Chapter 10
The church had red doors and a stone Mary with snow resting on her folded hands. Mom parked beneath a bare tree at the far end of the lot, away from the people leaving evening Mass.
She kept the engine running for heat. A thick envelope lay across her knees.
“Ms. Alvarez says the complaint belongs to me,” Mom said. “Not the company. Not Mr. Moretti.”
I sat behind her with my rabbit tucked inside my coat. Only his repaired ear stuck out. “Is Ms. Alvarez your lawyer?”
“She gave me independent advice.” Mom glanced at me in the mirror. Her face looked tired, but her voice didn't shake. “That means she doesn't work for Mr. Moretti.”
Headlights swept over us. A black car stopped six spaces away.
Dominic got out first. He wore his dark suit under a long coat. Marco came around the other side carrying a narrow document case. They didn't approach until Mom opened her door.
The cold rushed into the car.
Dominic stopped several feet away. There was enough space between him and Mom for two people to stand. In the lobby, I had thought his stillness meant he was angry all the time. Now I saw him look at Mom, then at the envelope, and wait.
Mom stepped out. I climbed after her, landing crooked because my yellow boots were still on the wrong feet.
“I spoke to counsel who has no connection to Moretti Group,” Mom said.
Dominic nodded once. “Good.”
“I’m filing tonight.”
Marco watched Dominic closely, the way he always did when Dominic went quiet.
Mom held the envelope against her coat. “But I’m not taking an apartment from you. I’m not letting your security people follow Lily to school without my permission. And I won’t accept money in exchange for keeping this private.”
“No private settlement,” Dominic said. “No release. No confidentiality agreement.”
“You can’t decide what I accept.”
“No,” he said. “I can decide what my company offers. It won’t offer silence.”
A gust pushed dry snow across the pavement. Mom lowered her eyes for a second.
“The company will preserve its records,” Dominic continued. “Emails, access logs, printers, personnel files, backups. The complaint will go to outside counsel and the audit committee.”
“And you won’t control the investigation?”
“I’ll answer questions like anyone else.”
Mom studied him. “If I say no to something, you stop.”
“Yes.”
He didn't move closer when he said it. I understood then that the empty space wasn't because he didn't care. He was leaving it there for Mom.
Marco opened his case on the hood of the black car. Inside were copies, each held by a plain metal clip. He named them while Mom checked the pages: the statement from the former clerk, the comparison showing the signature on the termination letter wasn't Dominic's, and the access records leading back to the senior executive’s office.
“The original letter remains secured,” Marco said. “These are authenticated copies.”
Mom touched the worn white crease visible in the photograph. “That piece of paper kept us scared for weeks.”
Dominic's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Ms. Alvarez joined by phone. Mom put her on speaker, and her calm voice came through the cold air.
“Elena, no one needs your answer but you. Do you authorize me to submit?”
Mom looked at me.
I wanted to tell her not to, because I remembered her counting bills at our kitchen table and going quiet whenever footsteps stopped outside our apartment. Instead, I reached for her free hand.
Her fingers closed around mine.
“Yes,” she said. “Submit it.”
We waited beside the running cars while Ms. Alvarez filed the complaint through the company’s outside reporting channel and sent copies to the audit committee’s independent counsel. A minute later, Mom's phone chimed.
She read the confirmation twice.
Marco's phone rang almost immediately. He turned away to answer, speaking too softly for me to hear. When he returned, his expression had changed.
“The preservation notice is active,” he said. “The internal audit has opened. The executive named in the complaint has been removed from direct control of finance, personnel, and records systems while it proceeds.”
“Removed?” I asked.
“Temporarily,” Mom said. She squeezed my hand. “It isn't finished.”
Dominic looked toward the church doors. “No. It isn't.”
Mom placed her phone in her pocket. “Tomorrow, Lily goes to school normally. No cars at the curb unless I approve them.”
Dominic gave a small nod. “Marco will send proposed precautions to Ms. Alvarez. You decide.”
May you like
He walked back toward his car without asking Mom to trust him.
For the first time, she watched him go without looking trapped. The senior executive had lost a door into the records, but the truth was still somewhere behind all the other ones. Mom held the filing receipt in one hand and mine in the other, and this time she hadn't been pushed through either.
