Chapter 10 - The Secret Luca Never Told Her
Gregory Wells lived in a modest house forty minutes outside Manhattan.
Sienna came with me.
So did Luca.
I had agreed to one security car.
I had not agreed to Luca sitting beside me with the expression of a man attending his own sentencing.
“You can stop glaring at the road.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve been glaring for thirty minutes.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Violently.”
“That isn’t a thing.”
“With you, it is.”
Sienna smiled from the front seat.
We arrived shortly before noon.
Gregory looked older than I remembered.
Smaller too.
When I was eighteen, he had seemed like a monster.
The man who betrayed my father.
Now he looked like what he was.
A tired seventy-year-old carrying a decade of regret.
He let us inside.
His eyes stopped on Luca.
“I said Emma.”
“He stays,” I said.
Gregory hesitated.
Then nodded.
At the kitchen table, he placed an old laptop between us.
“They contacted me in September.”
“Who?”
“A man named Felix Dunn.”
Sienna’s gaze sharpened.
She knew the name.
“Victor Hale’s private attorney,” she said.
Gregory nodded.
“They offered money for documents related to Thomas.”
“Why did you agree?”
His face tightened.
“Because I’m not a good man.”
At least he didn’t pretend.
“But when they asked me to sign something false…”
“You signed it,” I said.
“Yes.”
Anger rose inside me.
He lowered his eyes.
“I also recorded every conversation after that.”
Silence.
“Why?” Luca asked.
“Insurance.”
That, unfortunately, made sense.
Gregory opened folders.
Emails.
Wire confirmations.
Instructions.
Then audio files.
One message mentioned Victor.
Another mentioned Carlo Rinaldi.
Another discussed “pressuring Bennett before the trust vote.”
Luca’s face became colder with every document.
“This is enough,” Sienna said.
“For what?”
“To involve federal investigators if financial coercion crossed certain lines.”
Gregory looked frightened.
“I want immunity.”
“That isn’t something Luca controls,” I said.
Gregory looked at him anyway.
Luca shook his head.
“She’s right.”
We copied everything.
Before leaving, Gregory stopped me.
“Emma.”
I turned.
“I’m sorry.”
I wanted to hate him.
Part of me still did.
But my father had taught me something after losing everything.
Forgiveness and trust were not the same.
You could release anger without reopening the door.
“I hope you mean that.”
Then I left.
On the drive back, I should have felt victorious.
Instead, Luca was silent.
Too silent.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That voice again.”
He looked out the window.
I waited.
Finally he said,
“Victor worked with my father for thirty years.”
“I know.”
“My father trusted him more than almost anyone.”
“Clearly that trust was misplaced.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
He looked at me.
“My father knew.”
I stared.
“Knew what?”
“That Victor wanted control.”
“How?”
“Because Victor helped write the trust.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
Luca looked exhausted.
“My father didn’t create those marriage provisions alone.”
“Victor did?”
“With the family attorney.”
“Why would your father allow that?”
“Because my father believed a married heir would be easier to control.”
I stared.
The sentence was ugly.
“So your father knew the trust could be used against you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked away again.
“Because we weren’t speaking when he died.”
The car became silent.
I had never heard Luca discuss the final months of his father’s life.
“What happened?”
“I told him I was leaving Moretti Holdings.”
That surprised me.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Where were you going?”
“Anywhere.”
He almost smiled.
“I was thirty. Angry. Tired of being told what kind of man I was supposed to become.”
“What stopped you?”
“My mother got sick.”
I knew she had died eighteen months before his father.
Cancer.
“I stayed for her.”
His voice changed.
“When she died, my father became worse. More controlling. More obsessed with legacy.”
I touched his hand.
He looked down.
“He wanted me married. Wanted heirs. Wanted me to become him.”
“And you refused.”
“Yes.”
“The night before he died, we argued.”
Luca swallowed.
It was the smallest movement.
“The last thing I said to my father was that I hoped the Moretti name died with me.”
My heart hurt.
“Luca.”
“He died the next morning.”
“You didn’t cause that.”
“I know.”
But knowing and believing were different.
I understood.
“That’s why you hate the trust.”
“Yes.”
“Not because of the company.”
“Not only.”
I squeezed his hand.
For once, he didn’t pretend he was fine.
“When I brought you to the party,” he said, “part of me wanted to prove something.”
“To your father?”
“Maybe.”
“That you could choose for yourself.”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“And what did you choose?”
His eyes met mine.
“You.”
The word carried no performance now.
No ballroom.
No audience.
Only truth.
My chest tightened.
Then Sienna’s phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression changed.
“What happened?” Luca asked.
She listened.
Then looked back at us.
“Victor moved the board vote.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Luca’s face hardened.
“He can’t.”
“He found enough directors to call an emergency session.”
“What time?”
“Seven.”
I checked my phone.
Three-forty.
We had barely three hours.
Sienna continued.
“And there’s another problem.”
“What?”
“Victor has the proxy votes from the family trust.”
Luca’s expression changed.
“How?”
“Carlo transferred support.”
I understood immediately.
If Victor won tonight, Luca could lose operational control before February ever arrived.
We had evidence.
But no time.
Luca looked toward Manhattan appearing in the distance.
Then toward me.
“I need you to stay out of this.”
I almost laughed.
“You really haven’t learned anything.”
“Emma—”
I leaned closer.
“You’re going to that board meeting.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“Luca.”
“What?”
“For a supposedly ruthless billionaire, you are incredibly slow.”
His eyebrows drew together.
I smiled.
May you like
“They chose the wrong assistant.”
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