Chapter 6 - BLUE MOON
Blue Moon was an abandoned lakeside lodge two hours north of Manhattan.
Roman’s grandfather had purchased it during the 1970s.
The property closed fifteen years earlier.
The faded sign still hung above the entrance.
BLUE MOON LODGE.
Roman did not storm the building.
That surprised Harper.
Instead he stopped his security team hundreds of yards away.
“My mother is inside.”
His security chief nodded.
“We proceed carefully.”
Roman looked at Harper.
“You stay here.”
“No.”
“Harper.”
“If Beatrice needs to communicate quickly, half your men don’t sign.”
“I sign.”
Harper stared.
“You can say good morning and drunken penguin.”
“That second phrase remains disputed.”
“Exactly.”
Roman handed her a protective vest.
She looked down.
“You own these?”
“In my life, yes.”
“Your life is exhausting.”
“I’m aware.”
They found Beatrice upstairs.
No dramatic firefight.
No army.
Two men fled when Roman’s people entered.
One surrendered.
Enzo was already gone.
Beatrice sat inside an old conference room.
Wrists bruised.
Shaken.
Alive.
The second Roman saw her, something inside him broke.
He crossed the room.
Stopped.
Then raised his hands.
Mom.
Are you hurt?
Beatrice stared.
Not because the sentence was complicated.
Because Roman asked himself.
No Harper.
No written note.
No expectation she read his lips.
Her language.
She shook her head.
Roman hugged her.
Harper looked away.
Beatrice pulled back.
Then immediately began signing.
Enzo wants more than trust control.
Harper interpreted.
Roman frowned.
“What?”
He kept saying Roman would destroy what Salvatore built.
“He always says that.”
Beatrice shook her head.
Different.
She signed carefully.
Enzo said:
I protected the family once before.
I can do it again.
Roman became still.
“When before?”
Beatrice looked into her son’s face.
Your father.
Silence.
Roman whispered:
“What about Dad?”
One week before Salvatore’s murder, Beatrice had seen Enzo and Salvatore arguing.
She could not hear them.
But she saw parts of Enzo’s mouth.
If you shut me out—
Then:
Roman gets everything.
Roman sat down.
“My father was removing Enzo.”
Beatrice nodded.
The audit had already found draft corporate resolutions supporting that.
Salvatore intended to remove Enzo from financial authority.
Three days before signing them, Salvatore died.
Roman stared at the floor.
Eight years of grief reorganized itself inside his face.
“I should have known.”
Beatrice immediately shook her head.
You were his son.
Not his detective.
Roman’s eyes filled.
Harper wanted to touch him.
Beatrice did first.
Later that morning Roman made another decision.
“Call the authorities.”
His security chief looked stunned.
“The federal task force?”
“Yes.”
“Roman—”
“Yes.”
The Moretti family historically handled internal betrayal privately.
Violently.
Quietly.
Roman chose evidence.
Law enforcement.
Documentation.
That choice shocked everyone.
Perhaps even Roman.
The investigation widened rapidly.
Foundation fraud.
Shell companies.
Kidnapping.
Extortion.
Possible conspiracy surrounding Salvatore Moretti’s assassination.
Grant Wilkes was arrested on fraud charges.
Faced with prison, he talked.
Lorenzo had paid him.
His assignment at Bellamy House had been simple.
Humiliate Beatrice.
Make sure Roman saw it.
Keep going until Roman struck him.
Security footage would capture everything.
Then footage would be leaked to business partners, trustees, prosecutors, and rival Moretti factions.
“You stopped him,” Grant told investigators when asked about Harper.
“I didn’t expect the waitress.”
Neither had anyone else.
The foundation archive fire also traced back to an Enzo employee.
The target was beneficiary records.
Especially Owen’s.
Why Owen?
His last letter mentioned Daniel Cross.
Someone knew that letter existed.
Harper held it while listening to investigators explain.
Her dead brother had accidentally witnessed part of a conspiracy.
He had done the simplest possible thing.
Told an adult he trusted.
Beatrice.
And somehow that truth had survived eleven years.
Roman drove Harper home that evening.
At her apartment door, she said:
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Not handling Grant the Moretti way.”
His mouth twitched.
“The expectations you set are inspiring.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Roman looked down.
“I wanted to kill him.”
Harper believed him.
“But?”
“My mother deserves better than watching me become my father.”
“You loved your father.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to become him.”
Roman looked at her for a long moment.
Then stepped closer.
Harper’s heartbeat accelerated.
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips.
Then he stopped himself.
“Tell me to leave.”
“You should leave.”
Roman nodded.
Neither moved.
Finally:
“Goodnight, Harper.”
“Goodnight.”
She went inside.
Pressed her back against the door.
Camille appeared from the kitchen.
“Oh my God.”
Harper jumped.
“What?”
“You almost kissed Roman Moretti.”
“I did not.”
“I have windows.”
“You were spying?”
“I pay rent.”
Harper threw a pillow.
The next morning, Beatrice called.
Video.
Her hands moved rapidly.
Harper smiled.
Then stopped.
“What?” Camille asked.
Beatrice had received an envelope.
Inside was a photograph of Owen.
Not a foundation photograph.
Owen outside Harper’s childhood home.
One year before his death.
On the back:
THE BOY SAW MORE THAN YOU THINK.
Roman arrived within twenty minutes.
He stared at the photograph.
Then at the date.
Eleven years earlier.
The same week Daniel Cross visited the foundation.
Harper felt cold.
“What did Owen see?”
Roman looked at her.
“We’re going to find out.”
And that meant Harper would have to return to the one place she had spent six years avoiding.
May you like
Her mother’s house.
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