Chapter 5 - The Syndicate Boss Who Knew My Grandmother|
Roman Valenti arrived at my attorney's office wearing a black suit and carrying a folder thick enough to make me nervous.
He was forty-two.
At least, that was what Rebecca had discovered while reviewing his business affiliations.
Older than Derek.
More powerful.
And considerably more difficult to read.
He greeted Rebecca first.
Then my father.
Finally, he looked at me.
"Miss Whitaker."
I nodded.
"Mr. Valenti."
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"Roman is fine."
I wasn't ready to call him that.
Not yet.
We sat around the conference table.
Roman's attorney, Daniel Reeves, began explaining the financial records.
Derek had approached one of Roman's affiliated companies seeking investment.
He had represented Whitaker Development Group as a legitimate business with valuable real estate assets.
But several documents were inconsistent.
The signatures didn't match.
The ownership records were incomplete.
And the company appeared to have been created without my knowledge.
I stared at the paperwork.
"How could he think he'd get away with this?"
Roman looked at me.
"Because he believed you'd marry him."
My stomach tightened.
"What difference would that make?"
Rebecca answered.
"Marriage wouldn't automatically give him ownership of your separately held property. But he may have expected you to authorize additional transactions once you were married."
I looked down.
Derek had asked me to trust him.
To sign things.
To stop worrying about money.
To focus on the wedding.
And I had believed him.
Roman watched me carefully.
Then said:
"There's another reason I wanted to meet."
I looked up.
"What?"
"Your grandmother."
My heart stopped.
"Eleanor Whitaker?"
He nodded.
"I knew her."
I stared.
"How?"
Roman's expression softened.
"She helped my family when I was young."
I frowned.
"My grandmother ran a bookstore."
"Yes."
"And?"
"She also knew how to keep people alive when they had nowhere else to go."
I stared.
He looked toward my father.
Dad nodded slowly.
"Your grandmother never spoke much about that period."
My chest tightened.
"What period?"
Dad sighed.
"Before you were born."
Roman leaned forward.
"Thirty years ago, my father was involved in a dispute with another family. Things became dangerous."
I swallowed.
"And Grandma helped?"
He nodded.
"She let my mother stay in the apartment above her bookstore."
I stared.
I'd grown up in that bookstore.
Spent afternoons reading beneath the counter.
Helped Grandma arrange shelves.
I had never imagined she had sheltered the family of a man who would later become one of Chicago's most feared figures.
Roman continued.
"She never asked for money."
I smiled sadly.
"That sounds like her."
"She said people needed help, not another reason to feel ashamed."
My eyes filled.
Exactly the kind of thing Grandma would say.
Roman looked down.
"When she died, I wanted to pay my respects. But I was overseas."
I swallowed.
"She would have understood."
He nodded.
Then he reached into his jacket.
He removed a small envelope.
"I was asked to give you this if the property ever became the subject of a dispute."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
He placed the envelope on the table.
My grandmother's handwriting appeared across the front.
For Ren, if anyone tries to take the house.
My hands began trembling.
I looked at Dad.
He looked equally shocked.
"How long have you had this?"
Roman swallowed.
"Four years."
I stared.
"Four years?"
He nodded.
"Your grandmother gave it to my attorney before she died."
I looked at the envelope.
For a moment, I couldn't open it.
Then Rebecca said gently:
"Take your time."
I broke the seal.
Inside was a letter.
My darling Ren,
If you're reading this, it means someone has tried to use the Whitaker house for something I never intended.
I want you to remember that the house belongs to you.
Not to a husband.
Not to a business partner.
Not to anyone who promises to make you rich.
To you.
Tears blurred the words.
I kept reading.
There are things about that property I never explained.
I hoped you would never need to know.
But if someone comes looking for the old documents, trust Roman Valenti.
I looked up.
Roman was watching me.
My heart raced.
I continued.
His father once made a promise to mine. Roman knows what that promise means.
I swallowed.
Then the final sentence made my breath catch.
The house contains something more valuable than the land beneath it.
I stared.
More valuable?
My grandmother's house was worth perhaps six hundred thousand dollars.
Beautiful.
Old.
Full of memories.
But certainly not worth two million dollars in collateral.
I looked at Roman.
"What does she mean?"
May you like
His expression changed.
"Ren, I was hoping you could tell me."
