Chapter 5 - THE CASE ROMAN COULDN’T THREATEN
Roman wanted the best family attorney in New York.
He hired her.
Then tried to tell her how to conduct the case.
She threatened to resign within forty minutes.
I liked her.
Her name was Abigail Mercer.
She looked at Roman over thin glasses.
“If you intimidate one witness, call one judge, lean on one official, or ask one associate to make Dante uncomfortable, you will help him.”
Roman looked personally offended.
“That is absurd.”
“That reaction is why I’m billing you triple.”
I nearly laughed.
Family court did something organized crime never managed.
It made Roman helpless.
Not literally.
Legally.
The children’s interests mattered.
His reputation mattered.
His documented associations mattered.
Police reports.
Business filings.
Past allegations.
Dante’s petition argued that Isabel’s death had left the children inside a household dominated by a man with known criminal ties.
He cited the fact that the children hid evidence from Roman.
That hurt.
Because true.
Abigail said:
“Dante is using the recipe notebook.”
“How?”
“He claims Isabel feared Roman.”
Roman became still.
“She did.”
No denial.
Abigail paused.
That honesty helped.
“Why?”
Roman explained.
Anger.
Control.
His tendency to react.
Not violence toward wife or children.
But a culture of fear.
Abigail looked at him.
“Then our argument is not that Isabel was irrational.”
“No.”
“It’s that Roman understands why she made those choices and is changing the environment that created them.”
Difficult.
Better than pretending.
Theo was interviewed by a child specialist.
So were Clara and Jonah.
Roman could not attend.
He paced for two hours.
I made bread.
Stress required dough.
Eventually he asked:
“Do you think I’ll lose them?”
“I don’t know.”
His face tightened.
Everyone around Roman probably said:
Never.
Impossible.
We’ll handle it.
I refused.
“What I know is they love you.”
“And?”
“They are also afraid of your anger.”
Pain.
“You can’t erase that by winning court.”
He sat.
“What do I do?”
“Become less frightening.”
He laughed bitterly.
“That simple?”
“No.”
“That’s why it matters.”
Roman began therapy.
He hated it.
Of course.
The therapist required no security inside the office.
Roman argued.
Lost.
Good.
He also created clear household rules.
Children could speak to outside counselors without staff reporting content back to him.
They received their own attorney.
The estate’s employees got independent HR reporting.
Samuel Price, security chief, nearly fainted when Roman announced staff no longer needed approval to contact authorities about suspected crimes.
Old systems resisted sunlight.
Then Dante escalated.
He produced financial records connecting Roman personally to illegal lending operations.
Real records.
No fabrication.
Roman had spent years loaning money outside regulated systems.
Collection pressure.
Threats.
Property liens arranged through shell companies.
No murders.
No cinematic violence.
Still illegal.
Still wrong.
Abigail looked at him.
“This is what can cost you custody.”
Roman stared.
The solution was obvious.
He could deny.
Hide.
Fight evidence.
Or admit.
He chose admit.
Against every attorney handling his criminal exposure.
Roman disclosed the operations to his lawyers and began negotiations to unwind them lawfully.
Potential charges.
Financial losses.
Associates furious.
When I asked why, he said:
“My children cannot learn that the truth matters only when it belongs to Dante.”
That was the man beginning to deserve them.
The custody evaluator eventually recommended the children remain with Roman.
With conditions.
Counseling.
External monitoring.
No exposure to criminal business.
Dante’s visitation request was denied temporarily because investigators were still examining his financial conduct.
Roman won.
He did not celebrate.
At dinner that night, Theo asked:
“Did we win?”
Roman considered.
“No.”
Theo frowned.
“The judge said we stay.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
Roman looked at his son.
“I think I got another chance.”
That answer changed something in Theo’s face.
A week later, he voluntarily handed Roman the original recipe notebook.
No hiding.
Roman took it.
Then placed it back in Theo’s hands.
“You keep it.”
Theo stared.
“Why?”
“Your mother left it to you.”
Trust.
Given back.
Meanwhile, my old life came knocking.
Colin came to Grey Haven.
Alone.
He found Juniper & Rye at 7:00 a.m.
I was shaping challah.
He stood on the other side of the counter.
“Can we talk?”
Nora shouted from the oven:
“She has dough.”
Apparently this was a legally recognized boundary.
Colin waited.
When I finished, we sat outside with coffee.
He looked exhausted.
“My father wants me to testify that I never received any credible allergy complaint.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Then that would be perjury.”
“I know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared.
He corrected.
“I know.”
Better.
“I’m going to tell the truth.”
“That may end your future at Avery.”
“Yes.”
The irony sat between us.
Eight weeks earlier, he ended our marriage because I did not fit the future he wanted.
Now truth threatened to erase that future entirely.
Colin looked at me.
“I think I knew something was wrong before the opening.”
“How much?”
“Not the fraud.”
“Dad kept saying margins were improving because supply had become more efficient.”
“I wanted to believe him.”
“Then the employee complaints came.”
“And?”
“I chose the answer that protected expansion.”
There it was.
Same pattern as Roman.
Different suit.
Different world.
Control.
Ambition.
Convenient truth.
“I’m sorry.”
He said.
“For us?”
“For who I was with you.”
I looked at him.
“I loved you.”
“I know.”
“You loved me too.”
“Yes.”
“That’s what made it confusing.”
His eyes filled.
“I thought if I was becoming someone important, my life had to look important.”
“And I looked like a baker.”
“You looked like home.”
That hurt.
He continued.
“And I was stupid enough to think home was the thing I had to outgrow.”
Silence.
Then I said:
“I forgive you.”
His face broke.
“But I’m not coming back.”
“I know.”
Good.
No argument.
He nodded.
“I think part of me came here hoping—”
“I know.”
He smiled sadly.
“Worth trying.”
“No.”
I smiled too.
“Probably not.”
We laughed.
Closure did not feel like fireworks.
It felt like two people finally telling the same truth.
Then Colin said:
“Grace, there’s something you need to know about Dante.”
I stiffened.
“What?”
“The fraud is bigger than flour.”
Of course it was.
Dante and Richard Avery had used Hudson Provision contracts to quietly acquire options on farmland across the Hudson Valley.
Why?
Avery planned a massive private distribution complex.
Thousands of acres.
Warehouses.
Processing.
Truck terminals.
One parcel remained outside their control.
The land surrounding Grey Haven.
Including Juniper & Rye’s building.
Nora’s home.
And Bellandi House.
Suddenly the fraud wasn’t only something from my past.
May you like
It was coming directly for the place where I had started again.
---
