Chapter 5 - The Eight-Million-Dollar Lie|
The next morning, Nico took me to his private office overlooking Central Park.
I had never seen so much glass in one room.
The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a breathtaking view of Manhattan.
But I barely noticed.
On his desk lay a folder marked ASHFORD—CONFIDENTIAL.
Beside it sat a cup of tea.
Chamomile.
My favorite.
Nico noticed me looking.
"Margaret told me."
Something warm moved through my chest.
My father had known me for twenty-three years and couldn't have told a stranger what tea I liked.
Nico had known me less than a week.
And somehow, he was paying attention.
"Sit down," he said gently.
I obeyed out of habit.
Then he caught himself.
"Actually, sit wherever you're comfortable."
I almost smiled.
He opened the folder.
"Nora, your father's eight-million-dollar debt isn't the whole story."
My stomach tightened.
"What do you mean?"
"The loan was secured against assets he claimed to control through your mother's trust."
I frowned.
"But those assets aren't his."
"Exactly."
Nico slid a document toward me.
"His company borrowed eight million dollars from a Ferrara subsidiary. The loan was supposed to fund a legitimate investment in port infrastructure."
"Did it?"
"No."
He pointed to several transactions.
"The money was transferred through three shell companies and eventually disappeared into an offshore account."
I stared at the numbers.
"Where did it go?"
"That's what Marco was investigating."
My heart began pounding.
"Your brother?"
Nico nodded.
"Marco noticed discrepancies in our shipping company's financial records. He believed someone was laundering stolen investment funds through freight contracts."
"And he traced it to my father?"
"Yes."
I felt sick.
Nico continued.
"Three days before his accident, Marco told me he'd found evidence connecting Edmund to a network of fraudulent transfers."
"What happened?"
"He was driving home when another vehicle forced him off the road."
I covered my mouth.
"Was he badly hurt?"
Nico's expression softened.
"Broken ribs. A fractured arm. He spent two days in intensive care."
"Is he okay now?"
"He's recovering."
I hesitated.
"Can I meet him?"
Nico looked surprised.
"Why?"
"Because my father hurt your family. I want him to know I'm sorry."
Nico's expression changed.
"Nora, you didn't hurt Marco."
"But—"
"You're not responsible for your father's crimes."
I looked down.
I had heard those words several times since arriving.
They still felt strange.
Like someone speaking a language I was only beginning to learn.
That afternoon, Nico brought me to Marco's apartment.
He was thirty-one, with dark Ferrara eyes and an easy smile.
His left arm rested in a sling.
When we entered, he stood.
"So this is the famous Nora."
My stomach tightened.
"I'm sorry about what happened."
Marco blinked.
"Why are you apologizing?"
"Because my father—"
He raised his good hand.
"Stop right there."
I froze.
Marco smiled.
"Your father owes me an apology. You don't."
I looked at him.
He gestured toward the couch.
"Come sit. Nico tells me you're smarter than everyone in that house combined."
I glanced at Nico.
His ears turned slightly red.
I almost laughed.
Marco noticed.
"Oh, he didn't tell you?"
"Marco," Nico warned.
His brother grinned.
"Big, scary billionaire is already gone."
Nico rolled his eyes.
For a moment, they looked like ordinary brothers.
Not powerful men tangled in a financial conspiracy.
Just two people who cared about each other.
Then Marco's expression became serious.
"There's something I need to show you."
He reached for his laptop.
On the screen was a photograph of a warehouse.
A shipping facility in Brooklyn.
"Two weeks before the crash, I followed a series of transfers to this address."
Nico leaned forward.
"What did you find?"
"Medical shipments."
I frowned.
"Medical?"
Marco nodded.
"Officially, the containers held laboratory equipment. But the manifests didn't match the invoices."
"What was really inside?"
"I couldn't verify the contents."
He opened another photograph.
A shipping label.
Stamped with the name Whitmore Family Trust—Special Assets Division.
My breath caught.
"That's my mother's name."
Marco looked at me.
"I know."
He clicked another file.
"Your father's people used companies tied to your mother's trust to move money and equipment through Ferrara shipping contracts."
Nico's jaw tightened.
"Without our authorization?"
"Some transactions were approved by compromised employees. Others were disguised."
Marco looked at me.
"Then I found a recurring payment to a private care facility."
My heart began pounding.
"Where?"
He turned the laptop.
ST. CATHERINE'S RESIDENTIAL MEDICAL CENTER—UPSTATE NEW YORK.
A monthly payment.
Thirty-two thousand dollars.
For twelve years.
I stared at the screen.
"What patient costs that much?"
Marco hesitated.
Then opened the final document.
A patient billing code appeared.
E.W.—LONG-TERM PRIVATE CARE.
My hands began shaking.
"Eleanor Whitmore."
Nico stood.
"We need to verify that."
Marco nodded.
"I contacted the facility anonymously before the crash. They refused to confirm anything."
I could barely breathe.
My mother.
Twelve years.
Hidden somewhere in New York.
Alive?
Or had my father simply been using her name to move money?
Before anyone could answer, Nico's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
His expression darkened.
"Edmund."
I flinched.
Nico answered.
"What do you want?"
My father's voice came through the speaker.
"You're making a terrible mistake, Ferrara."
Nico's eyes narrowed.
"Explain."
"That girl doesn't know what she's talking about."
I felt anger rise through my fear.
"Then why are you so worried about what I remember?"
Silence.
My father hadn't realized I was listening.
"Nora?"
I took the phone.
"Where's Mom?"
The line went quiet.
For several seconds, I heard only breathing.
Then my father's voice changed.
Soft.
Almost affectionate.
"Sweetheart, your mother has been dead for twelve years."
"Then why have you been paying St. Catherine's thirty-two thousand dollars a month?"
Another silence.
This one longer.
Then he whispered something that made my blood run cold.
May you like
"You should never have opened those files."
And the call ended.
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