Chapter 10 - The Mafia Boss Who Chose Her Over His Empire
Daniel Voss looked fifteen years older than the photograph in his corporate biography.
He sat inside a secured interview room with hollow cheeks and trembling hands.
When I entered, he immediately stood.
"Miss Holloway."
"Mr. Voss."
He glanced behind me.
"Are we alone?"
"Special Agent Brooks is observing. Our conversation isn't privileged, and I can't promise confidentiality."
He nodded.
"I understand."
I sat opposite him.
"Why did you leave protective custody?"
"I didn't leave voluntarily."
"Michael Bennett collected you."
"Michael worked for Whitmore. I believed he was authorized."
"What happened afterward?"
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
"They wanted me to sign a statement accusing you of fabricating the Bellwether documents."
"Who wanted that?"
"Charles Whitmore. Adrian Castellano."
My stomach tightened.
"Did you sign?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because your father already died trying to stop these people."
I went still.
"You knew Robert Holloway?"
Daniel nodded.
"We worked together before I became CFO."
He looked at me with unmistakable regret.
"Your father wasn't trying to expose forty million dollars, Grace."
"Then what was he trying to expose?"
"A system."
Daniel leaned forward.
"Bellwether was used to move money through a network of companies over nearly two decades. The forty million you're investigating represents only one recent portion."
"How much altogether?"
He swallowed.
"I can't give you a complete figure without the ledger."
"Then tell me what you know."
He hesitated.
"Your father created an independent audit archive. Not because he wanted money, but because he knew the official records could be altered."
"The Holloway Trust."
"Yes."
I stared.
"Why use my name?"
"Because the trust's governing documents named you as the eventual beneficiary and authorized successor. He believed nobody would suspect a child's educational trust."
"And the password?"
Daniel shook his head.
"He never told me."
I thought about the lighthouse box.
The stars.
My father's handwritten message.
Suddenly, I understood.
He hadn't hidden the evidence in a place.
He'd hidden the instructions inside a memory only his daughter would recognize.
I left the interview room with my heart pounding.
Griffin waited outside.
"Well?"
"We need to retrieve a box from my old house."
He nodded.
"I'll arrange it."
"No."
He frowned.
"Grace—"
"Adrian is expecting us to go there. We need Naomi to obtain proper authorization."
"That could take time."
"Then we give her the evidence she needs."
He studied me.
"You're determined to do this legally."
"I'm an attorney."
He smiled faintly.
"I'm beginning to notice."
That evening, Griffin received a separate call.
I was in the mansion library when Marco entered and asked him to step outside.
The conversation lasted nearly twenty minutes.
When Griffin returned, something was wrong.
He poured himself a drink but didn't touch it.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Adrian made an offer."
"What kind?"
"He'll release Ethan and stop pursuing you."
My pulse quickened.
"In exchange for what?"
Griffin looked toward the windows.
"My controlling interests in the Castellano companies."
I stared.
"Everything?"
"Most of it."
"You're not seriously considering that."
"Yes."
"Griffin."
He turned toward me.
"Grace, I can rebuild a business."
"You can't trust Adrian to honor the agreement."
"No."
"Then why?"
"Because if there's even a chance of buying time for you and Ethan, I'll consider it."
I walked closer.
"You're not sacrificing your entire life for me."
His expression softened.
"You're giving my life more credit than it deserves."
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Act like you have nothing worth saving."
He looked away.
I reached for his hand.
"Your father wanted you to become someone better. You told me that."
"He wanted many things."
"And what do you want?"
For a long moment, Griffin didn't answer.
Then he looked at me.
"A life where I don't have to wonder whether the person standing beside me will survive because of my surname."
My throat tightened.
"And what would that life look like?"
He gave a small, sad smile.
"Strangely enough, I keep imagining an airport."
I laughed softly.
"That's a terrible romantic destination."
"Then perhaps a kitchen."
"A kitchen?"
"Coffee. You arguing with the toaster. No bodyguards."
"I don't argue with toasters."
"You argued with my espresso machine this morning."
"It was unnecessarily complicated."
He laughed.
Then he pulled me gently into his arms.
I rested my forehead against his chest.
For several seconds, everything felt simple.
Until his phone vibrated.
An anonymous message appeared.
A photograph of Ethan.
Beneath it were four words.
YOUR DECISION. SIX HOURS.
Griffin looked at the screen.
Then at me.
And I knew he had already decided.
He was prepared to surrender his empire.
May you like
Not because he believed Adrian would suddenly become merciful.
But because Griffin Castellano, a man feared across New York, had finally found something he valued more than power.
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