Chapter 7 - The Foster Name
Emma laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes disbelief needed somewhere to go.
“My grandfather?”
Rosanna nodded.
“Thomas Foster.”
Emma stared at her.
“My grandfather drove a city bus for thirty-two years.”
“Later.”
“No. He was a mechanic before that.”
“Before that too.”
Emma shook her head.
“You have the wrong person.”
“What was your grandmother’s name?”
“Evelyn.”
Rosanna closed her eyes.
“Evelyn Foster.”
Emma stopped smiling.
Alessandro sat across from his mother.
“Explain.”
Rosanna looked toward the sunrise beginning beyond the windows.
“I met Thomas Foster before I met your father.”
Emma’s hands curled together.
“Where?”
“At a textile company in Queens.”
“My grandfather worked in textiles?”
“For six years.”
Emma had never heard this.
Rosanna continued.
“Thomas was not wealthy. But Evelyn’s father was.”
Emma frowned.
“My great-grandfather?”
“Owned several small factories.”
“That makes no sense. My family never had money.”
“Because most of it disappeared.”
“How?”
Rosanna looked at Alessandro.
“Vittorio.”
Silence.
Alessandro felt his stomach tighten.
“What did Father do?”
“Not what Daniel wants you to believe.”
“Then tell me.”
Rosanna sighed.
“In the late seventies, Evelyn’s father invested heavily in a development company Vittorio started with two partners.”
“Conti Development?”
“Yes.”
Alessandro knew the history.
Conti Development became the foundation of his family’s legitimate real estate empire.
He had always been told Vittorio began with a modest loan and a single building in Brooklyn.
Apparently that was a lie.
“How much?” Alessandro asked.
“Enough to buy the first six properties.”
Emma stared.
“My family financed them?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to the investment?”
Rosanna looked ashamed.
“The company nearly collapsed.”
Emma’s expression hardened.
“And?”
“Vittorio persuaded Thomas to allow him more time.”
“Did he repay him?”
“Eventually.”
Emma laughed bitterly.
“My grandfather died owing money on his house.”
Rosanna’s eyes filled.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I learned too late.”
Emma stood.
Alessandro watched her.
She walked toward the fireplace.
All morning she had moved through the mansion as if it were simply a workplace.
Now every piece of marble looked different.
Every painting.
Every antique table.
Every acre outside.
Some fraction of all of it might have been built with money her family once possessed.
“What happened?” she asked.
Rosanna answered carefully.
“Thomas signed away most of his claim.”
“Why?”
“He believed Vittorio.”
“That isn’t enough.”
“No.”
Rosanna took a breath.
“Thomas was desperate. Evelyn’s father had died. The factories were failing. Vittorio offered to repay the investment slowly if Thomas surrendered ownership rights.”
“And he agreed?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he?”
“Because he needed cash immediately.”
Emma stared at her.
“Did Vittorio cheat him?”
Rosanna closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
The word landed heavily.
Alessandro stood.
“Mother.”
“He told Thomas the development company was worth far less than it actually was.”
Alessandro looked sick.
“Fraud?”
“Morally, certainly.”
“Legally?”
“I don’t know.”
Emma whispered, “My grandfather trusted him.”
“Yes.”
“And your husband took advantage.”
“Yes.”
Rosanna did not defend Vittorio.
That mattered.
Emma looked toward Alessandro.
He appeared as shocked as she was.
“This has nothing to do with you,” she said.
His eyes met hers.
“The house you work in may have been partly built from money my father cheated your family out of.”
“That wasn’t your decision.”
“No.”
“But?”
“But I benefited.”
Emma didn’t answer.
Rosanna continued.
“Years later, Vittorio regretted it.”
Emma laughed without humor.
“Convenient.”
“I understand.”
“Did he repay my grandfather?”
“He tried.”
“When?”
“After Thomas had already lost almost everything.”
Emma turned.
“Then what?”
“Thomas refused.”
That surprised her.
“Why?”
“He told Vittorio there were things money could not repair once pride had been broken.”
Emma could imagine her grandfather saying that.
Stubborn.
Quiet.
Proud.
He hated accepting help.
Even from family.
Rosanna continued.
“Vittorio created a private restitution fund anyway.”
“What?”
“A trust.”
Emma stared.
“In my grandfather’s name?”
“For his descendants.”
Alessandro looked at his mother.
“I’ve never heard of this.”
“Because Vittorio never completed the transfer.”
“Why?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
The room became still.
Rosanna explained.
“Daniel was a junior financial adviser then. Vittorio gave him instructions to establish the trust anonymously.”
“And Daniel stole it,” Alessandro said.
“We believe so.”
Emma shook her head.
“How much money are we talking about?”
Rosanna hesitated.
“Initially? Several million.”
Emma’s mouth fell open.
“Several…”
“With growth over time, considerably more.”
Emma sat down.
This was absurd.
