Chapter 4 - Four and a Half Million Reasons
His name was Aaron Bell.
Josephine remembered him because Aaron remembered everyone.
Birthdays.
Coffee orders.
Children’s names.
The receptionist’s dog.
He had been twenty-nine when Miller Studio hired him as a junior project coordinator.
Brilliant with schedules.
Terrible with office plants.
He kept killing the fern beside his desk and replacing it before anyone noticed.
When Miller Studio closed, Aaron hugged Josephine in the empty conference room.
“You gave me my first chance,” he told her.
“Wherever I go next, that matters.”
Six months later, Josephine heard he had moved to Milwaukee.
Then life moved forward.
Or she thought it had.
Now Mateo stood across from her and said Aaron Bell’s body had been inside Nathaniel’s burning car.
Josephine stared at the floor.
“No.”
Kline looked horrified.
“I didn’t know.”
“Stop saying that,” Josephine snapped.
“I swear.”
“You helped fake a death. You don’t get to keep using ignorance as innocence.”
Kline flinched.
Mateo said nothing.
Josephine turned to Luca.
“How do we know?”
“Samuel Voss says Nathaniel brought him dental scans to substitute into the identification system. The original records belonged to Aaron Bell.”
“Why Aaron?”
“We don’t know.”
Josephine did.
Maybe not everything.
But she remembered.
Three weeks before Miller Studio closed, Aaron had asked for a private meeting.
Josephine had been exhausted.
Nathaniel had spent months telling her the company was collapsing.
She almost canceled.
Aaron arrived with spreadsheets.
He said something didn’t make sense.
Payments attached to the Harbor House property had appeared in the studio’s accounting records even though Josephine hadn’t authorized them.
She promised to investigate.
That evening, Nathaniel convinced her Aaron had made bookkeeping errors.
Nathaniel even laughed.
Kids right out of school always think they discovered Watergate.
Josephine had believed him.
Two days later Aaron resigned.
At least, she thought he did.
A resignation email arrived.
She never spoke to him again.
Josephine whispered, “Aaron knew.”
Mateo’s eyes sharpened.
“Knew what?”
“About the transactions.”
She told him.
Kline slowly went pale.
“Oh God.”
Josephine turned on him.
“What?”
“Nathaniel asked me about an employee.”
“What employee?”
“He never gave me a name. He asked how dangerous it would be if someone had copied internal accounting files.”
Josephine’s face hardened.
“When?”
“A month before Miller Studio closed.”
“Did you help him?”
“No.”
“Think very carefully.”
“I didn’t.”
Mateo stepped forward.
“Kline.”
“I told Nathaniel that threatening an employee would increase risk. That was it.”
Josephine felt fury rise.
“What did he say?”
Kline closed his eyes.
“He said he could handle it.”
Silence.
Mateo’s phone rang.
Samuel Voss had more information.
The dental technician claimed he changed records for money but never participated in the staged crash.
Nathaniel had instructed him remotely.
Then Voss admitted one more detail.
Aaron Bell’s dental records had been requested by Nathaniel weeks before Aaron supposedly moved to Milwaukee.
Josephine walked into the kitchen.
She needed air.
Instead, she found herself gripping the counter.
Mateo followed but stayed several feet away.
“You don’t have to solve everything tonight.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
She turned.
“Aaron came to me.”
Mateo said nothing.
“He tried to tell me something was wrong. I let Nathaniel convince me Aaron was inexperienced.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I was his boss.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have listened.”
“Maybe.”
The answer surprised her.
Most people would have rushed to absolve her.
Mateo didn’t.
He came closer.
“But guilt and responsibility are not the same thing.”
Josephine looked at him.
“You can regret not listening without pretending you killed him.”
Her throat tightened.
“Nathaniel did this.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“You think he did.”
Mateo held her gaze.
“Yes.”
Josephine looked down.
“What kind of man was my husband?”
“The kind who needed everyone around him to believe he was smaller than his ambition.”
She laughed bitterly.
“He made me smaller instead.”
“Then stop helping him.”
