Chapter 6 - The Night Manhattan Turned Against Him
Robert Bennett stood beneath the pier lights.
Clare's world stopped.
“Dad?”
His face was wet with tears.
“I can explain.”
Vale laughed.
“Please do.”
Vincent moved toward Robert.
Clare stopped him.
“No.”
She faced her father.
“You drove the car?”
Robert shook his head violently.
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because Vale called me.”
Vale was handcuffed now.
Still smiling.
“He's lying,” Robert said.
“About what?”
“Everything.”
Robert removed an old phone from his coat.
“I kept this for five years.”
It contained photographs of the damaged Mercedes.
And a voicemail.
Recorded at 1:14 a.m. on the night Ethan died.
Salvatore's voice.
Robert, I'm sorry. Vale took the car. I couldn't stop him.
Clare looked at Vale.
His smile disappeared.
Salvatore stepped forward.
“I gave him Robert's keys.”
“Why?” Clare demanded.
“He said he wanted to frighten Ethan.”
“You believed him?”
“No.”
Salvatore's voice broke.
“I knew what he was capable of. I was a coward.”
Vale had driven Robert's Mercedes.
Daniel had followed Ethan first but backed out.
Vale finished the job himself.
The evidence was circumstantial.
Until Salvatore opened his briefcase.
Inside were the original ledgers.
And a dashcam memory card.
Vale had kept recordings as leverage against Salvatore.
Salvatore had stolen them before fleeing.
The footage showed enough.
Ethan's car.
The Mercedes behind him.
Vale entering the vehicle earlier that evening.
Clare could barely watch.
She stopped before the impact.
“I don't need to see the rest.”
Vincent closed the laptop.
Federal agents arrested Vale.
Salvatore surrendered too.
Daniel eventually accepted a cooperation agreement for his financial crimes and role in the conspiracy.
None of it brought Ethan back.
But the lie surrounding his death was finally gone.
Three days later, Clare returned home.
Not Vincent's home.
Hers.
She needed space.
Vincent did not object.
That bothered her more than she expected.
For a week, they barely spoke.
The newspapers moved on to the criminal investigation.
Robert apologized every day.
Clare wasn't ready to forgive him.
But she began listening.
Vanessa ended her engagement to Daniel publicly and cooperated with prosecutors.
Then she called Clare.
“I don't expect us to become friends.”
“Good.”
Vanessa laughed sadly.
“But I'm sorry.”
Clare closed her eyes.
“For Daniel?”
“For everything.”
“I believe you.”
It wasn't forgiveness.
Not yet.
But it was a beginning.
Jenna arrived that evening carrying takeout.
“You look miserable.”
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
They ate on Clare's sofa.
After twenty minutes, Jenna said, “Call him.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because this started as pretend.”
“And?”
“And people like Vincent don't live in my world.”
Jenna stared at her.
“Clare, your ex-fiancé laundered money for a criminal financier who murdered your brother.”
“Fair.”
“Your world needs recalibration.”
Clare laughed.
Then someone knocked.
She froze.
Jenna grinned.
“If that's him, I'm charging destiny a consulting fee.”
It wasn't Vincent.
Isabella stood outside.
“I need your help.”
Clare let her in.
“What's wrong?”
“Vincent is stepping down.”
“From what?”
“Everything.”
Moretti Holdings' board had discovered Salvatore's role in the fraud.
Although Vincent was not implicated, investors were panicking.
Vincent planned to resign as CEO to prevent damage to the legitimate companies and thousands of employees.
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he thinks sacrifice is the same thing as responsibility.”
Clare knew exactly what she meant.
“He won't listen to me,” Isabella said.
“And he'll listen to me?”
Isabella smiled.
“You're the only person I've ever seen tell him no three times in one conversation.”
Clare went to Moretti Holdings.
Vincent was packing his office.
“You're resigning?”
He looked up.
“Who told you?”
“Does it matter?”
“No.”
“Then answer me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because my family name created this.”
“Your uncle created this.”
“My company enabled it.”
“And you exposed it.”
“After people died.”
Clare crossed the room.
“Ethan blamed himself too.”
Vincent's expression changed.
“He thought if he'd discovered everything faster, maybe nobody else would be hurt.”
“How do you know?”
“His letter.”
She placed it on Vincent's desk.
“I've read it twenty times.”
Vincent did not touch it.
“There's a line near the end. Ethan wrote, ‘Guilt is attractive because it lets us imagine we once had control.’”
Vincent looked at her.
“You can't rewrite what Salvatore did.”
“I know.”
“Then stop punishing yourself as if you can.”
Silence.
Finally he asked, “Why did you come?”
Clare's courage vanished.
She could discuss murder investigations.
She could confront her father.
Apparently, admitting she missed one irritating man was harder.
“Because you never called.”
“You asked for space.”
“That doesn't mean you disappear.”
Vincent blinked.
“I was respecting your request.”
“Well, stop being so respectful.”
His mouth twitched.
“That's a complicated instruction.”
She stepped closer.
“I needed a fake boyfriend.”
“I remember.”
“You were terrible at it.”
“I thought I performed adequately.”
“You brought criminal conspiracies to dinner.”
“They were already there.”
She laughed.
Then became serious.
“What happens now?”
Vincent looked at her.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you're still pretending.”
Clare's heart hammered.
“No.”
He came closer.
“Neither am I.”
Their first kiss was quiet.
No dramatic music.
No audience.
Just Vincent's hand touching her cheek as though asking permission.
Clare closed the distance herself.
When they separated, she whispered, “That was inconvenient.”
“Very.”
Her phone buzzed.
Jenna.
Clare ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then Vincent's phone rang.
Isabella.
He answered.
“What?”
His expression hardened.
Clare immediately knew something was wrong.
“When?”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
“Vale's attorneys filed evidence this morning.”
“What evidence?”
“A contract.”
Clare frowned.
“What contract?”
Vincent turned his laptop toward her.
A scanned document appeared.
At the bottom was Clare's signature.
She stared at it.
“I've never seen this.”
The document transferred controlling interest in a Bennett subsidiary to a Moretti shell company.
Dated six months earlier.
Her signature appeared authentic.
Vincent's appeared beneath it.
Also authentic.
“I didn't sign that,” Clare whispered.
“Neither did I.”
The office door opened.
Vincent's attorney entered.
His face was grave.
“The press has it.”
Clare looked at Vincent.
“What are they saying?”
The attorney placed his phone on the desk.
The headline filled the screen.
MORETTI-BENNETT ROMANCE WAS BUSINESS DEAL—SECRET CONTRACT EXPOSED.
Clare's stomach dropped.
Then another headline appeared.
PR EXECUTIVE HELPED MORETTI SEIZE FAMILY ASSETS.
And another.
ROMANCE OR FRAUD?
Clare's phone exploded with notifications.
She looked at Vincent.
“Vale planned this.”
“Yes.”
“To destroy us even after his arrest.”
“Yes.”
The attorney hesitated.
“There's more.”
Vincent looked at him.
“What?”
“The document wasn't created by Vale.”
“Then who?”
The attorney placed a forensic report on the desk.
“The metadata traces back to Bennett & Rowe.”
Clare's workplace.
Her computer credentials.
Her password.
Someone inside her own office had created the contract.
Then the elevator doors opened outside.
Footsteps approached.
Clare's assistant appeared in the doorway, crying.
“Clare, I'm sorry.”
May you like
Behind her stood two federal agents.
And one of them was holding Clare's office laptop.
