Chapter 2 - THE SEVENTEEN-YEAR LIE
“Because your father discovered what Victoria's family did seventeen years ago... and made me promise never to tell you.”
The silence that followed Harrison’s words was absolute.
I stood behind Eleanor’s chair, my hands gripping the mahogany backrest so tightly my knuckles ached. The engagement party, with its crystal glasses and imported roses, suddenly felt like a crime scene.
Dominic didn’t yell. He didn't slam his fists on the table.
That was what made him terrifying.
He simply leaned forward, his dark eyes locked on his father’s trusted attorney. “Explain.”
Victoria slammed her hands onto the table, shattering the quiet. “Dominic, you cannot seriously be listening to this! Harrison is having a breakdown. He’s an old man trying to cover up his own embezzlement by blaming my family!”
“Sit down, Victoria,” Dominic said. He didn’t even look at her.
“I will not sit here and be insulted by a maid, a senile widow, and a lying lawyer!” she shrieked, her perfectly manicured mask finally cracking. She grabbed her diamond clutch. “We are leaving. Now.”
Dominic finally turned his head. His voice dropped to a dangerous murmur. “You aren't going anywhere. Sit. Down.”
Victoria hesitated. For the first time in the seven years I had worked in this house, I saw genuine fear flash in her eyes. Slowly, she lowered herself back into her chair.
Dominic returned his attention to Harrison. “Seventeen years ago. What did her family do?”
Harrison wiped a bead of sweat from his temple. He looked exhausted, like a man who had been carrying a boulder on his chest for two decades.
“Your father wasn’t just managing the retirement fund, Dominic,” Harrison said, his voice trembling. “He was using it to hide money. Not from the families. From the Moretti syndicate. Victoria’s father.”
A collective gasp swept through the remaining guests. The Morettis were a rival family, one Dominic had made peace with by agreeing to marry Victoria. It was supposed to be a union of power.
“My father never stole,” Dominic said, his tone turning dangerously cold.
“He didn’t steal it,” Harrison corrected quickly. “He was paying extortion money. To keep them quiet about a mistake he made in 2009. But the Morettis got greedy. Seventeen years ago, Victoria’s father demanded more. When your father refused, the Morettis orchestrated a message. A car crash on Interstate 90.”
My breath hitched.
Seventeen years ago. 2009. Interstate 90.
My parents died in a pile-up on Interstate 90 in the winter of 2009.
The room began to spin. I pressed my palm against the back of Eleanor’s chair to steady myself. The elderly widow reached up and gently covered my shaking hand with her warm, wrinkled one.
“The crash that killed the Bennett family,” Harrison whispered, staring at the table. “Your father’s lead accountant.”
Dominic froze. Slowly, his eyes drifted from Harrison, moving past the guests, until they landed on me.
Rachel Bennett.
“My father’s accountant,” Dominic repeated. His voice was hollow. “Rachel’s parents.”
Victoria let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Oh, please! Are we really doing this? We’re turning my engagement party into a pity party for the help? My father had nothing to do with that crash. It was ice on the road!”
“It wasn't ice,” Harrison said. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small, tarnished silver locket.
My heart stopped.
I recognized that locket. It was shaped like a teardrop, with a tiny engraved rose on the front. My mother wore it every day of her life. The police told me it had been lost in the wreckage.
“Your father paid off the investigator to hide the brake line tampering,” Harrison said, sliding the locket across the white tablecloth toward Dominic. “He couldn't prove the Morettis ordered it without exposing his own illegal payouts. So, he made a deal. He kept paying Victoria’s family, and in exchange, they left the accountant’s orphaned daughter alone.”
Tears blurred my vision. My whole life in this house—the long hours scrubbing floors, the quiet meals in the kitchen, the safety I thought I had found—was a cage built on my parents' graves.
Dominic stared at the locket. He reached out and picked it up. His thumb brushed over the engraved rose.
“You knew this,” Dominic said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper as he looked at Victoria. “You knew who Rachel was this whole time.”
Victoria’s face paled, but she lifted her chin. “She belongs in the kitchen, Dominic. She’s lucky your father took pity on her. If it were up to my brother, she wouldn’t have survived that night either.”
The sheer cruelty of her words echoed in the grand dining room.
Eleanor stood up. Despite her fragile frame, the widow radiated a fierce, undeniable dignity.
“You are a wicked, empty woman,” Eleanor said clearly.
Victoria sneered. “Watch your mouth, old lady. Or I’ll make sure you lose your house next.”
“Victoria,” Dominic said. The single word cracked like a whip.
He stood up. The sheer physical presence of the man silenced the room. He walked around the table, stopping right behind Victoria’s chair.
“The engagement is over,” Dominic said.
Victoria whipped her head around. “You can’t do that! The syndicate—”
“The syndicate can burn,” Dominic interrupted. He pulled the three-million-dollar transfer document from the table and tore it cleanly in half. “Pack your things. You have one hour to get out of my house.”
Victoria stood up, her face flushed with humiliated rage. “You’ll regret this, Dominic. My brother will strip this family down to the studs.” She turned her venomous glare on me. “And you. You’re going to wish you died in that car.”
She stormed out of the dining room, her heels clicking aggressively against the marble floors.
The remaining guests quickly and quietly excused themselves. Nobody wanted to be in the crossfire of a mafia war. Within minutes, the grand hall was empty, save for Dominic, Harrison, Eleanor, and me.
Dominic walked toward me. He stopped a few feet away, holding out my mother's locket.
“Rachel,” he said softly. “I didn’t know.”
I reached out with trembling fingers and took the necklace. The metal was cold. I pressed the tiny clasp on the side. I hadn't opened it in seventeen years.
The locket clicked open.
Inside, there wasn't a picture of my parents like I expected.
Instead, folded tightly into the tiny silver compartment, was a perfectly preserved luggage claim ticket from Chicago Union Station.
I looked up at Dominic, confusion piercing through my grief.
“Dominic,” Harrison said, his voice breaking. He had collapsed back into his chair, clutching his chest. “There’s something else. The money Victoria’s brother stole… it wasn't just the retirement fund. Thomas Walsh knew.”
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Eleanor gasped, stepping forward. “My Thomas? What did he know?”
Harrison looked at the widow with tear-filled eyes. “Thomas didn't die of a heart attack, Eleanor. He found out what was in that locker at Union Station. And Victoria’s brother killed him for it.”
