Chapter 9 - The War Nolan Wanted
The plan became clearer.
And uglier.
If the federal investigation targeted me, Dante would protect me.
If Dante protected me, Moretti Holdings would become involved.
If the forged corporations contained money connected to the Moretti family, investigators would assume Dante was behind everything.
Two targets.
One fabricated trail.
Nolan was bait.
I was the hook.
Dante was the prize.
Bianca denied working with them.
I didn’t believe her.
Neither did Luca.
“You copied the Carter file.”
Luca said.
Bianca stared at him.
“And you abandoned the family.”
“I was expelled.”
“For stealing.”
“For finding out what you were doing.”
Dante slammed one hand against the table.
“Enough.”
For the first time, his calm broke.
Silence followed.
Then Isabella entered holding a phone.
“We found Nolan.”
Everyone turned.
“He checked into the Langham under another name.”
Marco reached for his coat.
Dante stopped him.
“No.”
Then he looked at me.
“What do you want?”
That question again.
A choice.
“I want to hear him explain it.”
Luca laughed.
“Bad idea.”
“Probably.”
I stood.
“But I’m done letting men decide what truth I’m allowed to hear.”
Dante’s eyes stayed on mine.
Then he nodded.
We went to the hotel with Isabella, Marco, and two security men.
Nolan was gone.
But someone had left the room door unlocked.
Inside were photographs.
Dozens.
Pictures of me at work.
At coffee shops.
At my grandmother’s grave.
With friends I eventually stopped seeing because Nolan disliked them.
Some dated back months before we met.
I sank onto the edge of the bed.
“He was watching me.”
Dante didn’t answer.
On the desk sat a binder.
The first page showed my name.
The second contained psychological notes.
FAMILY ATTACHMENT: LOW.
ROMANTIC HISTORY: LIMITED.
FINANCIAL KNOWLEDGE: MINIMAL.
HIGH RESPONSIVENESS TO VALIDATION.
My stomach twisted.
Our relationship had been researched.
Engineered.
Designed.
Then Dante found a photograph beneath the binder.
He went still.
“What?”
I asked.
He handed it to me.
Nolan stood beside Bianca at a restaurant.
The date in the corner was eighteen months earlier.
Three days before Nolan first spoke to me.
Bianca had lied.
But when we returned to the house, she was gone.
So was Luca.
And on Dante’s desk, written in black marker across my grandmother’s trust document, were four words.
May you like
YOU’RE TRUSTING THE WRONG SON.
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