Chapter 3 - THE ACCOUNT WITH HIS NAME ON IT
My mother's house was bright and warm compared with the cold hotel ballroom.
But the moment we stepped inside, I felt as though I had carried the gala home with me.
The emerald gown.
The red marks on my arm.
Derek's hand.
Vanessa's voice.
And now my father's name.
Mom opened the door before I could knock.
She looked at my face.
Then at Dominic.
Then at my elbow.
“What happened?”
I hugged her.
“I need you not to panic.”
“That sentence always makes me panic.”
Dominic stayed by the doorway.
Mom looked at him again.
“Who are you?”
“Dominic Moretti.”
She froze.
I had never seen my mother react to a man's name like that.
“Dad knew him,” I said.
Mom looked at me.
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Dominic noticed.
“So you remember.”
Mom's expression tightened.
“Not here.”
She shut the door.
I stared at her.
“Mom, what's happening?”
She walked to the kitchen.
“Sit down.”
I followed.
Dominic remained near the entry.
Mom opened a cabinet and removed an old wooden box.
I recognized it.
It had belonged to my father.
She placed it on the table.
“Your father gave me this six months before he died.”
“Why?”
“He said if anything ever happened to him, I should wait until you were in danger before opening it.”
I stared at the box.
“I think I'm in danger.”
Mom's fingers trembled.
She opened it.
Inside were bank statements.
Photographs.
A brass key.
And a folded green note.
I recognized the color from the photograph.
My father's handwriting covered the page.
Khloe, if you are reading this, Derek knows about the account. Do not confront him until you know who else is involved.
My stomach turned.
“Derek knew?”
Mom nodded.
“He met your father several times.”
I looked at Dominic.
His jaw tightened.
“You knew?”
“I knew Derek had contact with him.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Your father asked me not to.”
I unfolded another page.
There was a bank account number.
The account holder:
Moretti Family Holdings — Confidential Reserve.
I looked at Dominic.
He shook his head.
“That isn't my company's account.”
“What does it mean?”
“I don't know.”
Mom pointed to a second name.
“Look.”
A transfer appeared.
Derek Carter.
Then another.
Derek's real estate company.
Then another.
A charitable foundation.
All feeding into the same hidden account.
I felt sick.
“How much?”
Mom looked at the total.
“Enough to matter.”
Dominic walked over.
He studied the statements.
“These transfers are dated before your marriage.”
I stared.
“So Derek was doing this before he married me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Dominic looked at one line.
“There.”
A payment had been made to a private investigator.
The description simply said:
MONROE FILE.
I looked at Mom.
“What's Monroe?”
She went pale.
“My maiden name.”
I looked back at the page.
There were more payments.
All connected to my mother's family.
And one date stood out.
Seven years ago.
The month my father died.
Dominic reached for the papers.
“This isn't about Derek cheating.”
“No.”
“What is it about?”
He looked at me.
“Control.”
My phone rang.
Derek.
I answered.
“What do you want?”
His voice was calm.
“You left with Dominic Moretti.”
“Yes.”
“You don't understand what you're doing.”
“I understand enough.”
“Come home.”
“No.”
“Khloe.”
He sounded genuinely afraid.
“You need to listen to me.”
“I listened for four years.”
“This isn't about Vanessa.”
“Then tell me what it is about.”
Silence.
Then Derek said quietly:
“Your father.”
My heart stopped.
“What about him?”
“You think he was protecting you.”
“He was.”
“He wasn't.”
“Then explain.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because if I tell you everything over the phone, we both become targets.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the screen.
Dominic took a slow breath.
“He's scared.”
“You believe him?”
“I believe he knows something.”
Mom whispered:
“Your father knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Derek was looking for the same thing he was.”
I turned.
“What thing?”
Mom pulled out the brass key.
On the key was a number.
814.
I stared at it.
The same number as the photograph.
Dominic went completely still.
“Where did your father use that number?”
Mom shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Dominic looked at me.
“I do.”
“Where?”
He pointed at the key.
“It's not a room number.”
“Then what?”
“A storage unit designation.”
I felt the baby move.
Hard.
I put my hand over my stomach.
Dominic noticed.
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
Mom looked between us.
“There is something else.”
She reached into the box.
A photograph.
Derek.
My father.
And Dominic.
All three standing outside a warehouse.
Taken eight years ago.
My father was smiling.
Derek looked nervous.
Dominic looked furious.
I turned the photograph over.
My father's handwriting said:
If they ever stand together again, Khloe must leave Derek immediately.
I looked up.
“Why?”
Mom didn't answer.
Dominic did.
“Because your husband wasn't supposed to be working for your father.”
May you like
My heart stopped.
“He was supposed to be working for me.”
