Chapter 4 - THE DAUGHTER IN THE SHADOWS
I stared at the blue ink on the photograph, the word Dad echoing in my mind.
“Celine is Richard’s daughter?” I breathed, showing the photo to Martha.
Martha took the photo with trembling hands. She stared at the teenage girl’s face, her own face turning ashen.
“No,” Martha whispered. “Richard and I never had children. He told me he couldn’t. And Celine… Celine’s last name is Vance. She told Luca her parents died in a car crash in Europe when she was a child.”
“She lied,” I said, looking around the violated apartment. Someone had been in here while we were at the dinner. Someone who wanted Martha to know she could never truly hide. “Did Richard have a previous marriage?”
Martha leaned against the counter, her breathing shallow. “Before we met, yes. He was married to a woman named Elise. But she passed away shortly after they divorced. Richard always said she died alone. He never mentioned a child.”
I looked at the shattered yellow mug on the floor. The cruelty of it was breathtaking. This was Martha’s first act of independence, and Richard had effortlessly reached inside it and crushed it.
“We need to call the police,” I said, pulling out my phone.
“No!” Martha grabbed my wrist. “Claire, you don’t understand Richard. If the police come, he’ll claim I’m unstable. He’ll show them psychiatric records he forged years ago when I tried to leave the first time. He’s an accountant; he knows how to make paper trails look real.”
“We have to tell Luca,” I insisted. “If Celine is Richard’s daughter, they are running a massive con on him. That’s why Celine was stealing the charity funds—she was funneling them to Richard!”
Before I could dial Luca’s number, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.
I froze, stepping protectively in front of Martha. I grabbed a heavy metal paperweight off the small windowsill.
The door swung open.
It wasn't Richard. It was Luca.
He was breathing hard, his tuxedo jacket discarded, his tie loosened. In his hand, he held a thick, worn leather ledger.
“Luca,” I said, lowering the paperweight. “How did you know we were still here?”
“My driver texted me,” Luca said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He looked at the shattered mug, then at Martha’s pale face, his expression hardening. “I see Richard didn't just walk away.”
“It wasn't just Richard,” I said. I handed him the photograph. “Look at this. We found it on the counter.”
Luca stared at the picture of Richard and Celine. His eyes traced the blue ink at the bottom. For a man who had just discovered his fiancée was a fraud, he was terrifyingly calm.
“She isn't an orphan,” Luca murmured.
“She’s his daughter,” Martha said, her voice hollow. “Thirty-four years, and he kept an entire life hidden from me.”
Luca walked over to the small kitchen table and dropped the leather ledger onto it.
“When I kicked Celine out of the house tonight, she panicked,” Luca explained. “She demanded to take my secondary car. I told my security to search her bags before she left. They found this ledger hidden in the lining of her suitcase.”
I stepped closer to the table. “What is it?”
“It’s a shadow book,” Luca said. “A record of every dime Celine transferred out of my accounts over the last year. It wasn't just the two hundred thousand from the charity. It’s over two million dollars.”
Martha swayed on her feet. “Two million? Richard’s accounting firm went bankrupt ten years ago. We’ve been living off his modest consulting salary. Where did the money go?”
Luca opened the ledger. The pages were filled with meticulous, handwritten columns.
“It didn't go to Richard’s firm,” Luca said grimly. “It went into a shell corporation registered in the Cayman Islands. But Richard wasn't stupid enough to put his own name on the offshore accounts. He needed a scapegoat in case the federal auditors ever caught on.”
Luca turned the ledger toward Martha.
At the top of the page, listed as the sole proprietor and legal beneficiary of the fraudulent shell company, was a name.
May you like
Martha Hayes.
“He used your maiden name,” Luca said softly. “Martha, if I hand this ledger to the FBI tomorrow to get my money back… you’re the one going to federal prison.”