The words struck hard.
“What?”
“He spent years teaching you to question yourself.”
Mateo’s voice was almost gentle.
“He isn’t in this room, Josephine. Why are you still doing his work for him?”
She stared at him.
No answer came.
Mateo returned to the office.
Josephine stayed alone in the kitchen for several minutes.
Then she walked to the bathroom mirror.
Her makeup had faded.
Hair loosened from its elegant arrangement.
Eyes red.
She looked nothing like Nathaniel’s polished wife.
Good.
She removed her earrings.
Washed her face.
When she returned, she carried a legal pad.
Mateo glanced at it.
“What’s that?”
“My investigation.”
His eyebrow rose.
“Your investigation?”
“You have yours.”
“And yours is?”
“Everything Nathaniel told me not to notice.”
She wrote Aaron Bell at the top.
Then Harbor House.
Miller Studio.
Edward Kline.
Mercer Urban Holdings.
The brass key.
The stolen money.
She drew connections.
For two hours, they reconstructed four years of deception.
Nathaniel had used Miller Studio’s clean corporate identity as camouflage.
Harbor House’s proposed property acquisitions gave him legitimate reasons to create development entities.
Those entities became channels for money.
At first thousands.
Then hundreds of thousands.
Eventually millions.
Mateo’s companies had been victimized through falsified logistics invoices and investment transfers.
When an internal auditor noticed discrepancies, Nathaniel prepared his disappearance.
But Aaron discovered something first.
Josephine found his original spreadsheet backed up in an old cloud folder.
The numbers were coded.
Mateo understood them immediately.
“These are container transfers.”
Josephine frowned.
“Shipping?”
“Yes.”
“What would Aaron know about shipping?”
“Nothing.”
Mateo leaned closer.
“He knew architecture.”
Josephine understood.
“Buildings.”
“Warehouses.”
They searched.
One property appeared repeatedly.
Warehouse 17C.
South Branch.
Owned by Mercer Urban.
Formerly owned by Bianchi Logistics.
The same Harbor House parcel.
Josephine stared.
“Nathaniel didn’t choose that property just to launder money.”
“No.”
“What’s there?”
Mateo became quiet.
“That property used to store customs records.”
“So?”
“Old records.”
“How old?”
“Twenty years.”
“Why would Nathaniel care?”
Mateo didn’t answer immediately.
Josephine saw something in his face.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“My father ran Bianchi Logistics then.”
“Your father is dead.”
“Yes.”
“Was he involved in something?”
“Many things.”
“Legal things?”
Mateo almost smiled.
“Occasionally.”
Josephine crossed her arms.
“You expect honesty from me.”
“I do.”
“Then return it.”
Mateo’s expression cooled.
“My father kept records on everyone who did business with him.”
“Blackmail?”
“Insurance.”
“That’s blackmail with nicer branding.”
He accepted that.
“Nathaniel may have discovered records stored on that property.”
“Records worth four and a half million?”
“Possibly much more.”
Josephine looked toward Kline.
The attorney had fallen asleep at the dining table under guard.
“What if Nathaniel didn’t steal from you just for money?”
“I’ve considered that.”
“What was in those records?”
Mateo’s eyes became distant.
“Names.”
“Whose?”
“Politicians. Developers. Union officials. Businessmen.”
Josephine stared.
“Nathaniel found leverage.”
“Maybe.”
“And faked his death because people besides you would come after him.”
“Yes.”
Suddenly Nathaniel’s plan looked larger.
He hadn’t merely stolen money.
He had bought himself a new identity.
Acquired the warehouse.
Used Josephine’s company.
Collected secrets.
Then died.
Cleanly.
Publicly.
While Josephine inherited the paper trail.
She looked at Mateo.
“He intended you to blame me.”
“Yes.”
“You did at first.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“How close were you to coming after me?”
Mateo didn’t lie.
“Very.”
Josephine’s skin prickled.
“What stopped you?”
“Harbor House.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“When we investigated Miller Studio, I read the project files.”
“You read my architectural plans?”
