Chapter 6 - The Brother Who Finally Came Looking
Roman didn't explain immediately.
He walked out onto the law firm's terrace despite the cold.
I followed.
Manhattan glittered below us.
For several moments, he said nothing.
Finally:
“My brother’s name was Luca.”
I waited.
“He was twenty-eight.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“What happened?”
Roman rested both hands against the stone railing.
“My father was still alive. The Costa organization was divided. Luca wanted out of certain businesses.”
“What businesses?”
“Things I won't romanticize.”
That answer surprised me.
“He wanted the family legitimate?”
“More legitimate.”
“Victor disagreed?”
“Victor worked for us. He believed Luca was weakening the family.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“One night Luca left a restaurant and never came home.”
I didn't ask for details.
I didn't need them.
“Victor disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“And now he’s meeting Dad.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I intend to discover.”
I studied him.
“Roman.”
“What?”
“If Victor killed your brother, and Dad is working with him, you can't make decisions about my father while you're angry.”
His head turned.
Most people probably didn't tell Roman Costa what he could and couldn't do.
I suddenly understood why.
His stare was intimidating.
But I didn't look away.
“You think I'll kill Thomas.”
“I think you're human.”
“That wasn't an answer.”
“Neither was yours.”
A long silence.
Then Roman nodded once.
“Fair.”
He turned toward me fully.
“I will not hurt your father because of Victor.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“Why should I trust that?”
“Because I'm giving you my word.”
Mrs. Bell’s warning returned to me.
When Roman gives his word, pay attention to the exact words.
I nodded.
“Okay.”
Later that night, Gregory found me in the conference room.
“Can we talk?”
“You’re already talking.”
He sighed.
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
“I probably deserve worse.”
“Yes.”
He sat.
“Sades, I was awful to you.”
I looked up from the spreadsheet.
“That almost sounded like self-awareness.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
He gave a tired smile.
For the first time, my brother looked less like Dad.
“I always thought you didn't care.”
“About what?”
“Being left out.”
I stared at him.
“How could you think that?”
“You never complained.”
“I did.”
“Not to me.”
“Because you enjoyed it.”
The truth hit him.
“I did.”
“At least you're honest.”
Gregory looked at his hands.
“When we were kids, I thought Dad loved me more because I was better.”
My throat tightened.
“And now?”
“Now I think he loved whatever reflected well on him.”
That sounded painfully accurate.
“And you reflected well.”
“Until I didn't.”
“What happened?”
“He started asking me to sign more things. When I questioned him, he called me ungrateful.”
I almost smiled.
“Welcome to the club.”
“He told me you'd become unstable.”
My expression changed.
“What?”
“He said you were obsessed with the accounting records. That you were angry because he wouldn't promote you. That you might do something reckless.”
There it was.
The narrative.
Dad hadn't invented it yesterday.
He had been building it for months.
“Did you believe him?”
Gregory looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
I closed my laptop.
“Why?”
“Because believing him was easier than admitting I benefited from how he treated you.”
That answer hurt.
But it also healed something.
Not completely.
Maybe not ever.
But enough.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For finally saying something true even when it makes you look bad.”
He nodded.
His phone buzzed.
He glanced at it.
Then froze.
“What?”
“Dad.”
“What did he say?”
Gregory showed me.
COME HOME. ALONE. I CAN PROVE SADIE IS LYING.
I laughed.
“That's subtle.”
Another message arrived.
YOUR SISTER HAS BEEN MOVING MONEY FOR YEARS.
Gregory stared at me.
I didn't flinch.
“Do you believe him?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
Something changed between us.
Small.
Important.
Then another attachment arrived.
A bank statement.
Account holder:
Sadie Elizabeth Miller.
Balance:
$4,670,221.
I stared at it.
“I've never seen this account.”
Gregory whispered, “It has your Social Security number.”
I already knew what that meant.
Dad hadn't merely attached me to companies.
He had created a financial trail.
Money was sitting under my identity.
Millions.
Marcus verified the account existed.
Opened eighteen months earlier.
Statements mailed to an address I didn't recognize.
The deposit history was devastating.
Transfers from North Harbor.
Harbor Crown.
Miller Development subsidiaries.
On paper, I looked exactly like the thief Dad claimed I was.
Roman joined us.
He studied the records.
“He planned this.”
“For eighteen months,” I said.
Gregory shook his head.
“Why you?”
I laughed bitterly.
“Because no one would believe Dad would frame his own daughter.”
Roman’s expression turned colder.
“And because she was the accountant.”
I nodded.
“The perfect villain.”
Roman looked at me.
“No.”
“What?”
“The perfect scapegoat.”
That distinction mattered.
A villain chooses.
A scapegoat is chosen.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
IF YOU WANT THE ORIGINAL ACCOUNT OPENING DOCUMENTS, COME ALONE.
An address followed.
Stamford.
I showed Roman.
“Absolutely not,” he said.
“I wasn't asking permission.”
“Good, because you aren't getting it.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Then another message arrived.
A photograph.
My mother sitting alone in her car.
Taken minutes earlier.
The message beneath it:
YOUR MOTHER HAS THE KEY.
And suddenly the case wasn't only about my father.
May you like
Someone else was watching all of us.
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