Chapter 12 - The Last Person We Suspected
Dominic wanted Weber found immediately.
I wanted facts.
“Anthony blamed him.”
“And someone sent us proof.”
“No. Someone sent us a photograph and a sentence.”
“You’re defending Weber?”
“I’m defending evidence.”
Dominic stared at me.
“You always this difficult?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Weber had disappeared after the warehouse arrests.
His apartment was empty.
His car abandoned near O’Hare.
That looked bad.
But so had everything else in this story.
Two days later, while recovering at Dominic’s house, I received an email.
From Weber.
Subject:
I DIDN’T ORDER THE SHOOTING.
The message contained coordinates and one request.
Come without Dominic.
Absolutely not.
I showed Dominic.
His expression said murder.
“No.”
“I didn’t say I was going alone.”
“You’re not going at all.”
“Here we go again.”
“You were shot forty-eight hours ago.”
“In the shoulder.”
“That does not make it decorative.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
He looked offended.
We eventually went together.
The coordinates led to an old church on the South Side.
Weber was inside.
Alone.
He looked exhausted.
He raised both hands when Dominic entered.
“I’m unarmed.”
Dominic replied, “That can change.”
I stepped between them.
“Talk.”
Weber looked at me.
“My father worked with Anthony.”
“We know.”
“He introduced Kathryn to him.”
“Okay.”
“I found out six months ago.”
“How?”
“My father kept journals.”
He placed a box on a pew.
Inside were notebooks.
“Why disappear?”
“Because the photograph you received came from someone trying to frame me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Dominic’s patience ended.
“Luca was shot. Clare was targeted. My uncle is in custody. If you have information, say it.”
Weber swallowed.
“The attack on Luca came through a contractor called Northstar Security.”
Rafael had mentioned the company.
Private security.
Former military.
Expensive.
“Who hired them?” Dominic asked.
Weber looked at him.
“Your father’s former attorney.”
Dominic froze.
“Henry Vale?”
“Yes.”
I watched his face.
Another family ghost.
“Vale is dead,” Dominic said.
“No.”
“What?”
“He staged his death three years ago.”
Weber handed us a photograph.
An older man entering a private airport terminal.
Date stamped two weeks earlier.
Dominic stared.
“What does he want?”
“The ledger.”
“Everyone wants the ledger.”
“Not for blackmail.”
“Then why?”
“To erase one page.”
Weber opened one of his father’s journals.
The entry described a secret partnership.
Not between Anthony and Lakeview.
Between Henry Vale and several companies connected to the Romano family.
Vale had spent decades positioning himself as the quiet legal adviser.
Meanwhile, he had taken pieces of everything.
Anthony had stolen money.
Vale had built an empire.
“Anthony thought he was taking over,” Weber said. “He was actually clearing the way for Vale.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“Why shoot Luca?”
“Because Luca found Vale’s name in Margaret’s files.”
I remembered Luca saying he had been investigating.
“Does Luca know?”
“Maybe.”
We called him.
He answered from the secure house.
When Dominic said the name Henry Vale, Luca went silent.
Then:
“Dom.”
“Yes?”
“I met him.”
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know it was him.”
“What did he call himself?”
“Henry Voss.”
Weber closed his eyes.
“Alias.”
Luca continued.
“He told me he had information about the missing money.”
“He used you.”
“Yeah.”
“And then tried to kill you.”
“Looks that way.”
Dominic paced.
I asked Weber, “Why target me?”
“Because Margaret named you.”
“For seeing Anthony?”
“Partly.”
“What else?”
Weber looked at me.
“Because your mother knew Vale.”
My stomach tightened.
“Everyone knew my mother apparently.”
“Elaine Bennett discovered that Vale was manipulating both sides.”
“What sides?”
“The Romanos and Anthony.”
Dominic frowned.
Weber continued.
“She realized Vale had been provoking internal conflict for years so he could profit from it.”
“Did she tell Michael?”
“I don’t know.”
I thought of Mom spending her last years quietly.
Had she carried this too?
“Where’s Vale now?” Dominic asked.
Weber shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
A church bell rang.
Once.
Then twice.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photo.
Dominic’s mansion.
Taken that moment.
I showed him.
Another message arrived.
THANK YOU FOR LEAVING THE HOUSE.
Dominic’s face drained.
May you like
“Luca.”
We ran.
