Chapter 8 - The Man Who Bought the Building
Lorenzo was halfway through a meeting when Meline entered his office without knocking.
Three men stopped talking.
Isabella looked toward the ceiling.
Lorenzo stood.
“Meline.”
“Everybody out.”
One of the men blinked.
Lorenzo gestured.
They left immediately.
Meline pointed after them.
“That is deeply irritating.”
“What?”
“That people listen when you do that.”
Isabella gathered her papers.
“I’m leaving voluntarily.”
“Stay,” Meline said.
Isabella sat back down.
Lorenzo frowned.
“What happened?”
“You bought my building.”
Understanding hit.
“Meline—”
“You bought my building.”
“Yes.”
She laughed once.
“You don’t even sound guilty.”
“I’m not.”
“Try.”
“The landlord intended to sell to a development company.”
“And?”
“They planned to terminate commercial leases.”
“And?”
“You would have lost the shop.”
“And your solution was to buy it secretly?”
“I bought the building.”
“That is what secretly means when the person affected discovers it from an attorney.”
Lorenzo stepped around the desk.
“I protected your lease.”
“There’s that word.”
“Meline.”
“Protection gives choices. Remember?”
He stopped.
Isabella became fascinated with her legal pad.
Meline continued.
“You could have told me.”
“I didn’t know until yesterday.”
“You knew before signing.”
“Yes.”
“Then you could have called.”
“I thought you would refuse.”
“I might have.”
“That is why I didn’t call.”
Meline stared.
Then looked at Isabella.
“Can you explain his problem using smaller words?”
Isabella nodded thoughtfully.
“He believes anticipating objections is equivalent to consent.”
“Thank you.”
Lorenzo glared.
“You’re my attorney.”
“Not your mother.”
Meline folded her arms.
“What happens to my rent?”
“Nothing.”
“Who owns the building?”
“A holding company.”
“Controlled by?”
“Me.”
“Then something changed.”
Lorenzo exhaled.
“What would you have wanted me to do?”
“Ask.”
“And if you said no?”
“Then I live with my decision.”
“Even if you lose Hayes?”
“Yes.”
He stared at her as though she had spoken another language.
Meline softened slightly.
“Lorenzo, I know what losing things feels like.”
“So do I.”
“Then you should understand why I need to know the life I have is mine.”
Silence.
His anger disappeared.
“I thought I was helping.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t matter?”
“It matters.”
She stepped closer.
“But good intentions don’t turn control into kindness.”
Lorenzo looked toward Isabella.
“Stop looking at her. She cannot bill your way out of this.”
Isabella hid a smile.
Lorenzo turned back.
“All right.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I will sell you the building.”
Meline blinked.
“I can’t afford it.”
“Then the shop portion.”
“I probably can’t afford that either.”
“You can.”
“How would you know?”
“I’ve seen your books.”
Meline’s mouth fell open.
Lorenzo immediately realized his mistake.
“You saw my books?”
“Not personally.”
“Lorenzo.”
“Due diligence required tenant financial information.”
“You read my financial statements?”
He winced.
“Some.”
Meline looked at Isabella.
“Can I kill him legally?”
“No.”
“Pity.”
Lorenzo rubbed his forehead.
“How do I fix this?”
The question disarmed her.
Not because he deserved immediate forgiveness.
Because powerful men rarely asked it.
Meline took a breath.
“You give me a normal lease.”
“Yes.”
“At market rate.”
He frowned.
“Meline—”
“Normal.”
“Fine.”
“And an option to purchase my unit if I ever choose.”
“Yes.”
“You never increase rent to manipulate me.”
“Never.”
“You never lower it either.”
“That seems unnecessarily principled.”
“Get used to disappointment.”
His mouth curved.
“And next time my business is threatened, you tell me before buying half a block.”
“Technically—”
“Do not say technically.”
He shut his mouth.
Isabella stood.
“I think my work here is finished.”
After she left, silence settled.
Meline looked at Lorenzo.
“You still want dinner?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t seem frightened enough.”
“I am terrified.”
“Better.”
They walked to a small restaurant nearby.
This time Lorenzo did not attempt charm.
He listened.
Meline told him about Grant.
Every detail.
Lorenzo’s expression darkened.
“He came to your apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I was angry about the building.”
“That is possibly the worst reason I’ve ever heard.”
“You have competition.”
She handed him Grant’s envelope.
Inside were copies of old bank records.
An account labeled E.H. HOLDING RESERVE.
Deposits came from Moretti businesses.
Withdrawals corresponded to several dates.
One immediately caught Lorenzo’s attention.
“What?”
He pointed.
“This date.”
“Meaning?”
“My father’s restaurant robbery.”
Meline felt cold.
Another withdrawal occurred six months later.
Another after two years.
“What was the money for?”
“I don’t know.”
Lorenzo examined the documents.
“There are initials.”
E.H.
A.M.
And V.M.
Meline looked at him.
“Vittorio Moretti?”
“Probably.”
“Did my mother pay your uncle?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
Lorenzo turned the page.
At the bottom was a handwritten notation.
Payment refused. V.M. threatened consequences. Evelyn says records stay hidden.
Lorenzo slowly raised his eyes.
“My father wasn’t hiding money with your mother.”
“What was he hiding?”
“Evidence.”
The reality landed heavily.
Evelyn Hayes had spent years maintaining proof against someone inside the Moretti organization.
And Vittorio had known.
Meline thought about her mother’s final months.
The unexplained visitors.
The day Evelyn had made her promise never to sell the upstairs storage cabinets.
The strangely intense instruction that old customer records must never be destroyed.
“My mother knew Vittorio was dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“And she never told me.”
“She was probably protecting you.”
Meline looked sharply at Lorenzo.
He understood immediately.
“Choice,” he said quietly.
“Exactly.”
For once, neither smiled.
Then Lorenzo’s phone buzzed.
Marco.
A photograph arrived.
Lorenzo opened it.
Grant Mercer walking into a restaurant two hours earlier.
Across the table sat Vittorio Moretti.
Meline’s stomach dropped.
Grant had not returned merely to warn her.
He was still connected.
Lorenzo stared at the photograph.
“I need to find out what he told Vittorio.”
Meline looked at the old banking records.
“No.”
Lorenzo turned.
“No?”
“We need to find out what my mother kept.”
“How?”
Meline already knew.
The storage unit Grant had mentioned.
Somerville.
She stood.
“We go tonight.”
Lorenzo looked almost impressed.
“That sounds dangerously like a command.”
May you like
“It is.”
And this time, Lorenzo Moretti obeyed.