She had spent years helping her mother negotiate utility bills.
Her brother worked evenings at a grocery store.
Emma had delayed finishing college because tuition was too expensive.
And somewhere there might have been a trust intended for their family.
Alessandro asked, “Was Halcyon connected?”
“Yes.”
Rosanna nodded.
“Vittorio used Halcyon to hold funds he intended to transfer to the Fosters.”
“But Daniel redirected them.”
“That was Vittorio’s suspicion.”
“And Samuel discovered it.”
“Yes.”
Everything aligned.
Samuel DeMarco.
Daniel Mercer.
Vittorio.
Halcyon.
The Foster trust.
Emma rubbed her temples.
“I don’t want this.”
Alessandro frowned.
“What?”
“This money. Whatever it is.”
“You don’t even know what exists.”
“I don’t care.”
“Emma.”
She stood again.
“My grandfather died angry at your father.”
“Yes.”
“If Vittorio created some secret trust because he felt guilty, that doesn’t mean I want it.”
“It may legally belong to your family.”
“Then lawyers can decide.”
Alessandro stared at her.
She looked back.
“I came here because I needed a job.”
“And instead you uncovered twenty years of fraud.”
“Worst onboarding experience ever.”
Rosanna laughed.
Alessandro did too.
Briefly.
Then Rosanna’s face became serious.
“There is something else.”
Emma sighed.
“Of course there is.”
Rosanna looked apologetic.
“Vittorio kept a photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“Your mother as a child.”
Emma froze.
“My mother?”
Rosanna nodded.
“He visited the Fosters several times after Thomas became ill.”
“Why?”
“Trying to apologize.”
Emma swallowed.
“My mother never mentioned him.”
“She may not remember. She was young.”
“How young?”
“Twelve.”
Rosanna stood slowly with help from her cane.
“Come.”
She led them toward a cabinet.
Inside was a leather album.
Rosanna turned several pages.
There.
A faded photograph.
Thomas Foster sitting on a porch.
Beside him, a girl with dark hair.
Emma’s mother.
And standing behind them—
Vittorio Conti.
Emma touched the image.
Her throat tightened.
“My mom has this same porch picture.”
“Without Vittorio?”
“Yes.”
Rosanna nodded.
“Thomas cropped him out.”
That said everything.
Alessandro looked away.
Emma closed the album.
“I need to speak with my mother.”
“Of course.”
She picked up her phone.
Before she could call, Marco entered.
His expression was serious.
“Police have Daniel.”
“And Vanessa?”
“Giving a statement.”
Alessandro nodded.
“But?”
Marco placed a folder on the table.
“We received preliminary information from Mercer’s office.”
“What?”
“They found records of the Halcyon accounts.”
Emma’s heartbeat accelerated.
“And?”
“Most were emptied years ago.”
She exhaled.
Relief.
Then Marco continued.
“One remains active.”
Alessandro looked at him.
“Balance?”
Marco looked at Emma.
“Approximately forty-eight million dollars.”
Emma dropped her phone.
Nobody moved.
Marco continued.
“The beneficial designation is coded, but the original reference initials are T.F.”
Thomas Foster.
Emma stared.
“No.”
Alessandro opened the folder.
“There’s another problem.”
“What?”
“Someone initiated a transfer yesterday.”
“Daniel?”
“We don’t know.”
“How much?”
“All of it.”
Emma’s face went white.
“Where?”
Marco shook his head.
“The receiving account is hidden behind several corporate structures.”
Alessandro closed the folder.
“Can it be stopped?”
“We have hours, maybe less.”
Emma stared at the photograph of her grandfather.
For twenty years, Daniel Mercer had apparently stolen money intended to repair a betrayal.
Now, as his entire conspiracy collapsed, someone was trying to make the money disappear forever.
Alessandro looked at Emma.
“We’re going to find it.”
She shook her head.
“I told you I don’t care about the money.”
“This isn’t only money.”
“What is it?”
He looked at Vittorio’s faded photograph.
“It’s proof.”
Proof that her grandfather had not been foolish.
Proof that Vittorio knew what he had done.
Proof that someone had spent decades profiting from both families’ pain.
Marco’s phone vibrated.
He read the message.
Then his face changed.
“What?”
“The transfer authorization.”
“Whose signature?”
Marco looked toward Rosanna.
“Yours.”
Rosanna stared.
“I signed nothing.”
Marco continued.
“And it was notarized yesterday.”
“By whom?”
He turned the tablet.
A name appeared.
Vanessa DeMarco.
Emma felt the room tilt.
Vanessa might have been manipulated.
She might have been frightened.
She might even have regretted what she had done.
But one fact remained.
She had tried to steal the Foster trust the day before the wedding.
And somewhere inside her police statement was the question nobody had yet asked:
May you like
If Vanessa knew about Emma’s family money, did she also know exactly who Emma was before Emma ever entered the Conti mansion?
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