Chapter 3 - The Woman Sebastian Needed Gone
Abigail did not scream.
Later, she would be strangely proud of that.
She simply stared.
The photograph had been taken years ago.
She recognized the blue pillowcase.
Their old apartment.
Before the mansion.
Before Sebastian became the polished face of Crane Holdings.
Before Abigail learned that love could be turned into leverage so gradually she would not notice until she had none left.
In the photograph, she was asleep.
On the bedside table sat a document.
Her mother’s trust paperwork.
Dante moved closer.
“Do you remember this?”
“No.”
Evelyn looked sick.
Sebastian stayed near the doorway.
“Photographs exist in marriages.”
Abigail turned.
“Of me asleep beside legal documents?”
“I don’t remember taking it.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Sebastian said nothing.
Dante examined the cabinet.
Folders had been removed.
Recently.
Dust outlined where they had been.
Someone had emptied most of it.
Evelyn whispered, “He knew.”
Sebastian’s eyes flashed.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You came here after the board meeting yesterday,” Evelyn said.
“How do you know?”
“Because your driver told me.”
Sebastian turned toward her.
Abigail caught it immediately.
The flash of betrayal.
Not anger at a false accusation.
Anger that someone had spoken.
“Why yesterday?” Abigail asked.
Nobody answered.
Then she remembered.
Yesterday morning, Sebastian had kissed her forehead before leaving.
“Big meeting,” he had said.
She had wished him luck.
At lunch her debit card stopped working.
At dinner he barely spoke.
This morning he divorced her.
Her skin prickled.
“What happened at the board meeting?”
Evelyn looked at Dante.
Dante shook his head.
“Tell her.”
Evelyn nodded.
“Crane Holdings is being audited.”
Sebastian snapped, “That information is confidential.”
“Not anymore,” Evelyn said.
“For what?” Abigail asked.
“Asset irregularities.”
Abigail looked at Sebastian.
“Mine?”
“Among others.”
The room tilted.
Dante pulled open a second drawer.
Empty.
Third.
Empty.
Fourth—
not empty.
Inside lay a recorder.
Old-fashioned.
Digital.
Black.
Abigail stared.
Evelyn whispered, “I’ve never seen that.”
Dante did not touch it.
“Could contain privileged material.”
Sebastian crossed the room.
“That belongs to me.”
Abigail stepped between him and the cabinet.
The movement surprised them both.
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Move.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what’s on it.”
“Exactly.”
For eight years Abigail had stepped aside when Sebastian told her to.
At restaurants.
At parties.
At meetings.
In photographs.
He always wanted the center.
That habit ended there.
“You’re in my way,” he said.
She almost smiled.
“I know.”
Dante’s mouth twitched.
Sebastian noticed.
His face darkened.
“This is amusing to you?”
“No,” Dante said. “It’s overdue.”
Sebastian stared at him.
“You came here to discuss the Piermont acquisition.”
“We were.”
“You’re willing to destroy a nine-figure deal over my domestic dispute?”
Dante looked at Abigail.
“This stopped being domestic when forged signatures entered the room.”
Sebastian’s mask slipped.
“Careful.”
Dante’s expression went flat.
That one word changed the atmosphere.
Abigail didn’t understand exactly who Dante Moretti was.
She knew the name carried weight.
She knew Sebastian had spent three weeks preparing for his visit.
She knew half the staff had been ordered to polish surfaces no one touched.
And she knew Sebastian had never warned another business associate to be careful with a voice that uncertain.
Dante stepped closer.
“You should take your own advice.”
Sebastian went quiet.
Abigail turned back to the recorder.
“We call a lawyer before touching anything.”
Dante nodded.
“Good.”
That surprised her.
“You agree?”
“You thought I wouldn’t?”
“I don’t know you.”
“Exactly.”
He said it without offense.
She appreciated that.
Downstairs, something crashed.
Dante immediately moved.
“My children.”
They hurried into the corridor.
Another sound.
A shout.
Abigail’s heart jumped.
Dante reached the stairs first.
“Matteo?”
“Dad!”
They ran down.
Lucia stood beside an overturned side table.
Nico was crying.
Matteo held his arm protectively around his brother.
A man Abigail had never seen before stood near the front door.
Tall.
Gray suit.
Cold eyes.
One household guard was blocking him.
Dante descended the last steps.
“Who are you?”
The stranger looked directly at Sebastian.
“Mr. Crane called me.”
Every eye turned.
Sebastian stopped midway down the stairs.
Abigail’s stomach dropped.
Dante’s voice hardened.
“For what?”
The man’s gaze moved to Abigail.
“To remove Mrs. Crane from the premises.”
Matteo stepped forward again.
“No.”
Dante put one hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Behind me.”
This time Matteo obeyed.
Sebastian descended.
“This has gone far enough.”
Abigail stared at him.
“You called security?”
“Private security.”
“To remove me?”
“You refused to leave.”
“This might be my house.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
His jaw clenched.
The stranger addressed Abigail.
“Ma’am, I’m asking you to exit voluntarily.”
Dante said, “She’s not leaving.”
Sebastian snapped, “You have no authority here.”
Dante looked toward the stranger.
“What company?”
The man hesitated.
“Keystone Protective.”
Dante took out his phone.
He made one call.
“Victor.”
Pause.
“Keystone Protective. Crane residence.”
Another pause.
The man in gray shifted.
Dante continued.
“Who holds the property contract?”
He listened.
Then handed the phone to the stranger.
“Your employer.”
The man’s face changed.
He took it.
Listened.
Looked at Sebastian.
Then ended the call.
“Mr. Crane.”
“What?”
