Chapter 6 - The Mafia Boss Sent His Men to Destroy the Evidence Against Him—But When Naomi Discovered Who Had Secretly Helped Her Survive, She Realized the Betrayal Went Far Deeper Than Her Marriage
At six in the morning, Naomi woke to the sound of rain tapping the courtyard windows. For one disorienting second, she thought she was back in the Moretti mansion. She reached toward the other side of the bed, then stopped. There was no one there. There had been no one there for a long time, even when Brandon slept beside her.
She sat up slowly and reached for the water on her bedside table. Her ribs hurt less than they had the previous week. The improvement felt almost suspicious, as though pain had become a companion she did not know how to dismiss.
Evelyn called before breakfast. "Gregory Vale wants to speak with investigators."
Naomi stared at the phone. "About what?"
"He says he has information about the Briarstone payments and a storage facility used by Brandon's associates. He asked for protection for his family."
"Can we trust him?"
"We don't have to. The investigators will verify what he says."
Naomi walked to the window. A maintenance worker was sweeping rainwater away from the courtyard entrance. Ordinary people doing ordinary work, she thought, while the men who called themselves powerful spent their mornings trying to conceal what they had done.
"I want to know why he helped Brandon call me incompetent," she said.
"You may get that answer. But it might not make you feel better."
"I don't expect it to."
By noon, detectives had interviewed Gregory and secured judicial authorization to search the warehouse. Naomi did not accompany them. She stayed with her physical therapist, practiced climbing a short flight of stairs, and learned how to breathe without guarding her injured side. She had been tempted to demand a place at every stage of the investigation. Evelyn reminded her that being central to a crime did not mean she had to carry the entire case herself.
During a rest break, Naomi received a call from Isabel Moreno. The nurse sounded nervous.
"There's something I should have told you sooner," Isabel said.
Naomi sat upright. "What is it?"
"The night you woke up, a woman came to the nurses' station. She said she was your friend. She knew your maiden name and your old law firm's address. She asked me to make sure you could reach an attorney if you wanted one."
"Who was she?"
"She wouldn't give me a name. But she left a number. I kept it because I thought it might matter."
Isabel read the digits. Naomi wrote them down and passed them to Evelyn. An hour later, Evelyn called back.
"The number belongs to a former Northlake compliance officer," she said. "Her name is Teresa Bell."
Naomi remembered Teresa: quiet, meticulous, often dismissed by Brandon because she insisted on written approvals. Teresa had resigned two years earlier after raising concerns about contracts involving shell vendors.
"She tried to warn me," Naomi said.
"About what?"
"A consulting agreement. I told her Brandon handled that side of the business. I didn't even read the documents."
The memory stung. Naomi had spent years believing she could remain separate from Brandon's worst decisions by refusing to look closely. She had never joined his criminal operations, but avoidance had not protected the employees who trusted her name on their paperwork.
"Can we find her?" she asked.
"She's agreed to meet, with counsel present."
They met the next day in a modest office above a neighborhood bookstore. Teresa wore a navy cardigan and carried a battered folder. She looked older than Naomi remembered, with lines around her eyes that suggested several years of sleeping badly.
"I'm sorry," Teresa said before sitting down.
"For what?"
"For waiting until you were nearly killed to do something useful."
Naomi shook her head. "Tell me what you know."
Teresa explained that Briarstone Advisory had been used to route payments to consultants who did not appear to provide services. When she asked for supporting contracts, she received vague answers. She had made copies of lawful records available to her and filed an internal report. The report disappeared. Soon afterward, Brandon told her she was no longer a good fit for the company.
"I kept watching the public filings," Teresa said. "Then I saw changes that made no sense. I knew your signature well enough to doubt the amendment."
"Why didn't you contact me?"
"I tried. Twice. Your office told me you weren't involved in the business anymore. A letter came back unopened."
Naomi remembered the polished assistant Brandon had hired to manage her calendar. She remembered being told that former employees sometimes sought favors and that answering every complaint would only encourage them. At the time, she had been exhausted and grateful for someone else to handle the calls.
"And the hospital?" she asked.
"A friend of mine works in records administration. She heard a rumor that your husband was restricting your visitors. I couldn't believe it, but I knew if anyone needed an independent lawyer, it was you."
Naomi looked down at her hands. "You helped me make that call."
"I made sure the number was there," Teresa said. "You made the call."
It was a small distinction, but Naomi felt it settle inside her. The people who helped her survive had not asked for control in return. They had opened doors and let her choose whether to walk through them.
Teresa placed her folder on the table. It contained copies of correspondence, meeting minutes, and vendor inquiries. Evelyn cataloged each item and explained that investigators would need to verify the originals. Teresa agreed.
"There's something else," she said. "The first time Briarstone appeared, Gregory Vale opposed it. His objections are in the minutes. Six months later, he started approving payments."
"What changed?" Naomi asked.
"I don't know. But someone had leverage over him."
That afternoon, detectives searched the warehouse Gregory had identified. They found rows of archived files, several servers, and a locked cabinet containing corporate seals. A fire had been set in a rear storage area shortly before officers arrived. Sprinklers contained it, and the fire department declared the building safe after extinguishing the flames. Investigators preserved damaged records and requested a forensic examination of the servers.
