Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Chose the Family Name
I listened to the recording three times.
Not because I didn't understand it.
Because I did.
My mother's voice was unmistakable.
Calm.
Precise.
Businesslike.
"Once Claire signs the trust, she won't be able to stop us."
Then Ethan spoke.
"What about Ava?"
Mother answered immediately.
"Keep her happy until tomorrow."
My stomach turned.
Roman stopped the recording.
"Enough."
"No."
I reached for the phone.
He didn't give it back.
"Claire."
"Play the rest."
"You heard what matters."
"I spent six years believing one man loved me and twenty-nine years believing one woman would never intentionally destroy me. I think I've earned the full recording."
Roman studied me.
Then pressed play.
Ethan's voice returned.
"If Claire finds out about me and Ava—"
"She won't."
Ava spoke next.
"She isn't stupid."
Mother sighed.
"No. She's sentimental."
The word was spoken like a diagnosis.
"Claire wants to believe people are better than they are. That has always been her weakness."
My throat tightened.
Ava said, "She's my sister."
"And tomorrow she'll still be your sister. A richer one who no longer controls the company."
Silence followed.
Then Ethan.
"Roman will interfere."
Mother laughed.
"Roman doesn't care about Claire."
I glanced at him.
He stared at the phone.
Mother continued.
"He cares about keeping Rinaldi away from the river properties. Once the trust is signed, Victor will handle Roman."
The recording ended.
For several seconds neither of us spoke.
Then I asked, "Does Victor handle people often?"
Roman's smile had no warmth.
"He tries."
"What are the river properties?"
"Warehouses. Rail access. Shipping terminals."
"Why does he want them so badly?"
"Because whoever controls them controls legitimate freight access through several key corridors."
"And illegitimate freight?"
Roman met my gaze.
I understood.
"Drugs?"
"Among other things."
I sat back.
"My father knew?"
"Your father discovered Victor had been attempting to infiltrate Bennett Holdings."
"And my mother joined him."
"It appears so."
The words hurt less each time.
That worried me.
I stood.
"I need a lawyer."
"I have twelve."
"I need one who doesn't work for you."
Roman nodded.
"I know one."
"You aren't offended?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because intelligent people don't let the man proposing a strategic marriage choose their attorney."
I stared at him.
"You really are serious."
"Completely."
"About marrying me."
"Yes."
"Tonight?"
"If possible."
I laughed.
Roman didn't.
"You're insane."
"Potentially."
"Stop agreeing with me."
"I find it efficient."
I walked to the window.
Chicago glittered below us.
A few hours earlier I'd imagined leaving this hotel with Ethan's ring on my finger.
Now I was considering marrying his brother to protect an inheritance I hadn't known existed.
There were soap operas with more realistic plots.
"Suppose I say no."
"Then I protect you another way."
I turned.
"You would?"
"Your father asked me to."
"But you barely know me."
Roman's jaw tightened slightly.
"That's not entirely true."
"What does that mean?"
He looked away.
Interesting.
Roman DeLuca, terror of Chicago, was avoiding eye contact.
"Roman."
"Our fathers met often."
"So?"
"You attended some of those dinners."
"When I was what? Twelve?"
"Seventeen."
I searched my memory.
There had been a DeLuca boy at several dinners.
Older.
Quiet.
Usually standing near his father.
"You were there."
"Yes."
"You never spoke to me."
"You spoke enough for both of us."
I stared.
He almost smiled.
"You remember me?"
"You argued with your father about demolishing a neighborhood library."
My mouth opened.
"I won that argument."
"You did."
"How do you remember that?"
"Because no one argued with Thomas Bennett."
"I did constantly."
"I noticed."
Something warm and dangerous moved between us.
I stepped away from it immediately.
"This still doesn't mean marriage makes sense."
"No."
"What does?"
Roman's expression became serious.
"The fact that by eight tomorrow morning Victor will know Ethan failed."
"And?"
"He'll need another method."
"You think I'm in danger."
"I know you are."
My phone rang.
Mother.
I let it ring.
Again.
Again.
Finally I answered.
"Claire."
Her voice was different now.
Not commanding.
Careful.
"Where are you?"
"Safe."
"With Roman?"
I looked at him.
"Why?"
"Come home."
"No."
"This has gone far enough."
"It went far enough when you tried to steal my inheritance."
Silence.
Then, "You don't understand what your father left behind."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's true."
"You were going to trick me into signing away control."
"I was protecting you."
