Chapter 23 - The Signatures
Massimo had signed the documents.
That was undeniable.
The question was why.
Rebecca spread records across the dining-room table.
Dates.
Transfers.
Shipping agreements.
Loan acknowledgments.
Every page carried Massimo’s signature.
“Could he have signed blank forms?” Claire asked.
Rebecca shook her head.
“These were executed over nine years.”
Francesca looked sick.
“Massimo would never knowingly fund Dominic.”
“I know,” I said.
Donna Caterina watched me carefully.
“You have an idea.”
“Not yet.”
That was technically true.
I had a feeling.
Feelings were not evidence.
I examined the earliest transfer.
Four million dollars.
Recipient: Bellini Infrastructure Holdings.
“What was this company?”
Rebecca checked.
“Rail maintenance.”
I looked at the next.
More money.
Different company.
Same registered mailing address.
Next.
Different company.
Same address.
I circled it.
“Where is this?”
Rebecca searched.
“An office building in Oak Brook.”
“Who rented the suite?”
Another search.
Her expression changed.
“Marco Bellini.”
Everyone went silent.
Massimo’s security man.
The man we thought Elena had manipulated.
“Find Marco.”
Rebecca made calls.
He was gone.
His apartment had been emptied.
His company phone was left behind.
His bank accounts had been drained at six that morning.
Donna Caterina whispered, “He ran.”
“No,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
“He disappeared.”
Claire frowned.
“Difference?”
“If Marco was guilty, why stay long enough to lead us to Elena? Why warn us somebody was destroying the records?”
Donna Caterina nodded slowly.
“He wanted us to look.”
“Yes.”
Francesca stood.
“Then somebody took him.”
I looked again at the transfer dates.
One happened every year in October.
Almost the same amount.
“What happened in October?”
Donna Caterina stared at the page.
“Insurance renewals.”
Massimo’s company had enormous insurance requirements.
Shipping.
Rail.
Warehouses.
Ports.
“Could somebody hide payments inside insurance premiums?” I asked.
Rebecca leaned over the records.
“Yes.”
“Who approved insurance?”
She searched the corporate directory.
A name appeared.
Leonard Vale.
Chief Risk Officer.
He had worked for Romano Logistics for thirteen years.
I remembered him from our wedding.
Friendly.
Quiet.
The kind of executive nobody photographed.
“Where is he?” I asked.
Rebecca called the company.
Vale had not arrived that morning.
His assistant said he was ill.
Massimo’s security team reached his home twenty minutes later.
Empty.
But unlike Marco’s apartment, Vale’s house had not been cleaned.
Coffee sat unfinished.
Lights were on.
Clothes remained.
He had left suddenly.
Or been warned.
I called Gabriel.
He answered from the hospital.
“What do you know about Leonard Vale?”
Silence.
Then:
“Why?”
“Gabriel.”
“He worked for my father.”
My pulse jumped.
“When?”
“Nineties.”
“Doing what?”
“Insurance fraud.”
There it was.
I closed my eyes.
Dominic had planted someone inside Romano Logistics years before Massimo became leader.
Every year, Massimo signed legitimate insurance paperwork.
Vale redirected part of the premiums.
Massimo’s signatures were real.
The transactions beneath them were corrupted.
“We can prove it,” I said.
Rebecca did not look convinced.
“We need originals.”
“Where?”
“If Vale manipulated internal records, he needed an external clearing mechanism.”
Gabriel spoke through the phone.
“My father used a private insurance brokerage.”
“Name?”
“Lakefront Indemnity Partners.”
Rebecca searched.
The company dissolved six months earlier.
“Records?”
“Stored off-site.”
“Where?”
Gabriel gave us an address.
A warehouse near Cicero.
We arrived after dark.
The building had been emptied.
Shelves bare.
Computers gone.
Paper shredded.
I wanted to scream.
Then Claire walked toward a corner.
“What’s that?”
A metal cabinet.
Locked.
Massimo’s people forced it open.
Inside were paper binders.
Insurance certificates.
Original premium schedules.
Rebecca opened one.
Her face changed.
“This is it.”
Every year, Massimo authorized a legitimate premium.
Every year, Vale altered the amount after signature.
Millions redirected.
Enough to prove Massimo had been used.
Then footsteps sounded behind us.
Marco Bellini emerged from the shadows.
His face was bruised.
Blood dried across his collar.
He raised both hands.
“Don’t shoot.”
I ran toward him.
“Where have you been?”
He looked exhausted.
“Trying to stay alive.”
“Who did this?”
Marco looked at the insurance binders.
Then at me.
“Leonard Vale.”
“Where is he?”
Marco swallowed.
“At the Romano headquarters.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
May you like
His answer turned everything upside down.
“Because while Massimo is detained, Vale plans to take control of the company tomorrow morning.”
