Chapter 4 - THE SECRET ISABELLA LEFT BEHIND
Naomi asked me to meet her at a bank.
Not one of mine.
A small private institution in Lincoln Park.
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
I hated that answer.
She signed us into a safe-deposit vault.
The banker brought a narrow metal box.
Naomi used one key.
Then handed me another.
I stared at it.
“Where did you get this?”
“Isabella.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Three weeks before she died.”
I looked at Naomi.
“She knew?”
“Not that she would die.”
“Then why?”
“She was worried.”
“About what?”
“Arthur.”
The vault felt suddenly too small.
Naomi opened the box.
Inside were three envelopes.
A flash drive.
A notarized affidavit.
And a handwritten letter.
My name on the front.
I recognized Isabella’s handwriting instantly.
My hands began shaking.
I had not seen it in a year.
Roman,
If Naomi gives you this, something has gone wrong badly enough that she decided you need to know.
Very comforting opening.
Typical Isabella.
I almost laughed.
Almost.
She continued.
Arthur has been asking questions about the children’s trust that have nothing to do with ordinary estate planning.
He asked who can control their voting shares if both of us are gone.
He asked whether a guardian can replace the proxy trustee.
He asked what happens if you are declared legally incapacitated.
I challenged him.
He told me he was “stress testing” the estate.
Maybe he is.
I don’t know.
But I have learned one thing from being married to you:
Paranoia is exhausting.
Sometimes it is also useful.
I sat down.
Naomi waited.
I continued.
So I created a second protection you do not know about.
If anyone attempts to amend guardianship or proxy authority without independent confirmation from two outside estate attorneys, automatic control of Jack and Rosie’s shares transfers to Benton Fiduciary Services until the children turn twenty-five.
No guardian can override it.
No spouse can override it.
Not even you.
My eyes blurred.
Isabella.
Still protecting our children from the grave.
There was more.
I did not tell you because you trust Arthur.
And when you trust someone, Roman, you become strangely blind.
I smiled painfully.
She knew me too well.
If I am wrong, burn this and complain about me for the next forty years.
If I am right, do not solve it the way you solve everything else.
Our children do not need the most feared man in Chicago.
They need their father.
I stopped reading.
Could not continue.
Naomi looked away to give me privacy.
I cried silently.
No dramatic collapse.
Just tears landing on paper Isabella had touched.
After several minutes, I opened the affidavit.
Two independent attorneys had executed the protective trust mechanism.
The system had activated automatically the moment Arthur attempted to file the amended guardianship.
He didn’t know.
Camille didn’t know.
Patrick didn’t know.
They thought they were about to control fifty-eight percent of Romano Continental.
In reality, if I died Friday, they would control nothing.
Naomi looked at me.
“That changes things.”
“Yes.”
“They don’t know their plan already failed.”
“No.”
“So?”
I folded Isabella’s letter carefully.
“So we let them finish.”
Naomi stared.
“You’re going to the gala.”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
“They are planning an attempt on my life.”
“Exactly.”
“I need them caught doing more than discussing it.”
“Roman—”
“I am not going to kill them.”
She studied me.
I heard the doubt.
Fair.
“I promised Isabella.”
“You never promised her.”
I held up the letter.
“She knew I’d read it.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“It is to me.”
Nico identified Bishop that afternoon.
Elias Grant.
Former private military contractor.
Convicted once for weapons trafficking.
Charges reduced mysteriously.
He now ran an executive security company that Patrick Sloane had hired repeatedly.
We traced a vehicle.
Black Chevrolet Suburban.
Fake plates.
Scheduled to be near the gala Friday.
Federal investigators were contacted through Judge Benton, the retired judge named in the trust.
I disliked involving federal agents.
Federal agents disliked me.
Healthy relationship.
But Judge Benton convinced a special prosecutor to listen.
We gave them the recordings.
The messages.
The forged guardianship amendment.
The recordings involving Jack and Rosie.
The planned attack.
The prosecutor, Elena Park, looked at me over the conference table.
“You understand that if we proceed, we will investigate your organization too.”
“Yes.”
Nico turned toward me.
Naomi said nothing.
Park studied me.
“That answer came very quickly.”
“I have children.”
“And?”
“My priorities changed.”
She did not believe that yet.
Why should she?
Neither did half the people working for me.
I continued.
“You want the Sloanes?”
“Yes.”
“Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“Grant?”
“Yes.”
“You can have what I know.”
“What do you want?”
“My children protected.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
She stared at me.
Then:
“That is difficult to believe from a man with your reputation.”
I smiled faintly.
“Get used to disappointment.”
The gala was forty-eight hours away.
Camille spent Thursday choosing flowers.
Patrick negotiated seating charts.
Arthur called twice about signature corrections.
He believed one page had been improperly notarized.
Good.
I wanted him nervous enough to take risks.
That night, Camille came into my bedroom wearing a silk robe.
She sat beside me.
“You’re distant.”
“Busy.”
“You’re always busy.”
Her hand touched my chest.
I felt nothing except disgust.
“Our children will adjust,” she said.
Our.
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Jack and Rosie.”
She smiled.
“After we marry.”
My voice stayed neutral.
“They like you?”
“They will.”
That answer told me everything.
She kissed my cheek.
Then walked toward the door.
“Friday changes everything.”
“Yes.”
I watched her leave.
May you like
“You have no idea.”
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