"From what?"
"From men like Roman DeLuca."
Roman raised an eyebrow.
I almost smiled.
"You were working with Victor Rinaldi."
The line went silent.
That told me more than denial would have.
"Who told you that?"
"So it's true."
"Claire, listen carefully. Roman is using you."
"Maybe."
"He wants your shares."
"Maybe."
"He is not a good man."
"I never said he was."
Mother's voice sharpened.
"Then come home."
"No."
"Claire."
"No."
It felt strange how powerful such a small word could become after years of using yes to keep everyone comfortable.
Mother exhaled.
"If you stay with him tonight, there will be consequences."
I looked directly at Roman.
"What kind?"
"You will lose this family."
My heart broke.
Quietly.
No dramatic sound.
No collapse.
Just one clean fracture.
I replied, "I think I already did."
Then I ended the call.
Roman didn't speak for a moment.
"That hurt."
It wasn't a question.
"Don't analyze me."
"I'm not."
"Good."
"I was stating the obvious."
I glared.
He handed me a glass of water.
Not whiskey.
Not champagne.
Water.
I took it.
"Thank you."
His phone buzzed.
"My attorney is downstairs."
The lawyer Roman trusted but didn't employ was Rebecca Sloan, a fifty-two-year-old woman who entered the room carrying two laptops and enough skepticism for everyone.
She looked at Roman first.
"If you threaten my client, I'll make your life expensive."
Roman nodded.
"Good evening, Rebecca."
Then she looked at me.
"Claire Bennett?"
"Yes."
"Before we discuss anything, Roman leaves."
He did.
No protest.
That impressed me.
For the next two hours, Rebecca reviewed every document.
At 1:37 a.m., she removed her glasses.
"Your father was meticulous."
"Meaning?"
"The contingency is enforceable."
"The marriage clause?"
"If you choose it voluntarily."
I rubbed my forehead.
"And if I don't?"
"You still control your shares tomorrow."
"Then why marry Roman?"
"Because your mother owns twenty-six percent. Victor Rinaldi controls entities holding another eighteen."
My stomach dropped.
"Together?"
"Forty-four percent."
"I have thirty-one."
"Correct."
"Roman?"
"Through DeLuca Investments, twenty-two."
I understood.
"If Roman and I combine voting authority—"
"You control fifty-three percent."
"Majority."
Rebecca nodded.
"And Victor loses his path into Bennett Holdings."
It wasn't romance.
It was war disguised as matrimony.
At 2:00 a.m., Roman returned.
Rebecca looked at him.
"She understands."
He looked at me.
"And?"
"I need conditions."
"Name them."
"My shares remain mine."
"Agreed."
"You never vote them without my written consent."
"Agreed."
"No criminal activity touches Bennett Holdings."
His face hardened.
"Agreed."
"If I discover you've lied to me about any material part of this arrangement, I walk."
"Agreed."
"And there will be no pretending this is a love story."
Something changed behind his eyes.
But he nodded.
"Agreed."
Rebecca began drafting.
By dawn, twenty-seven pages sat between us.
I signed none of them.
Not yet.
Roman drove me home himself.
My mother's mansion was dark.
"She's not here," I said.
Roman glanced toward the security system.
"Maybe."
I unlocked the front door.
The alarm wasn't armed.
That was strange.
Mother never forgot it.
Roman entered behind me.
"Stay here."
"It's my house."
"Claire."
"I'm getting tired of men telling me where to stand."
"Then stand behind me while ignoring me."
I almost laughed.
We moved toward my father's old study.
The door was open.
Inside, drawers had been pulled out.
Papers covered the floor.
The wall safe stood exposed.
Empty.
I stepped around the desk.
My father's framed photograph was face down.
I lifted it.
Something had been taped behind it.
A flash drive.
Roman looked at me.
"Did you know that was there?"
"No."
I inserted it into the study computer.
One video file appeared.
Dated four days before my father's death.
I clicked it.
My father appeared on-screen.
Thin.
Pale.
But unmistakably alert.
"Claire," he said.
My knees almost gave out.
"If you're watching this, then your mother finally did what I was afraid she would do."
I gripped the desk.
Father looked directly into the camera.
"Margaret did not betray you because she stopped loving you."
He paused.
"She betrayed you because Victor Rinaldi owns the secret that could destroy her."
A sound came from the hallway.
Roman turned.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Approaching the study.
May you like
Then my mother's voice came through the darkness.
"Claire, turn that video off."
