Chapter 11 - My Husband’s Second Life
The interview lasted four hours.
Two investigators.
Rachel.
Me.
No Dad.
That had been my choice.
I walked through every document.
Every signature.
Every account.
Every date.
The investigators asked the same questions in different forms.
Had I ever advised Romano Consulting?
No.
Had I ever received compensation?
No.
Had I ever authorized Northstar transactions?
No.
Had Luca ever disclosed vendor relationships?
Not to me.
Did I benefit indirectly from hidden funds?
As far as I knew, no.
Then they showed me something I hadn’t seen.
A credit card statement.
Northstar had paid for hotel rooms.
Jewelry.
Travel.
Restaurants.
Some purchases matched Natalie.
Others didn’t.
My stomach tightened.
“How many women?”
The investigator didn’t answer.
Rachel did.
“That’s outside the financial scope.”
I appreciated her.
But later, she told me.
At least three.
Natalie had been the longest relationship.
There were others before her.
Shorter.
I drove home in silence.
Dad waited in the kitchen.
He took one look at me.
“What did they show you?”
I sat.
“More women.”
He closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“I keep discovering new versions of my marriage.”
Dad sat opposite me.
“Which one hurts most?”
“The normal one.”
He waited.
“The mornings.”
My voice broke slightly.
“Coffee. Grocery lists. Watching television. Him rubbing my feet when I was pregnant.”
I looked down.
“How can someone do kind things and still lie that much?”
Dad considered the question.
“Because kindness and character are not the same.”
I looked at him.
He continued.
“People can love parts of you while failing you terribly.”
“Did Mom know that about you?”
His face changed.
There it was again.
The secret.
“Dad.”
He stood.
“Not tonight.”
“No.”
I stood too.
“You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Deciding what I can handle.”
His expression tightened.
“Jessi.”
“I just survived childbirth, betrayal, financial fraud, public humiliation, and discovering my husband had multiple affairs.”
I crossed my arms.
“What exactly are you protecting me from?”
He looked suddenly old.
Not billionaire old.
Father old.
A man carrying something too long.
“Your mother almost left me.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Before she got sick.”
I sat slowly.
Dad remained standing.
“I was never unfaithful.”
He said it immediately.
“But I was absent.”
I listened.
“I worked constantly. I justified it as building security.”
He gave a bitter smile.
“Your mother told me she didn’t need another house. She needed a husband.”
My chest tightened.
“She filed separation papers.”
“What happened?”
“I changed.”
“Just like that?”
“No.”
He laughed softly.
“I failed repeatedly.”
“Then?”
“She gave me one year.”
“And you fixed things?”
“We fixed things.”
He sat down.
“Then she was diagnosed.”
My eyes filled.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because after she died, you thought our marriage had been perfect.”
“I was nineteen.”
“You needed something perfect.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I needed something true.”
Dad looked devastated.
“I know that now.”
There was that phrase.
That night, we talked until nearly three.
About Mom.
Their fights.
Therapy.
Dad’s arrogance.
Mom’s boundaries.
The year they rebuilt.
It changed how I remembered them.
Not for the worse.
For the better.
Their marriage had mattered not because it was perfect.
Because both people eventually showed up.
That was the difference between Dad and Luca.
Dad faced what he had done.
Luca had spent weeks blaming everyone else.
The next morning, Luca requested a meeting.
Not through me.
Through Rachel.
His lawyer proposed settlement discussions.
Custody.
Property.
Financial issues.
Rachel asked:
“Do you want mediation?”
“Yes.”
Dad looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Because I want this finished.”
“But the investigation—”
“Can continue separately.”
I looked at Leo.
“I don’t want to spend the first year of his life fighting every day.”
Dad nodded.
“Then don’t.”
Mediation began two weeks later.
Luca arrived wearing a suit.
Clean-shaven.
Composed.
Almost like the man I married.
He looked at me.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
He stared at Leo’s photo on my phone.
“How is he?”
“Good.”
“Rolling?”
“Trying.”
His face softened.
For one second, I hated that we had become this.
Two people talking about our baby through attorneys.
Then I remembered who had created it.
The mediator began.
Property.
Custody.
Support.
Luca surprised everyone.
He agreed to supervised visits transitioning to unsupervised parenting time if recommended by the court-appointed evaluator.
He agreed I had sole ownership of the house.
He waived any claim to the Sterling trust.
Then came Northstar.
Luca’s lawyer said:
“Mr. Romano proposes transferring his entire interest in Northstar to Ms. Sterling.”
I stared.
Rachel shook her head immediately.
“No.”
Luca looked at me.
“It’s money.”
“No.”
“You think I’m buying you?”
“I think the money may not legally be yours.”
His face tightened.
“Take it for Leo.”
“No.”
The mediator looked between us.
Luca leaned forward.
“What do you want from me?”
I answered honestly.
“Accountability.”
“I’m here.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You’re negotiating.”
“What does accountability look like?”
“That’s your problem.”
For once, I refused to teach him how to apologize.
We adjourned.
As I walked out, Luca followed.
“Jessi.”
I stopped.
He stayed several feet away.
“I loved you.”
Past tense.
It hurt.
“I believe you.”
He looked surprised.
“Then why—”
“Because love without honesty is not enough.”
His eyes filled.
“I’m going to lose everything.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“You already lost what mattered.”
He stared.
I continued.
“You still have a son.”
His face changed.
“If you decide to become the kind of father he deserves, that part isn’t over.”
Then I left.
That evening, Rachel called with news.
Kessler wanted to meet.
Not about Luca.
About me.
The board had learned exactly what kind of forensic work I did.
And they wanted me to help rebuild the controls Luca had exploited.
I laughed when Rachel told me.
Then she gave me the compensation figure.
I stopped laughing.
May you like
Because life, apparently, had a sense of irony.
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