“I can’t remove her.”
Sebastian stared.
“What do you mean?”
“The property contract isn’t under your name.”
Silence.
Abigail’s pulse thundered.
“Whose name?”
The man looked at his phone.
“Bellweather Foundation Holdings.”
Sebastian’s face went blank.
Dante looked at Abigail.
“And if Bellweather is tied to her trust…”
Nobody finished the sentence.
They didn’t need to.
The man in gray stepped back.
“I’m leaving.”
Sebastian’s voice rose.
“I hired you.”
“You’re not the property principal.”
“I live here.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
The door shut behind him.
Abigail looked around the foyer again.
It no longer seemed beautiful.
It looked stolen.
Piece by piece.
Light fixture by light fixture.
Tile by tile.
Sebastian had brought her into this mansion four years ago.
He had stood beneath the chandelier and said, “Welcome home.”
Had he known then?
Had he watched her marvel at a house purchased through assets belonging to her?
Had he laughed privately when she thanked him?
The humiliation was almost unbearable.
Abigail gripped the back of a chair.
Lucia approached.
“You okay?”
Abigail forced herself to breathe.
“No.”
The child nodded as though that were acceptable.
Then hugged her waist.
Abigail closed her eyes.
Children were so strange.
Adults demanded convincing lies.
I’m fine.
Don’t worry.
It’s okay.
Children sometimes accepted truth more easily.
No.
I’m not okay.
And somehow that did not end the world.
Dante watched his daughter.
Something softened in his face.
“Lucia.”
She looked at him.
“You’re squeezing.”
Lucia loosened her arms.
“Sorry.”
Abigail touched her hair.
“It’s okay.”
Dante looked at Abigail.
“My attorney is ten minutes away.”
“You called already?”
“When Sebastian tried to take the document.”
Sebastian laughed bitterly.
“Of course you did.”
Dante turned.
“You mistake preparation for aggression because you’re accustomed to everyone being less prepared than you.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed.
Abigail suddenly understood why these men had been negotiating.
They were similar in intelligence.
Very different in restraint.
Sebastian used control to dominate.
Dante used it to prevent chaos.
At least that was what Abigail had seen so far.
She refused to romanticize him.
She had made that mistake once with a powerful man.
She would not do it again.
“Your lawyer can preserve the evidence,” she said. “But I want my own counsel.”
“Agreed.”
“And no one speaks for me.”
“Agreed.”
“Not even you.”
Dante looked almost amused.
“Especially me.”
That answer mattered.
More than it should have.
An hour later, two attorneys arrived.
One represented Dante.
The second was a woman named Claire Benton from an independent firm Dante’s counsel recommended.
Claire was in her fifties.
Silver-streaked hair.
Red glasses.
No nonsense.
Within five minutes Abigail liked her.
Within fifteen minutes Claire had everyone out of the archive room, photographed every item, contacted a forensic document specialist, and made three phone calls that caused Sebastian to become visibly angry.
“You cannot freeze Bellweather accounts based on allegations,” he said.
Claire looked over her glasses.
“I didn’t.”
Sebastian frowned.
“Then who did?”
“Federal auditors did yesterday.”
The foyer went silent again.
Evelyn covered her mouth.
Dante glanced at Sebastian.
Abigail felt cold.
Claire continued.
“Mrs. Bennett-Crane—”
“Bennett,” Abigail said.
Claire smiled slightly.
“Ms. Bennett. Your trust appears to be one of several entities under review.”
“Why?”
“Because money moved through it.”
“How much?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Sebastian said, “This is speculation.”
Claire ignored him.
She opened her laptop.
“Abigail, I need to ask something uncomfortable.”
“Okay.”
“Did your husband ever have access to your identification documents?”
She almost laughed.
“We were married.”
“That’s a yes.”
“Yes.”
“Passport?”
“Yes.”
“Social Security card?”
“Yes.”
“Mother’s death certificate?”
Abigail paused.
“Yes.”
“Do you know where it is?”
She looked toward Sebastian.
His expression told her before his mouth did.
“No.”
Claire typed something.
“Did he ever ask you to sign blank pages?”
Abigail’s stomach turned.
“Once.”
“When?”
“Three years ago. He said his accountant needed signature samples for a joint insurance application.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
Claire looked up.
“Did you receive an insurance policy afterward?”
“No.”
The room became very still.
Claire closed the laptop halfway.
“Abigail.”
“What?”
“There may be more forged documents.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could I be liable?”
Claire did not answer quickly enough.
Abigail’s knees weakened.
Dante moved toward her.
She held up a hand.
“No.”
He stopped.
Good.
She needed that.
No rescuing.
Not yet.
Claire said carefully, “If your signature was forged, there are defenses. But until we understand the structure, you should assume your name may be attached to transactions you did not authorize.”
Abigail looked at Sebastian.
He stared back.
No apology.
No shame.
Only calculation.
That hurt more than anything.
Because some foolish part of her had still hoped for remorse.
There was none.
Claire received a message.
She read it.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
Claire looked at Abigail.
“The auditor found another account connected to your trust.”
“How much?”
“That isn’t the problem.”
“What is?”
“The beneficiary.”
Abigail frowned.
“Who?”
Claire turned the phone toward her.
A name appeared beneath the Bellweather trust designation.
Abigail read it once.
Then again.
Her blood went cold.
Because the beneficiary was not Sebastian.
It was a woman Abigail knew.
A woman Sebastian had sworn he had never touched.
And at that exact moment, the front door opened behind them.
High heels clicked across the marble.
A woman’s voice said, “Sebastian?”
May you like
Abigail turned.
And there she was.