The news reached Naomi through Evelyn. "No one was hurt," she said immediately. "The authorities have the site."
"Did Brandon send someone?"
"We don't know. The fire is being investigated."
Naomi exhaled. "I keep wanting a simple answer. One villain, one confession, one document that fixes everything."
"That's understandable."
"But every answer opens another door."
"Then we open them carefully."
Naomi did not sleep much after Teresa's visit. She kept remembering the young compliance officer standing in her old office with a folder, trying to explain why a vendor's invoices did not match its services. At the time, Naomi had been planning a family holiday and waiting for Brandon to return a call. She had told Teresa to send the documents to finance. The conversation had lasted less than a minute. Naomi had thought she was delegating responsibly. Now she saw that she had been surrendering the very judgment that made her good at her work. The recognition hurt, but she refused to turn it into another excuse for Brandon. His choices belonged to him. Her responsibility was to learn from her own and to stop looking away.
She wrote Teresa a short letter that evening. It contained no promises about the outcome of the investigation and no request for forgiveness. She thanked Teresa for preserving what she could and for helping her reach independent counsel. She acknowledged that she should have listened years earlier. Then she sealed the envelope and gave it to Evelyn for delivery. Naomi knew that one letter could not repair years of silence. It was nevertheless a beginning, and she wanted to make beginnings that did not require someone else to disappear.
At the mansion, Brandon watched a news report about the warehouse fire. Simone paced behind him, her heels striking the floor in sharp, angry rhythms.
"You said the records were gone," she said.
"I said they would be handled."
"And now the police have them."
Brandon turned off the television. "Stop talking."
Simone folded her arms. "You don't get to blame me for everything. You wanted Naomi out of the way. You wanted Northlake. You wanted the house, the companies, the money."
"And you wanted my name."
"I wanted the life you promised."
Brandon looked at her. Once, he had found her ambition flattering. She had admired his power without asking where it came from. Now her questions sounded like Naomi's, only stripped of the loyalty he had taken for granted.
His phone vibrated. A message appeared from an unknown sender: THE WAREHOUSE WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING.
He stared at it, then called his security chief. "Find out who sent this."
"We can investigate through proper channels," the man replied. "But we need to discuss the men you sent to the warehouse."
Brandon went still. "What men?"
"Two former contractors were seen near the loading dock before the fire. Their names are already with detectives."
For the first time, Brandon realized that the people he paid were no longer certain his money could protect them.
Naomi spent the evening reviewing Teresa's documents with Evelyn. They found a board minute referencing an emergency authority granted to Gregory during a period of alleged threats against his family. The minute was dated two days before the disputed amendment appeared. Beside Gregory's name was another signature: that of Northlake's former chief financial officer, Victor Sloane.
"I remember him," Naomi said. "He resigned after a dispute with Brandon."
Evelyn checked the date. "He didn't resign. According to the filing, he was removed."
Naomi frowned. "Brandon told me Victor left to care for his father."
A quiet knock interrupted them. Daniel entered with a message from the detective assigned to the case. The forensic team had recovered an intact audio file from one of the warehouse servers. It contained a meeting recorded shortly before Naomi's collision. Investigators were reviewing it and would arrange for Naomi to hear any portion relevant to her testimony.
"Who was in the meeting?" she asked.
Daniel hesitated. "Brandon, Gregory, and someone identified only as V.S."
Victor Sloane.
Naomi felt the room narrow around her. She had believed the affair and attempted murder were the center of the conspiracy. But if the financial maneuvering began before the collision, Brandon's betrayal had not been a sudden decision made on a Chicago sidewalk. It had been a plan with meetings, signatures, and a schedule.
Her phone rang before she could speak. The caller ID displayed a number she had not seen in eight years: her former mentor, retired attorney Margaret Wexler.
"Naomi," Margaret said, her voice tight, "I heard you're alive. Thank God."
"Margaret?"
"Listen carefully. I found the sealed instructions you left with my firm when you created Northlake. There is a provision Brandon doesn't know about."
Naomi stood, ignoring the protest from her ribs. "What provision?"
Margaret took a breath. "If anyone attempts to transfer your voting rights using a disputed signature, an independent trustee can demand an immediate review of every related-party transaction for the past eight years. Not just Northlake. Every company that received its money."
Evelyn reached for a pen. Naomi gripped the phone.
"And Margaret," she whispered, "what happens if the review finds fraud?"
"Then the people who thought they owned your empire may discover they were only borrowing your trust."
Naomi looked at the rain-dark window. She had survived a car, a hospital room guarded by her husband's men, and the deliberate attempt to erase her voice. She had thought the hardest part would be returning to the ballroom.
Now she understood that the ballroom had only been the doorway.
Behind it waited eight years of records, lies, and choices she would finally have to confront.
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And the next morning, when Margaret's sealed instructions were delivered, Naomi would find a name in the trustee's appointment papers that no one had expected to see.
Simone Delacroix.
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