Chapter 12 - The File Marked S.H.
Dominic answered.
“Father?”
A laugh came through.
Old.
Dry.
Familiar to Dominic alone.
“You took your time.”
Serena watched her father become a son again.
“Where are you?”
“Where you left me.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
Serena demanded, “What does that mean?”
Donato heard her.
“My granddaughter.”
Serena felt no warmth.
“Were you behind the network?”
“I built what became the network.”
“Why?”
“To protect the family.”
Serena almost laughed.
Again.
Protection.
The word every Moretti used before admitting harm.
Donato continued.
“Victor corrupted it. Margaret expanded it.”
“And you watched?”
“I was no longer in control.”
“Then why stay dead?”
Silence.
Dominic answered instead.
“Because I forced him out.”
Serena stared.
Dominic finally told the truth.
Thirty-two years earlier, Donato Moretti had controlled businesses on both sides of the law.
Dominic wanted legitimacy.
Victor wanted expansion.
Their father chose Victor.
Dominic gathered evidence, confronted Donato, and forced him to leave the country under threat of prosecution.
Then Dominic announced his father’s death.
“You lied to everyone.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To prevent a war.”
Serena shook her head.
“And the lies created one anyway.”
“Yes.”
Dominic did not defend himself.
That mattered.
Donato gave them an address.
Samuel objected.
“It’s a trap.”
Serena said, “Probably.”
She went anyway.
This time she did not go alone.
Dominic.
Isabella.
Samuel.
Federal agents.
And, unexpectedly, Grant.
Not beside Serena.
Behind her.
Where she had told him to stay.
Donato lived in a modest house outside the city.
No guards.
No gold.
No empire.
Just an old man connected to an oxygen machine.
Serena entered.
Donato looked at her.
“You have Isabella’s eyes.”
“I didn’t come for family compliments.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
“Who controls the administrator account?”
“I do.”
“Why access it yesterday?”
“To close it.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Someone changed the credentials.”
Samuel stepped forward.
“Who?”
Donato pointed toward a filing cabinet.
“File marked S.H.”
Serena opened it.
Inside were documents about Samuel Hale.
Not Serena.
Samuel read them.
His hands began trembling.
“What?”
He turned a page.
“My research.”
Model 44 had not originated entirely with Samuel.
Donato had funded it.
Samuel had accepted Moretti money decades earlier.
Isabella stared at her brother.
“You told me it was independent.”
“I thought it was.”
Donato coughed.
“I wanted a system capable of identifying hidden money.”
Samuel glared.
“So you could hide yours better.”
“At first.”
Serena closed the file.
“Enough history. Who changed the credentials?”
Donato looked at Grant.
Grant stiffened.
“Not him.”
“Then why are you looking at me?”
“Because the person used your authorization.”
Grant frowned.
“That’s already happened.”
“No. Different authorization.”
Donato slid over a document.
Holloway Financial succession plan.
Grant had signed it four years earlier.
If he became incapacitated, emergency system authority transferred to the board chair.
Margaret.
But if both Grant and the chair were unavailable, authority transferred to the company’s legal administrator.
Marcus.
Grant stared.
“Marcus.”
Samuel shook his head.
“He helped us.”
Donato replied, “People can help you and still want something.”
Serena thought about Marcus.
His lies.
His preservation of the IP agreement.
His sudden heroism.
Too perfect?
Her phone rang.
Marcus.
She answered.
“Where are you?”
“At Holloway Financial.”
“Why?”
“Cleaning up.”
Serena’s stomach tightened.
“Don’t touch anything.”
Silence.
“Marcus?”
His voice changed.
“I’m sorry, Serena.”
She stood.
“For what?”
“I really did try to protect you.”
“From whom?”
“Everyone.”
The call ended.
Samuel checked Model 44.
Administrator access active.
Accounts closing.
Evidence disappearing.
“Marcus is wiping the network.”
Grant grabbed his coat.
Serena stopped him.
“No.”
“He’s destroying everything.”
“Which means he wants us to run there.”
Grant froze.
She was right.
Serena looked at Donato.
“What does Marcus need that he doesn’t already have?”
Donato smiled faintly.
“There she is.”
“What?”
“The question nobody else asked.”
He pointed to Serena’s old leather notebook.
“Model 44 can erase records. But it cannot move the remaining money without the original creator’s biometric confirmation.”
“Samuel?”
“No.”
Serena went still.
Donato looked directly at her.
“You.”
Serena stared.
“I didn’t create Model 44.”
“No.”
“But your first model created the mathematical signature it was built from.”
Her phone vibrated.
A message from Marcus.
One photograph.
Camille tied to a chair inside Holloway Financial.
Another message appeared.
COME ALONE, SERENA.
May you like
Then a third.
OR GRANT LEARNS WHAT REALLY HAPPENED ON YOUR WEDDING NIGHT...
