Chapter 3 - THE TRUST
Luciano took Theo upstairs himself.
He found his son’s coat shoved behind a linen cabinet. The pockets had been emptied. The little emergency phone Luciano had given Theo was gone.
“Where’s your phone?” he asked.
Theo looked at the floor.
“Uncle Marcus broke it.”
“Why?”
“Because I called you.”
“You called me?”
Theo nodded. “Three times.”
He tucked Theo into the guest room beside his own, locked the hallway door from the inside, and called his CFO, Rachel Kim.
She answered immediately.
“Tell me you haven’t signed the restructuring packet.”
“I haven’t even seen it.”
Rachel exhaled. “Good. Marcus moved two-point-eight million dollars out of Theo’s education and inheritance trust over the last six months.”
Luciano stared through the dark window at the snow-covered estate.
“That account requires two approvals.”
“It did.”
“Did?”
“Someone filed an amended trustee authorization in September.”
Luciano gripped the phone tighter. “Signed by who?”
“You.”
Rachel continued. “The money went through three shell companies. One of them is tied to the Moretti estate renovation. Another paid a private debt held by Marcus.”
“How much debt?”
“Almost four million.”
Downstairs, a door slammed.
Then another.
“Luciano,” Rachel said, “there’s more.”
He listened.
“The trust amendment contains a guardianship clause. If you are declared unavailable, incapacitated, or unfit, control transfers temporarily to Bernadette.”
His stomach turned cold.
“The boarding school.”
“What?”
“They were sending Theo away.”
Rachel paused. “Why?”
Luciano looked toward the guest room where his son was sleeping with the wooden train against his chest.
“Maybe because they needed him out of the house.”
A soft knock came at the hallway door.
Not from Theo’s room.
From the staircase side.
“Luciano?” Bernadette called. “Open the door.”
He didn’t move.
Then her voice changed.
“You need to come downstairs. Marcus found something your father left behind.”
Luciano opened the door only after he tucked the forged school papers into his coat.
Bernadette was waiting alone.
In her hands was an old black ledger.
On the cover, written in his late father’s handwriting, were four words:
May you like
FOR LUCIANO. NOT MARCUS.
* * *
