Chapter 4 - THE MAFIA BOSS'S CONFESSION
“That's impossible,” Dante said.
Gabriel placed a printed access report on the desk.
“Your emergency code opened the south garage at 9:18 p.m. The same night Michael was killed.”
Dante studied the paper.
“Those logs were supposed to be destroyed.”
“Apparently someone kept copies.”
I stared at the timestamp.
Michael had died shortly after ten.
The bakery was less than an hour from the estate.
Someone had left the Moretti mansion using Dante's personal security code, driven toward Brooklyn, and returned before dawn.
I looked at him.
“Were you there?”
“No.”
“Then who used your code?”
Dante hesitated.
“My brother knew it.”
Gabriel shook his head.
“So did Victor.”
I stepped backward.
“Of course. Another secret. Another excuse.”
Dante set the paper down.
“Elena, I won't pretend I was innocent. Michael discovered that my companies were being used to move stolen money. He confronted me.”
“What did you do?”
“I threatened him.”
The confession fell between us.
“I told him to stop digging into accounts that didn't concern him. I believed Victor when he said the missing funds were temporary transfers.”
I felt sick.
“You threatened a man who was trying to stop people from stealing housing money?”
“Yes.”
“At least you're finally telling the truth.”
Dante accepted the words.
“I wish that were enough to undo what happened.”
“It isn't.”
“I know.”
For a moment, he looked older than his forty-three years.
Then he spoke again.
“Two days before Michael died, he came back to me. He showed me evidence that Victor had been stealing from families who couldn't afford to fight back.”
“What happened?”
“I realized the fraud was bigger than I'd allowed myself to believe.”
“Did you help him?”
Dante looked away.
“I told him I'd handle it.”
A bitter laugh escaped me.
“Handle it?”
“I called Victor and ordered him to stop Michael from taking the records outside the organization.”
My heart dropped.
“What exactly did you say?”
Dante closed his eyes.
“I said, 'Make sure Carter doesn't become a problem.'”
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
“Do you hear yourself?”
He nodded once.
“You gave a criminal an order about my husband. And now you want me to believe you didn't understand what might happen?”
“I knew Victor could hurt him. I thought I could control how far he'd go.”
“But you couldn't.”
“No.”
My throat tightened.
“Michael is dead because powerful men believed they had the right to control other people's lives.”
Dante didn't deny it.
That mattered.
But it wasn't forgiveness.
Not even close.
Just before dawn, Teresa received a return call through the contact number Gabriel had used.
Agent Isabel Reyes agreed to meet us at a federal field office later that morning.
We left the estate in two vehicles after confirming the route and notifying the authorities.
Sophie slept through most of the drive, curled against Bruno in the backseat. His enormous head rested on her lap.
At the field office, Reyes met us in a plain interview room.
She was in her early forties, with dark hair pulled neatly behind her head and a calm, observant expression.
She didn't appear impressed by Dante Moretti.
That alone made me feel slightly safer.
“Elena Carter?” she asked.
I nodded.
“I'm Isabel Reyes. I spoke with your husband several times before he died.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“You knew Michael?”
“He contacted us about financial misconduct connected to Harbor House. He was preparing to provide supporting records.”
“Why didn't you protect him?”
Her expression grew somber.
“We didn't know he'd been threatened, and he missed the meeting where he was supposed to turn over his evidence.”
I looked down.
“I didn't even know he'd contacted you.”
“He was trying to protect you.”
Those words didn't make me feel better.
They made me angry at how many people had decided what I was allowed to know.
Reyes listened carefully while I explained Sophie's experiences, the tunnel, Gabriel's return, and the memory card hidden inside the pillow.
She arranged for the card and note to be formally documented and examined.
Then she turned toward Dante.
“Mr. Moretti, you've just admitted withholding information about a homicide.”
He met her gaze.
“Yes.”
“You understand what that means?”
“I do.”
She studied him.
“Then you should also understand that helping now doesn't erase what happened before.”
Dante glanced toward me.
“I wouldn't expect it to.”
Reyes asked him to remain for a separate interview with counsel.
I stayed with Sophie.
A woman from the victim-support team brought her crayons and a small picture book.
For the first time since the nightmare began, someone seemed interested in what my daughter needed rather than what she knew.
Sophie drew Bruno.
She gave him enormous paws, bright yellow eyes, and a red cape.
“Because he's a superhero,” she explained.
I kissed her hair.
“He certainly thinks he's your bodyguard.”
She giggled.
The sound almost made me cry.
An hour later, Reyes returned carrying a thin folder.
“We were able to access the memory card's contents.”
I stood immediately.
“What's on it?”
“Financial records, photographs, voice recordings, and several video files.”
“Does it prove who killed Michael?”
“Not yet. But it may help establish why he was targeted.”
She placed a document in front of me.
My name appeared at the top.
ELENA CARTER.
Beneath it was an authorization allowing a company connected to Victor Cross to access property and financial accounts supposedly held in my name.
I stared at the signature.
It looked like mine.
Almost.
But the middle initial was wrong.
And the date made no sense.
“Agent Reyes?”
“Yes?”
I pointed at the bottom of the page.
“This document says I signed it two days after Michael died.”
She nodded.
“That's what concerns us.”
I felt my stomach twist.
“I was at the funeral home that day.”
Reyes opened another page.
“There's something worse.”
She turned the document toward me.
It showed a trust account with a large balance and a single named beneficiary.
May you like
My daughter.
SOPHIE CARTER — $8,400,000.