“All of them.”
“Why?”
“Because criminals hide things where people won’t look.”
“And?”
“I found someone obsessed with natural light, child sightlines, private entrances, secure courtyards.”
He held her gaze.
“Nothing about your work looked like someone laundering money.”
Josephine stared.
“That’s what saved me?”
“It made me question the story.”
“Architecture?”
“You built spaces for frightened women.”
Mateo’s voice lowered.
“Nathaniel built a story where you were the thief. The two versions of you didn’t match.”
No one had ever described her work so carefully.
Not even Nathaniel.
Especially not Nathaniel.
Josephine looked away.
A phone buzzed.
Luca answered.
Then stood.
“We found the box.”
Everyone turned.
“What box?” Josephine asked.
“The brass key opens a private vault at Union Metropolitan Bank.”
Mateo took the paper Luca handed him.
“Box 317.”
Josephine’s pulse accelerated.
“Is Nathaniel there?”
“No.”
“Has anyone accessed it?”
Luca’s expression tightened.
“Not yet.”
“Then he doesn’t have the key?”
“No.”
Josephine frowned.
“But it was taken from my apartment.”
Mateo understood first.
“A duplicate.”
“What?”
“Whoever searched your apartment didn’t find the original.”
Josephine stared.
“Then where is the original?”
“You tell me.”
She closed her eyes.
She pictured the day she found the key.
Nathaniel away.
Her irritation.
Her childish decision to hide it.
She had taped something beneath the drawer.
But then—
She remembered removing it weeks later because a housekeeper was scheduled.
She had put it somewhere Nathaniel would never look.
Something belonging only to her.
Josephine opened her eyes.
“My drafting case.”
Mateo straightened.
“What?”
“The leather case I used when I met clients.”
She looked toward the archive box.
“I haven’t opened it in almost three years.”
Josephine pulled it from beneath a stack of presentation boards.
Hands shaking, she unfastened the brass clasps.
Old pencils.
Scale ruler.
Tracing paper.
Business cards.
She reached into a narrow side pocket.
Her fingers touched metal.
The key came out.
Number 317.
Everyone stared.
Mateo exhaled.
Josephine almost smiled.
Then the burner phone rang.
Not a message.
A call.
Nathaniel.
Josephine looked at Mateo.
He shook his head once.
She answered anyway.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then a voice Josephine had mourned for a year filled the room.
“Hello, Jo.”
Her entire body froze.
Nathaniel sounded exactly the same.
Warm.
Controlled.
Familiar.
As though he were calling because he would be late for dinner.
Josephine’s eyes filled despite herself.
Nathaniel chuckled softly.
“You always were sentimental.”
Something inside her changed.
Her tears disappeared.
“What did you do to Aaron Bell?”
Silence.
Then Nathaniel sighed.
“You’ve been talking to Bianchi.”
“What did you do to Aaron?”
“Mateo is dangerous, Jo.”
“So are you.”
“I’m your husband.”
“You’re a corpse.”
Luca looked down to hide his reaction.
Mateo didn’t move.
Nathaniel’s voice sharpened.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
Josephine looked at the brass key in her hand.
“No.”
A pause.
“What?”
“I have something you want.”
“Josephine.”
“But it doesn’t belong to you anymore.”
The warm mask disappeared from his voice.
“Listen carefully. You have no idea what you’re involved in.”
“For seven years, that sentence worked.”
She looked directly at Mateo while speaking.
“It doesn’t anymore.”
Nathaniel breathed slowly.
Then he said something that made Mateo’s expression change.
“Ask your new friend who his father really was.”
Josephine’s gaze narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
Nathaniel laughed.
“Ask Mateo what happened to my father.”
Mateo went completely still.
Nathaniel continued.
“And then ask yourself whether the man sitting beside you is protecting you…”
A pause.
“…or finishing something his family started twenty-two years ago.”
The line disconnected.
Josephine slowly lowered the phone.
She looked at Mateo Bianchi.
May you like
For the first time since Laurent, he avoided her eyes.
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