Chapter 5 - The Bride Who Set Her Own Terms
Rockford confessed before sunset.
Not to murder.
To cowardice.
Seventeen years earlier, Margaret had discovered Harrison Whitmore using Jones Financial accounts to wash illegal political donations through construction projects connected to Moretti companies.
Rockford learned about the scheme after Margaret did.
He begged her to stop investigating.
She refused.
Then Harrison threatened them.
Rockford did nothing.
After Margaret's crash, Harrison visited him in the hospital.
Adelaide was still unconscious.
“He told me the accident was a warning,” Rockford said.
“He said if I talked, you would be next.”
Adelaide stared at him.
“So you protected me?”
“I thought I did.”
“No. You protected yourself.”
Rockford began crying.
Adelaide felt no satisfaction.
She had wanted an explanation for seventeen years.
Instead, she received proof that fear could turn a father into a stranger.
Evelyn admitted Harrison had introduced her to Rockford after Margaret's death. Her marriage had allowed Whitmore to keep someone close to Jones Financial.
Chloe hadn't known the history.
But she and Preston had recently become involved in moving money again.
Preston had convinced her it was harmless.
A way to force Rockford into retirement after their marriage.
Mateo's missing fifteen million had been deliberately transferred because Harrison wanted Mateo to react.
The marriage demand had given Preston an opportunity to position Chloe closer to Moretti assets.
Except Rockford sent Adelaide.
And the entire plan shifted.
By midnight, federal investigators were quietly being contacted through Mateo's attorneys.
Adelaide stood alone on the balcony.
Boston glittered below.
The glass door opened.
Mateo stepped outside.
“You should be inside.”
“So should you.”
“I own the balcony.”
“Congratulations.”
His mouth twitched.
She had begun noticing that almost-smile.
It appeared whenever she refused to be intimidated.
He stood beside her.
“You haven't asked about the marriage.”
“I assumed the arrangement was finished.”
“Why?”
“My father can't offer me as collateral if the debt was created by Whitmore.”
“Correct.”
“So we're done.”
Mateo looked out over the city.
“If that's what you want.”
Something about his voice made her turn.
“You don't?”
“No.”
Adelaide laughed once in disbelief.
“You can't possibly still want to marry me.”
“Why not?”
“Because this entire arrangement was insane.”
“Agreed.”
“Because we've known each other for approximately twenty-four hours as adults.”
“Also true.”
“And because your original bride was Chloe.”
“No.”
She frowned.
Mateo faced her.
“My original objective was access to your family. Marriage was leverage. Chloe was irrelevant.”
“That is perhaps the least romantic proposal in American history.”
“It wasn't a proposal.”
“Good.”
“I'm getting to that.”
Adelaide stared at him.
Mateo reached into his pocket.
She immediately stepped backward.
“No.”
He stopped.
“I haven't even asked.”
“And you're holding a ring.”
“I like being prepared.”
“You're impossible.”
“Frequently.”
She almost laughed.
Then his expression changed.
“Adelaide, I won't ask you to marry me tonight.”
Relief and disappointment arrived simultaneously, which annoyed her.
Mateo noticed.
He noticed everything.
“What I will ask is whether you'll stay.”
“Here?”
“With me. Until we finish this.”
“For protection?”
“Partly.”
“And the other part?”
“I'd like to know the woman who kept half my medal for seventeen years.”
The simplicity of it disarmed her.
Adelaide looked away.
“You don't know anything about me.”
“I know you walked willingly into the home of a man you believed might kill you because your family had decided your life was expendable.”
“That doesn't make me brave.”
“No?”
“I was angry.”
“Bravery and anger are old friends.”
She smiled.
This time he did too.
Adelaide stayed.
Not as a hostage.
Not as collateral.
As herself.
Over the next several weeks, she discovered that Mateo Moretti was not what Boston society claimed.
He could be ruthless.
He could also spend twenty minutes rescuing a moth trapped inside his library because his late mother had hated seeing living things killed unnecessarily.
He controlled businesses worth hundreds of millions yet drank terrible instant coffee at two in the morning.
He frightened grown men with a glance but called his eighty-year-old grandmother every Sunday.
Most surprisingly, he never asked Adelaide to hide her scar.
One evening before a charity dinner, Adelaide stood before a mirror applying concealer.
Mateo appeared behind her.
“Why?”
She paused.
“You know why.”
“Do you want to cover it?”
She looked at herself.
For years, she had arranged hair across the left side of her face.
Chosen angles.
Avoided photographs.
“No.”
“Then don't.”
“It isn't that easy.”
“I didn't say it was.”
He took the makeup sponge gently from her hand.
“You don't owe strangers comfort.”
Adelaide stared at their reflection.
Her scar remained visible.
Mateo's eyes never left hers.
She attended the gala without covering it.
People stared.
For the first time, Adelaide stared back.
Then Preston Whitmore appeared.
He crossed the ballroom toward her.
Mateo was across the room speaking with a judge.
Preston smiled.
“You've changed.”
“No. You just never looked at me before.”
His smile tightened.
“You've become confident for someone who doesn't understand what's happening.”
“I understand enough.”
“No, Adelaide.”
He leaned closer.
“You found one ledger.”
Her stomach tightened.
“One?”
Preston's expression told her he had made a mistake.
Adelaide kept her face calm.
“What other ledger?”
He recovered.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Then Mateo appeared beside her.
Preston stepped away.
“Moretti.”
“Whitmore.”
Neither man offered a hand.
Preston smiled at Adelaide.
“Enjoy the party.”
He walked away.
Mateo watched him go.
“What did he say?”
Adelaide told him.
Mateo's jaw tightened.
“One ledger.”
“Yes.”
“So Margaret kept another record.”
“Or someone else did.”
Mateo's phone vibrated.
He read the message.
His face changed.
“What?”
“Our forensic team recovered a deleted file from Chloe's phone.”
He showed Adelaide.
It was a photograph.
Another ledger page.
This one carried a heading neither recognized.
M.J. TRUST — BENEFICIARY: ADELAIDE MARGARET JONES
Below it was a number.
$186,400,000.
Adelaide stared at the screen.
“What is that?”
May you like
Mateo looked toward Preston across the ballroom.
“I think we just discovered why they were so eager to marry Chloe.”
