Chapter 6 - The Detective Vivian Bought
My attorney, Richard Vale, had betrayed me.
For twenty years, Richard had handled my family's wills, acquisitions, settlements, and secrets.
He had attended my father's funeral.
He had sent flowers when Lucia underwent surgery.
He was supposed to stand beside me at the wedding.
Instead, he had submitted forged documents using my mother's name.
I called him the next morning.
“Breakfast?”
His answer came easily.
“Always.”
We met at a private restaurant.
I wore a wire.
Richard ordered eggs.
I ordered coffee.
“You look tired,” he said.
“Wedding.”
“You can still run.”
I almost admired the joke.
“Would Vivian get anything if I died before Saturday?”
His fork paused.
“Why would you ask?”
“Estate planning.”
“Your trust protects the family.”
“And after the wedding?”
“Lucia retains substantial authority.”
“Unless she's incompetent.”
Richard looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Or dead.”
Silence.
Then he smiled.
“You're not planning something dramatic, are you?”
“Never.”
That was almost funny.
I slid a folder across the table.
Inside was a fake amendment Marco had created.
It suggested I planned to remove Damian from all succession rights.
Richard read it.
His pupils changed.
“Effective when?”
“After the honeymoon.”
“Does Damian know?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He realized the word too late.
“Good?”
“I mean fewer family complications.”
I nodded.
“Of course.”
Within twelve minutes of leaving the restaurant, Richard called Damian.
We recorded everything.
“He's cutting you out.”
“When?”
“After the honeymoon.”
“Then there can't be a honeymoon.”
That sentence gave the district attorney what he wanted.
Conspiracy tied directly to motive.
Still, I kept the wedding alive.
Sophie thought I was insane.
Lucia agreed with her.
“You inherited your father's stubbornness,” my mother said.
“He called it strategy.”
“He was also stubborn.”
Sophie smiled.
I looked between them.
“Wonderful. You've formed an alliance.”
“We had to,” Lucia said. “You're exhausting.”
For the first time in days, I laughed.
Then Lucia's smile faded.
“Massimo.”
“Yes?”
“If something happens Saturday—”
“Nothing will.”
“Listen.”
I did.
“Protect Sophie.”
Sophie immediately objected.
“Lucia—”
My mother squeezed her hand.
“They've already taken enough from her family.”
I looked at Sophie.
“I will.”
She held my gaze.
“Protect yourself too.”
Something passed between us.
Quiet.
Dangerous.
Real.
I looked away first.
That afternoon, Keane arrived with a search warrant for Sophie's room.
The warrant was fraudulent.
The judge's signature had been copied.
We let him execute it.
He found the gun he had planted.
He smiled.
“Miss Bennett, you're going to need to come with me.”
I entered the room.
Keane froze.
“Massimo.”
“Detective.”
“I thought you were handling wedding business.”
“I am.”
He held up the gun.
“We found this.”
“Interesting.”
Sophie stood beside Lucia.
Keane reached for handcuffs.
I stepped between them.
“You aren't arresting her.”
“I have probable cause.”
“You have a fake warrant.”
His face changed.
I handed him a copy.
“The judge whose signature you forged is currently sitting with the district attorney.”
Keane went pale.
I leaned closer.
“You have one opportunity.”
“For what?”
“To decide whether you want to be the first person in this conspiracy to cooperate.”
His eyes moved toward the hallway.
“Conspiracy?”
“Careful.”
Keane's breathing changed.
Then he whispered, “I want a lawyer.”
“Good choice.”
Federal agents entered behind him.
Vivian wasn't home.
Damian wasn't home.
Richard wasn't home.
They believed Keane was still useful.
We quietly removed him instead.
By evening, he was talking.
Vivian had paid him.
Damian had given instructions.
Richard supplied legal documents.
Cole supplied drugs.
And there was another person.
“Who?” I asked.
Keane stared at the table.
“I never met him.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Damian called him the architect.”
Marco and I exchanged a glance.
“What architect?”
“The person who started planning this before Vivian ever met you.”
That changed the timeline.
“Name.”
“I don't know.”
“Try harder.”
Keane swallowed.
“He uses initials.”
“What initials?”
Keane opened his mouth.
Before he could answer, the interview-room lights went dark.
Emergency lights flashed red.
Marco reached for his weapon.
A phone began ringing inside Keane's evidence bag.
Nobody moved.
The screen illuminated.
One caller.
Two initials.
May you like
C.M.
And my uncle Carlo had supposedly been dead for seven years.
