Chapter 2 - THE ENVELOPE
Luciano picked up the envelope.
Bernadette moved first. “That is private.”
He looked at her. “It has my son’s name on it.”
Theo tightened his arms around the wooden train.
Marcus forced a laugh. “We were considering options.”
“Who is we?”
No one answered.
Luciano tore open the envelope.
Inside was an enrollment agreement for Blackridge Academy, a residential school four hours away. Theo’s start date was January 5. Tuition had already been paid for the first semester.
At the bottom of the final page was a signature.
LUCIANO MORETTI.
His signature.
Except he had never signed it.
Theo looked up at him. “Grandma said you wanted me to go away.”
Luciano’s chest tightened. “She told you that?”
Theo nodded.
Bernadette stood. “You were overwhelmed. You said you needed help.”
“I said I needed you to watch him for three weeks while I closed the Halston deal.”
“You left power of attorney.”
“For medical emergencies and school pickup.”
Marcus leaned against the broken table. “You should read what you sign.”
Luciano turned toward him.
“You forged my name.”
“Careful.”
“No. You be careful.” Luciano held up the papers. “Because forging a parent’s signature to send his child out of state isn’t a family disagreement.”
Bernadette’s expression hardened. “You are making this ugly.”
“You locked my son in his room.”
“He had a tantrum.”
“You took his train.”
“He is obsessed with it.”
“You told him I wanted him gone.”
Bernadette’s eyes flicked toward Theo.
He crouched beside his son. “Go get your coat.”
Theo didn’t move.
“What?”
“Grandma took it.”
Luciano slowly looked back at Bernadette.
She lifted her chin. “He tried to run outside.”
“In December?”
“He needed to understand consequences.”
Luciano reached for his phone.
Marcus straightened. “Who are you calling?”
“My lawyer.”
But before Luciano could unlock the screen, a message appeared.
It was from his chief financial officer.
CALL ME NOW. DO NOT SIGN ANYTHING YOUR BROTHER GIVES YOU.
Then a second message arrived.
May you like
WE FOUND TRANSFERS FROM THEO’S TRUST.
* * *
