Chapter 4 - Forty-Eight Hours
Marcello did not sleep.
By six the next morning, he had assembled three people in his private office overlooking Central Park: his outside attorney Rebecca Sloan, internal audit director Marcus Chen, and Ben Walker from hotel security.
He did not invite Owen Mercer.
He did not notify Camille.
Rebecca read the revised premarital agreement twice.
“You haven’t signed this version?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“How bad?”
“Bad isn’t the word. Unusual is.”
“Explain.”
“The cash settlement isn’t extraordinary given your net worth. The equity provision is.”
Marcello leaned back.
“Camille said it was about protecting the baby.”
“The equity goes to Camille personally, not a child’s trust.”
Marcello stared.
Rebecca turned the document.
“Page twenty-seven. If the marriage dissolves after twelve months, she retains the shares.”
“Why didn’t I catch that?”
“Because there are ninety-three pages and because the child-related trust provisions come immediately before it.”
“Who drafted the revision?”
“Camille’s attorney submitted it, but the valuation memo supporting it came from Owen’s office.”
Marcus Chen looked up.
“That’s not standard. CFO shouldn’t be advocating personal equity transfers between the CEO and his future spouse.”
Marcello’s stomach tightened.
“Start with Owen.”
Marcus shook his head.
“If he’s involved, starting with him warns him.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Start with money that doesn’t know we’re looking.”
By eight, Marcus had isolated three groups of suspicious transactions from the DeLuca Foundation.
The first involved a nonprofit initiative called Mothers Forward.
The second involved consulting fees paid to Aurora Family Services LLC.
The third consisted of luxury-event reimbursements approved by Camille in her role as honorary chair of the foundation’s family-health campaign.
Total questionable payments over eighteen months:
$2.46 million.
Marcello stared at the number.
“What is Aurora?”
Marcus typed.
“Registered in Delaware.”
“Owner?”
“Manager listed as Northvale Administrative Group.”
“And Northvale?”
“Wyoming LLC.”
Rebecca sighed.
“A layering structure.”
“You think they stole from the foundation?”
“I think someone made it difficult to see where the money went.”
Ben entered carrying a printed security report.
“The camera failure wasn’t mechanical.”
Marcello looked up.
“Go on.”
“Both cameras were manually suspended from the event control terminal at 7:18 p.m.”
“Whose login?”
Ben placed the page on the desk.
CAVERY-EVENT.
Camille Avery.
Marcello stared.
Rebecca cautioned him.
“Credentials can be shared or stolen.”
“I know.”
Ben continued.
“There’s more. At 7:23, the service elevator was called to the second floor using an executive badge.”
“Whose?”
Ben hesitated.
“Owen Mercer’s.”
Marcello stood.
For several seconds no one spoke.
The facts did not yet prove a fake pregnancy.
They did prove Camille and Owen’s credentials had intersected exactly where Lily said they had.
Marcello called Camille.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
He called her assistant.
“She left her apartment early,” the woman said.
“For where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was she wearing maternity clothes?”
A confused pause.
“Mr. DeLuca?”
“Never mind.”
He hung up.
Rebecca closed the premarital agreement.
“You need to cancel execution.”
“Do it.”
“And the wedding?”
Marcello looked at the city beyond the glass.
Their wedding was eleven days away.
Seven hundred guests.
A cathedral ceremony.
Three magazines had paid for exclusive photo access.
His mother had flown in from Rome.
The board had scheduled an investor summit around it.
Canceling would create public chaos.
Proceeding could destroy much more.
“Pause everything that requires my signature,” he said.
Marcus nodded.
Marcello’s phone vibrated.
A text message from Camille.
PLEASE DON’T DO THIS. COME HOME. I CAN EXPLAIN.
He typed:
THEN EXPLAIN.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Returned.
Finally:
NOT OVER THE PHONE.
Before Marcello could answer, another notification arrived.
This one was from an unknown number.
A photograph.
Elena Morales leaving her apartment that morning with Lily in her arms.
Below it, one sentence.
THE CHILD SHOULD HAVE STAYED DOWNSTAIRS.
Marcello’s blood turned cold.
May you like
Whoever was protecting Camille’s secret was no longer merely hiding evidence.
They were watching Lily.
