Chapter 4 - THE RECEIPT
My chest tightened as though a heavy stone had been dropped onto my ribs.
Arthur killed her.
My trusted lawyer, the man who had stood beside me at her funeral and patted my shoulder, had poisoned my wife and arranged her death.
But why? Isabella had no involvement in the business. She ran charities. She painted. She stitched crooked rabbits for our daughter.
I took out my phone and photographed every page in the briefcase, then carefully placed everything back exactly as I had found it. I locked the case.
When I stepped back out into the hallway, the sun was just beginning to rise over Lake Michigan. The penthouse was quiet.
I found Camille in the kitchen, sipping coffee in a silk robe. She looked up, offering a perfect, pristine smile.
“Good morning, darling,” she purred. “Are the children feeling better?”
“They are,” I said, pouring my own coffee. “Arthur is coming at ten, correct? To sign the updated trust documents before the wedding?”
“Yes,” she said smoothly. “Just a formality, to ensure the children are protected if anything happens to you.”
“Of course.” I took a sip. “I’m heading to the docks to meet your father at noon. We’re finalizing the northern routes.”
Camille’s eyes flickered. A tiny spark of panic. “My father? You’re meeting him today?”
“Just business,” I said.
At exactly ten o’clock, Arthur walked out of the private elevator. He wore a crisp navy suit, carrying his leather briefcase. He smiled warmly at me.
“Roman. Good to see you.”
“Arthur,” I replied, shaking the hand of the man who murdered my wife. It took every ounce of discipline I possessed not to snap his wrist.
We sat at the dining table. Camille stood behind me, her hand resting affectionately on my shoulder.
Arthur pulled out a thick stack of papers. “Standard amendments, Roman. Naming Camille as primary guardian and executor in the event of your… untimely passing.”
“Untimely passing,” I repeated softly.
“A standard clause in our line of work,” Arthur chuckled, sliding a gold fountain pen across the table.
I picked up the pen. I didn’t read the documents. I just signed the final page with a quick, fluid motion.
Camille let out a breath she had been holding. Arthur smiled, snapping the briefcase shut.
“Excellent,” Arthur said. “I’ll file these immediately.”
“Thank you, Arthur,” I said.
He left. Camille kissed my cheek. “I’m going to go to the spa, darling. Wedding stress.”
“Enjoy,” I said.
Once the elevator doors closed behind her, Naomi stepped out of the hallway.
“Did you actually sign them?” she whispered, horrified.
“I signed them,” I said, pulling a different gold pen from my inner pocket. “With a disappearing ink compound used for secure contracts. In two hours, that paper will be completely blank.”
Naomi exhaled sharply.
“I need you to take the children,” I said, pulling out a set of keys. “Go to the safe house in Wisconsin. Do not turn on your phones. Do not stop.”
“Roman,” Naomi hesitated. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Before Isabella died… she gave this to me. She made me swear to only give it to you if Arthur ever tried to take the kids.”
I unfolded the paper.
It was a bank statement. An offshore account in the Cayman Islands.
The account belonged to Arthur. But the deposits weren’t coming from my business.
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They were coming from a rival cartel in Mexico. Arthur had been selling my shipping routes to the cartel for three years.
And Isabella had found out.
