother.
“Gregory, Dad caused this.”
“You don't know that.”
Roman slid a printed email across the table.
“We do now.”
The anonymous tip had originated from a public-relations firm.
The firm had been paid that morning.
By North Harbor Strategies.
Gregory stopped pacing.
His face collapsed.
“Oh.”
That single sound contained the death of something.
Faith, probably.
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Roman’s attorney arrived before noon.
Elena Ruiz was in her forties, sharp-eyed, direct, and unimpressed by everyone.
She looked at me.
“Have you spoken to law enforcement?”
“No.”
“Don't until we're prepared.”
“Am I under investigation?”
“Not formally.”
“Yet.”
“Correct.”
She placed a folder down.
“The good news is your father's plan has weaknesses.”
“There's good news?”
“He forged your signature badly.”
“I've seen it.”
“More importantly, you were physically in Chicago at a professional conference on the date one major document claims you signed in Connecticut.”
I blinked.
“I presented at the conference.”
“I know.”
She had already found the program.
Photographs.
Hotel receipts.
A video of me speaking about internal accounting controls.
The irony almost made me smile.
Elena continued.
“The electronic-signature metadata also shows the document originated from Daniel Mercer’s office IP address.”
Gregory stared.
“They were careless.”
“Criminals often are when everyone around them has spent years being afraid to question them.”
I looked at Roman.
He had said almost nothing for twenty minutes.
“What are you thinking?”
“That Thomas expected you to panic.”
“Probably.”
“He expected me to hide you.”
I understood.
“And that would make me look guilty.”
“Yes.”
“What should we do?”
Roman looked at Elena.
She answered.
“We do the opposite.”
By three o’clock, I sat in a neutral conference room at Elena’s law firm.
No Roman.
No Costa employees.
Just me, Elena, and a forensic accountant named Marcus Chen.
We built a timeline.
Every questionable transfer I remembered.
Every instruction Daniel had given.
Every time my father overruled internal controls.
Marcus listened without interrupting.
Then he asked, “Did you ever notice payments to Alder Ridge Consulting?”
“Yes.”
His eyes sharpened.
“How much?”
“Maybe two hundred thousand.”
“Purpose?”
“Environmental review.”
“For which project?”
I frowned.
I had wondered that too.
“None listed.”
Marcus turned his laptop toward me.
Alder Ridge’s registered owner was Claire Mercer.
Daniel’s wife.
My stomach turned.
“Of course.”
Marcus clicked again.
Alder Ridge had received more than two million dollars from Miller-related entities over four years.
Then transferred most of it to an investment account in the Cayman Islands.
Gregory had joined us.
He looked sick.
“How much did Dad steal?”
Marcus corrected him.
“We don't know yet whether every transfer was theft.”
“How much is unexplained?”
“Currently?”
“Yes.”
“Twelve point eight million.”
I stared.
Miller Development should have been worth nearly eighty million.
Dad had spent years telling employees margins were shrinking.
Cutting bonuses.
Delaying raises.
Laying off dozens of people.
Meanwhile millions vanished.
I remembered one employee.
Janice.
Payroll department.
She had worked for Dad for eighteen years.
Her husband developed cancer.
She asked for two weeks of flexible hours.
Dad fired her three months later during “restructuring.”
At the time, Dad said the company had no choice.
Now I wondered how many “choices” had paid for North Harbor.
My anger became cleaner.
Stronger.
This wasn't about me anymore.
Roman arrived after sunset.
He waited until Elena left before approaching.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Reasonable.”
I looked at him.
“You don't say things just to make people feel better, do you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Usually they know you're lying.”
I nodded.
Fair.
“Marcus found almost thirteen million.”
Roman’s expression barely changed.
“I heard.”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“I keep expecting to discover you're part of this.”
“You still might discover things you dislike about me.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“No, Sadie. I did not steal from your father's company.”
I believed him.
That scared me too.
Trust shouldn't happen this quickly.
“Roman.”
“Yes?”
“Why aren't you angry about your money?”
“I am.”
“You don't look angry.”
“My anger doesn't need an audience.”
That sentence stayed with me.
My father’s anger had always needed one.
Maybe that was the difference between power and insecurity.
My phone rang.
Mom.
I stared at the screen.
Roman started to leave.
“Stay.”
He stopped.
I answered.
“Hello?”
My mother was crying.
“Sadie.”
“What happened?”
“Your father knows Gregory is with you.”
“So?”
“He's furious.”
“That isn't new.”
“He says Roman manipulated you.”
I laughed.
“Of course he does.”
“Please come home.”
“No.”
“Sadie, we can fix this privately.”
“Did you know?”
Silence.
My chest tightened.
“Mom.”
“I knew there were companies.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Did you know one was in my name?”
“I knew your father handled some family assets through—”
“Did you know?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
The room went still.
Roman looked away, giving me privacy without leaving.
I closed my eyes.
“How long?”
“About a year.”
“And you didn't tell me.”
“Your father said it was temporary.”
“He stole my identity.”
“He said everything would be transferred back.”
“When?”
“After Boston.”
Always Boston.
“Mom, did you know he planned to blame me?”
“No.”
Her answer came quickly.
Too quickly?
I couldn't tell anymore.
“I swear.”
“Did you know he was going to offer me to Roman?”
“No.”
“Would you have stopped him?”
She started crying harder.
“I don't know.”
That hurt more than if she'd lied.
I whispered, “Thank you for finally telling the truth.”
“Sadie, please.”
I ended the call.
Roman remained near the window.
I wiped my face.
“Don't.”
He turned.
“Don't look at me like you feel sorry for me.”
“I don't.”
“What do you feel?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“Angry.”
“For me?”
“For what they did.”
My throat tightened.
No one had ever been angry for me.
Before I could answer, Roman’s phone rang.
He listened.
Then handed it to me.
A photograph filled the screen.
My father was meeting someone at a private club in Manhattan.
Not Daniel.
Not a banker.
Not an attorney.
A man Roman clearly recognized.
“Who is he?” I asked.
Roman’s expression went cold.
“Victor Hale.”
“Should I know that name?”
“No.”
Something in his voice changed.
“But your father definitely should.”
“Why?”
Roman looked at the photograph again.
May you like
“Because Victor Hale is the man who killed my brother.”
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