Chapter 9 - THE CHOICE TOMMY MADECharmian refused to believe it.
Not again.
Tommy had been sober two years.
He worked.
He attended meetings.
He had rebuilt trust inch by inch.
Then Aleandro showed them the authorization.
Thomas Flannery.
Digital access.
Account transfer.
Eighty-six million dollars.
Charmian sat down.
“He didn’t have authority.”
“He had your old authentication device,” Vincent said.
Understanding struck.
Tommy had helped Charmian move apartments.
He could have taken it.
Her face collapsed.
“I trusted him again.”
Vincent sat beside her.
This time he did touch her.
Not because she needed rescuing.
Because she reached for his hand first.
They found Tommy within twelve hours.
He had not fled.
He was sitting outside the federal courthouse.
With an attorney.
Charmian stormed toward him.
“How could you?”
Tommy stood.
“I didn’t steal it.”
“The account is empty.”
“I moved it.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody was going to steal it.”
Vincent narrowed his eyes.
“Who?”
Tommy handed him a phone.
Messages.
Threats.
Instructions.
Someone had compromised the foundation’s banking system.
Tommy discovered it through his job at a cybersecurity contractor.
The attackers intended to transfer the entire fund offshore.
Tommy moved it first into a protected federal escrow account.
“Why didn’t you call us?”
“I tried.”
Charmian checked her phone.
Nothing.
Tommy showed outgoing calls.
Blocked.
Their communications had been compromised.
Vincent looked toward Aleandro.
“Inside leak.”
Again.
But this time the culprit was not mafia.
It was the foundation’s chief financial officer, Daniel Reese.
A respected former banker.
No criminal history.
No obvious connection.
Until investigators discovered his father had owned a business destroyed by Lorenzo Costa thirty years earlier.
Daniel did not want money.
He wanted revenge.
His plan was to steal the restitution fund and publicly expose the Costas as frauds.
Charmian requested a meeting.
Vincent objected.
She went anyway.
Daniel sat across from her in federal custody.
“My father died broke because of people like Costa.”
Charmian listened.
“You think I don’t understand anger?”
“You benefited from them.”
“No.”
“My mother died because of them.”
Daniel looked up.
“Then how can you stand beside Vincent?”
“Because he isn’t his father.”
“Convenient.”
“No.”
Charmian leaned forward.
“It’s difficult.”
She told Daniel about Tommy.
About addiction.
Betrayal.
Forgiveness.
Not forgetting.
Not excusing.
Forgiveness without boundaries was self-destruction.
Accountability without any possibility of change was another kind of prison.
“The money was created because harm happened,” Charmian said. “If you steal it, you don’t punish Lorenzo Costa.”
She looked at him.
“You punish the same families he did.”
Daniel lowered his eyes.
That conversation became central to the final resolution.
Daniel pleaded guilty.
But his father’s family also received compensation from the trust.
Justice became complicated.
Not clean.
But real.
Tommy’s actions saved the fund.
For the first time in his adult life, he had encountered temptation and chosen responsibility.
Charmian hugged him outside the courthouse.
“I thought you betrayed me again.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to kill you.”
“Also fair.”
She pulled back.
“Don’t ever steal eighty-six million dollars responsibly again.”
Tommy laughed.
“Deal.”
The fund reopened.
Its first major project transformed an abandoned Costa warehouse into transitional housing and classrooms for young adults leaving foster care.
Charmian led the program.
Vincent funded additional construction with legitimate personal money.
One evening they stood inside the unfinished building.
Charmian wore jeans and a hard hat.
Vincent looked around.
“My father used this warehouse for contraband.”
“Now it’ll have classrooms.”
“He would appreciate the irony.”
Charmian looked at him.
“Do you miss him?”
“Every day.”
She took his hand.
Vincent looked at their joined fingers.
Two years earlier, he had been afraid even to allow her dependence to become affection.
Now nothing about her was dependent.
She challenged him constantly.
Paid her own bills.
Ran programs he could not control.
Rejected his advice frequently and enthusiastically.
He loved her.
The realization was no longer frightening.
Only obvious.
“Charmian.”
She turned.
Vincent reached inside his coat.
She stared.
“Absolutely not.”
He froze.
“I haven’t—”
“If that’s an engagement ring inside a construction site, put it away.”
Vincent looked offended.
“I had a speech.”
“I’m covered in drywall dust.”
“I noticed.”
“My hair looks insane.”
“It usually does.”
She punched his arm.
He laughed.
Then put the ring away.
“When?”
She asked.
“When what?”
“When were you planning to ask?”
“Tonight.”
Charmian smiled.
“Ask me somewhere that doesn’t smell like wet cement.”
Vincent nodded solemnly.
“Understood.”
She walked ahead.
Then turned.
“And Vincent?”
“Yes?”
“I’m probably going to say yes.”
He smiled.
But neither noticed the older woman standing outside the construction fence.
Watching them.
She carried a faded photograph of Evelyn Flannery.
On the back were written three names.
Lorenzo Costa.
Evelyn Flannery.
May you like
And a third name neither Vincent nor Charmian had ever heard.
The final secret of their parents had just arrived in Chicago.
