Chapter 3 - Three Days Later
Luca didn’t answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
People imagine forensic accounting as dramatic.
It usually isn’t.
There are no flashing lights.
No sudden confessions.
Most of the time, it’s simply watching someone realize you know which question to ask next.
“The signature,” I repeated.
Luca shook his head.
“You’re exhausted.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“We’ll talk when you’ve slept.”
“That still isn’t an answer.”
Dad remained quiet.
He didn’t need to say anything.
Luca glanced at him.
“Can we speak privately?”
“No.”
“Jessi.”
“He stays.”
“This is our marriage.”
“It was also our childbirth.”
His face tightened.
I gestured toward the envelope.
“You can stay at your mother’s while we work through the separation.”
“You’re throwing me out?”
“I’m asking you to leave my house.”
“Our house.”
“My premarital property.”
His eyes flashed.
“So suddenly you’re the billionaire princess?”
That one hurt.
Not because it was clever.
Because it confirmed something.
Luca wasn’t ashamed of what he had done.
He was ashamed that the balance of power had changed.
Dad stood.
Leo shifted softly in his arms.
Arthur glanced down and immediately lowered his voice.
“Mr. Romano.”
Luca straightened.
Dad continued.
“My daughter is three days postpartum. You will not stand in her living room and insult her.”
“You don’t get to tell me how to speak to my wife.”
“She asked you to leave.”
“And she’s emotional.”
I almost laughed.
There it was again.
Dramatic.
Emotional.
Unreasonable.
Words used whenever a woman became inconvenient.
I walked toward the front door and opened it.
“Go.”
Luca stared at me.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward Leo.
“I’m not leaving without seeing my son.”
“You’ve seen him.”
“You know what I mean.”
I took a breath.
“You can arrange visitation through counsel.”
“Counsel?”
“Yes.”
“Jessi, this is insane.”
“No.”
My voice stayed calm.
“It’s paperwork.”
Dad’s mouth twitched.
He liked that answer.
Luca noticed.
“This is funny to you?”
“No,” Dad said. “If it were funny, I would be laughing.”
Luca grabbed his suitcase.
He stopped beside me.
His voice dropped.
“You’re going to regret humiliating me.”
I met his eyes.
“You humiliated yourself.”
He left.
The door closed.
My knees almost buckled.
Dad caught my elbow.
“I’ve got you.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
He guided me toward the sofa.
“You’re pretending.”
That made the tears come.
I covered my face.
“I wanted him to apologize.”
Dad sat beside me.
“I know.”
“I wanted him to walk in and say he was sorry.”
“I know.”
“I wanted him to look at Leo and realize what he missed.”
Dad didn’t give me false comfort.
“He may.”
“But?”
“It won’t erase what happened.”
I looked at him.
“When did you become emotionally intelligent?”
“Therapy.”
I blinked.
Dad shrugged.
“Your mother made me promise.”
I laughed through my tears.
That night, after Leo fell asleep, I opened my laptop again.
I searched public corporation records.
Romano Consulting LLC.
Registered eighteen months earlier.
Manager:
Wendy Romano.
Business address:
A mailbox rental service.
No employees listed.
No website.
No meaningful public footprint.
Yet it had received nearly $190,000 in transfers I could trace.
Some came from accounts connected to Luca.
One came from ours.
Then I discovered something strange.
A payment from Kessler Development.
$72,500.
Vendor reference:
RC-4419.
I stared.
Luca worked for Kessler.
Wendy owned Romano Consulting.
Procurement managers were prohibited from approving related-party vendors without disclosure.
Had Luca disclosed that the owner was his mother?
I searched more.
Another Kessler payment.
$84,000.
Then another.
My stomach tightened.
Over fourteen months, Kessler had paid Romano Consulting more than $600,000.
That didn’t automatically mean fraud.
Maybe Wendy genuinely provided services.
But if she did, why had she spent years telling everyone she was “basically retired”?
Dad entered with two mugs.
“Tea.”
I pointed at the screen.
“Look.”
He read.
Then looked at me.
“You believe Luca is diverting company money through his mother?”
“I believe nothing yet.”
“You sound exactly like your mother.”
That stopped me.
“Mom hated accounting.”
“She hated accusations without evidence.”
I smiled faintly.
“That sounds like her.”
My phone buzzed.
Wendy.
I let it ring.
Then another call.
Then a text.
You have gone too far. Luca told me what you did.
Another.
Keeping a father from his baby is disgusting.
Another.
Arthur Sterling? Really? You could have told us instead of trapping Luca.
There it was.
Not concern.
Not apology.
Money.
I took screenshots.
Dad watched.
“Why?”
“Documentation.”
Twenty minutes later, another message arrived.
We need to discuss what your deception means financially.
I looked at Dad.
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
“What?”
“She made it less than an hour.”
“Before asking about money?”
“Fifty-three minutes.”
Dad checked his watch.
“Impressive restraint.”
Then another message arrived.
This time from Luca.
Mom is upset. You owe her an explanation.
I stared at it.
Something inside me became strangely peaceful.
Three days earlier, I would have responded immediately.
Explained.
Apologized.
Tried to calm everyone down.
Instead, I locked the phone.
“No response?” Dad asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
I looked at my laptop again.
At the transactions.
At Romano Consulting.
At the forged mortgage authorization.
“I want to know what they’ve been doing.”
Dad sat opposite me.
“What do you need?”
“Nothing from Sterling.”
“Jessi—”
“If you help, they’ll say this is a billionaire crushing ordinary people.”
“That is not my concern.”
“It’s mine.”
He studied me.
Then nodded.
“What will you do?”
I leaned back.
“I’m going to audit my own marriage.”
The words sounded strange.
But accurate.
For four years, I had trusted Luca emotionally.
Now I would treat the marriage like any questionable financial entity.
Follow funds.
Verify statements.
Compare timelines.
Document inconsistencies.
Two days later, I found the first transaction that made my blood run cold.
A payment from Romano Consulting.
Not to Luca.
To a woman named Sabrina Vale.
Amount:
$18,500.
Memo:
Housing.
I searched the name.
Sabrina Vale.
Thirty-two.
Event planner.
And suddenly I remembered Wendy’s birthday dinner.
The floral arrangements.
The private dining room.
The custom invitations.
The woman standing beside Luca in one photograph Wendy had posted online before deleting it.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Hand resting on his shoulder.
Sabrina.
I enlarged the photograph.
Dad came up behind me.
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared at Luca’s expression in the photo.
He wasn’t looking at the camera.
He was looking at Sabrina.
And she was looking back.
May you like
My marriage might have been hiding something much bigger than missing money.
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