Chapter 2 - THE BANK RECEIPT
The silence in the dining room was absolute. Paul looked at the door, measuring the distance, but Mr. Falcone’s guards had already shifted to block it.
“A hundred and sixty thousand dollars,” Mr. Falcone said, his voice deadly calm. “That’s a lot of money for a struggling contractor.”
“It’s a misunderstanding,” Paul stammered, his face pale and slick with sweat. He looked at me, pleading. “Marianne, you know how hard things have been. I had to protect us.”
“Protect us?” I repeated, my voice barely a whisper. I thought of the canceled dental appointments, the aching back from scrubbing floors at fifty-one. “You took my retirement.”
Lauren’s hands were shaking as she dug into her evening bag. She pulled out a folded piece of paper and slammed it onto the mahogany table.
“He didn’t put it in his business account,” Lauren said, her voice cracking. “I found this in his glove compartment yesterday. A wire transfer receipt.”
Mr. Falcone picked up the receipt. His dark eyes scanned the ink, and his expression shifted from detached amusement to sudden, cold recognition.
He looked at Paul. “You wired this to an offshore account in the Caymans. An account belonging to the Moretti family.”
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Paul swallowed hard, taking a step back.
Mr. Falcone dropped the receipt. “Why is my housekeeper’s husband paying off the biggest loan sharks on the East Coast?”
