Chapter 5 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be DeadAlessia Romano had buried her mother beneath a gray November sky.
She remembered the rain.
The cheap wooden coffin.
The cemetery worker who waited politely while she struggled to say goodbye.
She remembered every detail because there had been no one else to remember it with her.
Now Dante Moretti was telling her that someone had used her dead mother's identity to move millions of dollars.
“It's fraud,” Alessia said.
Dante nodded.
“Almost certainly.”
“Then why are we standing here?”
“Because we need to know who benefits.”
Marco closed the document case.
“The transfer request hasn't been completed. The bank flagged the signature for additional verification.”
Dante looked at him.
“How long until the account is frozen?”
“Until tomorrow morning.”
“Good.”
Alessia stared.
“Good?”
“Whoever submitted the request believes the money is still accessible.”
“And?”
Dante looked toward the church doors.
“We let them come for it.”
The next morning, Alessia sat across from a woman named Evelyn Brooks.
Evelyn was sixty-three, a retired probate attorney with silver hair and a reputation for refusing clients who lied.
Dante had known her for years.
He trusted her because she had once testified against one of his business associates despite receiving threats.
Evelyn examined the documents.
“This is extraordinary.”
Alessia leaned forward.
“Is it real?”
“The foundation agreement appears genuine. But I need certified copies and independent verification.”
“Why would Bianca Moretti leave anything to my mother?”
Evelyn studied the dates.
“Perhaps because your mother was helping her.”
Dante frowned.
“Helping her do what?”
Evelyn turned a page.
“Protect the foundation from the men controlling its accounts.”
She pointed to a clause.
“Bianca created a successor arrangement. If she died or became incapacitated, Elena Romano would assume temporary control.”
Alessia shook her head.
“My mother never mentioned this.”
“Maybe she didn't know.”
Evelyn continued.
“There's something else.”
She turned the document toward Dante.
“The successor designation wasn't permanent. Elena was a trustee for another beneficiary.”
“Who?”
Evelyn tapped a sealed section.
“The beneficiary's identity is contained in a separate trust instrument.”
“Where is it?”
“According to this document, with the original attorney.”
“Harold Wexler,” Dante said.
Evelyn nodded.
“Unfortunately, Wexler died seven years ago.”
Dante leaned back.
“Convenient.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“Death isn't always conspiracy, Mr. Moretti.”
“In my experience, it frequently has excellent timing.”
Alessia almost smiled.
Then Evelyn's phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Her expression changed.
“Are you certain?”
A pause.
“Send me the certified record.”
She ended the call.
Dante sat forward.
“What?”
Evelyn looked at Alessia.
“Your father's death certificate was filed eleven years ago.”
Alessia stared.
“There was never a body.”
“I know.”
“The police told us he was missing.”
“Someone later petitioned the court for a declaration of death.”
“Who?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“An attorney acting on behalf of the Moretti family.”
Dante's face darkened.
“Name.”
“Harold Wexler.”
Silence.
Alessia looked at Dante.
“Your family's lawyer declared my father dead without telling us?”
Dante shook his head.
“I didn't know.”
“Someone did.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“My mother waited years for him.”
Dante reached across the desk.
Then stopped.
He didn't know whether she wanted comfort from him.
Alessia noticed.
After a moment, she placed her hand over his.
Neither spoke.
That evening, Dante visited the old Moretti family cemetery.
He stood before Vittorio's elaborate granite mausoleum.
His uncle's name was carved above the entrance.
VITTORIO MORETTI.
1948–2021.
Dante had attended the funeral.
He had watched the coffin lowered.
He had delivered the eulogy.
He remembered saying that Vittorio had taught him the meaning of family.
Now he wondered whether everything he believed about the man had been a lie.
Marco stood beside him.
“You want me to arrange an exhumation?”
Dante looked at the sealed tomb.
“Yes.”
“There's a legal process.”
“Then begin it.”
Marco nodded.
Dante stared at the marble.
“Whoever is behind this has been using dead people to hide money.”
“And maybe hiding living people by declaring them dead,” Marco replied.
Dante turned.
“What do you mean?”
Marco handed him a photograph.
It showed an older man entering a small grocery store in northern Wisconsin.
Gray hair.
A beard.
A noticeable limp.
Dante didn't recognize him.
“Who is he?”
“We don't know his current name.”
“Then why are you showing me?”
Marco turned the photograph over.
Written on the back was a single name.
Antonio Romano.
Dante looked at the image again.
“Where did you get this?”
“An investigator found it among Wexler's archived records.”
“When was it taken?”
“Eight months ago.”
Dante felt his pulse quicken.
“Have you verified the date?”
“The original digital file is timestamped, but we still need to verify the man.”
Dante looked at the photograph.
“If that's Antonio, Alessia's father is alive.”
Marco nodded.
“And someone has spent eleven years making sure his family believes otherwise.”
Dante returned to the mansion after midnight.
Alessia was waiting in the library.
She stood when he entered.
“Did you find anything?”
He hesitated.
Then handed her the photograph.
She stared.
Her fingers began trembling.
“No.”
Dante remained silent.
“No,” she repeated, her voice breaking.
She brought the photograph closer.
Her father had always had a small scar beneath his chin.
The man in the photograph had the same scar.
Alessia pressed a hand over her mouth.
“Daddy?”
Dante stepped toward her.
She began crying.
Not quietly.
Not gracefully.
She cried like a little girl who had spent eleven years pretending she didn't need her father.
Dante caught her when her knees weakened.
For a long time, he said nothing.
Then Alessia pulled away.
“Where is he?”
“We're trying to find him.”
She wiped her face.
“Then I'm coming.”
“Alessia—”
“No.”
Her voice became firm.
“You don't get to decide this for me.”
Dante looked at her.
She was frightened.
Heartbroken.
But determined.
He nodded.
“Then we go together.”
At that exact moment, his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man's voice spoke.
“Dante Moretti?”
“Who is this?”
“You're looking for Antonio Romano.”
Dante's expression hardened.
“Where is he?”
The man laughed softly.
“Alive. For now.”
Alessia froze.
Dante tightened his grip on the phone.
“What do you want?”
“Bring the red folder to the old marina tomorrow night.”
“And if I don't?”
May you like
The voice became cold.
“Then the maid loses her father a second time.”
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