Chapter 2 - THE FORGED DATE AND THE SILVER WATCH
The signature belonged to Dominic's father. A man who had died eleven years before the auction documents were prepared.
The crystal chandelier above the dining table seemed to hum in the suffocating silence. Dominic picked up the letter, his thumb brushing over the faded ink of his father’s bold, unmistakable handwriting.
“My father died in 2013, Charles,” Dominic said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, terrifying calm. “This document authorizes the auction of family assets, dated October of this year. Explain how a dead man authorized a sale three weeks ago.”
Charles Whitmore, a man who had navigated mob indictments and federal grand juries without breaking a sweat, suddenly looked his age. His hands trembled as he placed his glasses back on his face.
“The signature is real, Dominic,” Charles whispered, glancing nervously at Victoria. “But the document was originally blank. Your father signed dozens of blank letterheads before his final surgery in case the business needed urgent authorization while he was incapacitated.”
“And who had access to those blank letterheads?” Dominic asked.
“Only two people,” Charles said. “Your mother, Eleanor. And me.”
“So you forged the date,” Dominic concluded, stepping toward the attorney. “You bypassed my mother’s wishes, took a blank page my father signed a decade ago, and drafted a fake authorization to let Victoria sell off personal gifts given to my staff. Why?”
I watched from the doorway, my hands gripping the edge of my apron. Marion still clutched the velvet pouch to her chest, her breathing shallow.
Victoria slammed her hand onto the table. “Dominic, stop interrogating Charles! The estate is bleeding cash. I was trying to liquidate assets that were just collecting dust. Charles helped me because he knows what kind of financial trouble you’re really in!”
It was a staggering escalation. The Romano family, financially struggling? It was unthinkable.
Dominic didn’t look at his fiancée. He kept his eyes locked on Charles. “Is that true? Did you do this for money?”
Charles looked down at his leather portfolio. “I didn’t do it for the estate’s money, Dominic. I did it because I was given a choice. Sign the document, or watch my family suffer.”
Answer one: The document was a blank letterhead left by the late boss. Open two: Who is blackmailing the family attorney, and why do they care about four specific pieces of jewelry belonging to the servants?
“Who threatened you, Charles?” Dominic demanded.
Before Charles could answer, Victoria lunged forward, grabbing the letter from Dominic’s hand. “This is ridiculous! I’m calling an end to this dinner.”
As she jerked her arm back, her evening clutch slipped from her elbow and crashed onto the marble floor. The clasp popped open. Lipstick, a compact, and a set of keys scattered across the tiles.
But it was the heavy object that slid all the way to my feet that made the room freeze.
I looked down. It was a man’s silver pocket watch, its glass face heavily cracked, the casing tarnished with age. I recognized it immediately.
“Victoria,” Dominic said, all the color draining from his face as he stared at the object near my shoes. “Where did you get that?”
Victoria scrambled to pick it up, her elegant composure entirely shattered. “It’s nothing. A vintage piece I bought at a flea market—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Dominic roared, his voice shaking the crystal glasses on the table. He marched over, snatched the watch from her hand, and held it up by its silver chain.
I looked at Aunt Frances. The older woman had gone completely pale, her hand resting over her heart.
“That watch belonged to Marco Rossi,” Dominic said, his chest heaving. “The man who murdered my father eleven years ago. The man who supposedly died in a car fire before we could find him.”
He turned the broken watch over, revealing a faded bloodstain on the back casing.
“Why do you have the watch of my father’s killer in your purse, Victoria?” Dominic asked.
Victoria backed away, her eyes darting toward the hallway. But the cliffhanger wasn't her silence.
Dominic’s thumb pressed the latch on the top of the pocket watch. The casing popped open.
May you like
Inside, there was no clock face. Instead, folded tightly into the silver shell, was a small, torn photograph of a young boy.
And the boy had Dominic’s exact eyes.
