Chapter 4 - THE CAR THEY WANTED ME TO ENTER
The plan was elegant.
I hated that.
The gala threat was supposed to be discovered.
Not prevented.
Discovered.
Someone wanted me frightened enough to evacuate.
Security protocol required that if the estate became compromised during a major event, I would leave through the west motor court in an armored vehicle.
The route was predetermined.
The same armored Mercedes I had used for four years.
Victor knew the protocol.
Carlo knew the car.
Owen claimed something had been done to it.
We found nothing at first.
Then an independent forensic mechanic found a modified component in the steering system.
Subtle.
Designed not to fail immediately.
I did not ask for operational details.
I did not need them.
The intent was enough.
Force evacuation.
Put me in the vehicle.
Create an “accident.”
Carlo inherits control.
Victor becomes security chief to the new boss.
And the medical-shipment scheme continues.
Simple.
Except for Nero.
Nero never rode in my vehicle.
He followed the motorcade in a security SUV.
If something happened during departure, he was trained to remain near me.
Victor needed him compromised.
Not just removed from the gala.
Removed from the evacuation.
Owen had drugged him believing he was preventing a murder.
By abusing an animal.
Good intention did not erase method.
I made that clear when we spoke.
“You do not get to call this protection.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You could have gone to police.”
“I didn't know who Victor owned.”
“An attorney.”
“I was afraid.”
“My attorney.”
“I thought you trusted Victor more than anyone.”
That was true.
He continued:
“If I accused him without proof, I thought I'd disappear like Michael.”
Fear again.
The currency that kept everyone quiet around powerful men.
Including me.
I looked at Sienna.
She stood across the interview room.
“Do you believe him?”
“No.”
Owen flinched.
Sienna continued:
“I believe parts.”
Important distinction.
“I believe Michael found the shipments.”
“I believe Owen was scared.”
“I believe Victor may be involved.”
“But Owen still drugged Nero.”
“And he knew something about Michael for three years while I raised our daughter alone.”
Owen lowered his head.
Good.
Nobody needed easy forgiveness.
Victor denied everything.
His lawyers claimed the photographs were manipulated.
The independent data said otherwise.
His phone location matched.
Financial investigators found payments routed through a consulting entity controlled by Carlo.
Then a search of Victor’s office found something worse.
Copies of estate emergency procedures.
My vehicle maintenance records.
Nero’s veterinary schedule.
Sienna’s employee file.
And photographs of Elsie.
Sienna went white.
“Why my daughter?”
One photo showed Elsie in the courtyard.
Another near the staff entrance.
Another with Sienna at a grocery store.
Not random.
Surveillance.
Victor had been watching them.
Why?
Michael’s missing notebook.
He believed Sienna kept it.
She had not.
Only one page.
Someone else had the rest.
That became the next question.
Where did Michael’s notebook go?
Sienna remembered bringing his work bag to Romano Freight after the funeral.
A manager said company property needed to be returned.
She handed over the bag.
Name?
She couldn't remember.
Tall.
Older.
Silver tie.
We pulled personnel records.
She pointed immediately.
Carlo Romano.
My cousin.
Not an employee.
Why would Carlo personally collect a dead dispatcher’s bag?
Because he knew what was inside.
Carlo became impossible to explain away.
Police obtained warrants.
His downtown condo was empty.
His Lake Geneva house empty.
Private plane grounded.
Passport still in safe.
He had not gone far.
Then Nero reacted.
Two days after the courtyard incident, Dr. Levin allowed him outside.
I walked him myself.
Elsie insisted on coming.
Sienna stayed beside her.
We passed the west garage.
Nero stopped.
Growled.
Not at a person.
At a storage cabinet.
Security opened it.
Inside:
Cleaning chemicals.
Vehicle supplies.
Emergency equipment.
And one small canvas bag.
Not ours.
Nero barked.
Dr. Levin said:
“Don't let him near it.”
Police handled the bag.
Inside was an old spiral notebook.
Michael Brooks’s notebook.
Sienna nearly collapsed.
“How did that get here?”
Someone had placed it inside my garage.
Recently.
Not three years ago.
The bag itself had been manufactured only last year.
Someone wanted the notebook found.
Why?
Inside were months of freight records.
Michael had documented the medical diversion scheme.
Initials.
Dates.
Container numbers.
Then, near the end:
C.R. approved.
Carlo Romano.
V.K. security.
Victor Kane.
O.G. says stop asking.
Owen Gray.
All three.
But the last page contained a different note.
A.R. DOESN'T KNOW.
My initials.
Alessio Romano.
Michael knew I was not part of the scheme.
For reasons I could not explain, that hurt.
A dead employee had trusted my ignorance more than his own supervisors.
Then another line:
If something happens, copy with Lucia.
Lucia.
I knew one Lucia.
Lucia Romano.
My younger sister.
She lived in Boston.
Had nothing to do with family business.
At least that was what I believed.
I called.
She answered on the second ring.
“Alessio?”
“Do you know Michael Brooks?”
Silence.
That was enough.
“Lucia.”
“Yes.”
“What did he give you?”
She started crying.
“A drive.”
My entire body went cold.
“When?”
“Three days before he died.”
“Why did you never tell me?”
“Because he made me promise.”
“Michael was murdered.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Another silence.
Then Lucia whispered:
“Because I saw who followed him out of my building.”
“Who?”
She said the name I expected.
Carlo.
Then:
“And Alessio?”
“What?”
“He wasn't alone.”
My grip tightened on the phone.
“Who was with him?”
May you like
Lucia’s next words changed the case again.
“Your father.”
