Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN THEY CHOSE TO BLAME
I was staring at the forged guardianship form when Luca arrived.
My name was printed beneath a title that made no sense: TEMPORARY PERSONAL GUARDIAN. According to the accompanying documents, I was supposed to become responsible for some of Luca's affairs if he appeared medically incapable after dinner. I'd never agreed to anything. I hadn't even known the paperwork existed.
“Who would believe a maid could take over your life?” I asked him.
He looked at the page. “A legitimate court wouldn't accept this without hearings and proper evidence. Grace says it isn't a valid appointment. But someone might use the appearance of authority to persuade a careless banker or corporate officer to release information or move funds.”
“Then they'd blame me when it went wrong.”
“That's what it looks like.”
My mother sat beside me, her hands folded tightly in her lap. “They hurt my daughter and planned to make her take the blame for hurting you.”
Luca didn't try to soften the truth. “Yes, Mrs. Sullivan.”
“I don't care how powerful your family is,” she said. “I want her name cleared.”
“So do I,” he answered.
With my independent employment lawyer, I prepared a signed statement denying any role in the proposed arrangement. We attached my hospital records, work schedules, and the evidence that Vanessa had submitted a false disciplinary report about me before the engagement dinner. My lawyer advised me to keep separate copies and to let investigators handle the documents rather than confronting Vanessa myself.
The work was dull compared with a broken dinner plate, but each page took away a little of Vanessa's power.
The lawyer also asked whether I wanted the forms placed in a separate file from my employment dispute. I said yes. There were parts of my story that belonged to the criminal investigation, and parts that involved wages, retaliation, and my right to a safe workplace. Keeping them separate made it harder for anyone to treat my injuries as a bargaining chip in the Moretti family's business dispute. We discussed the possibility of giving future testimony, what accommodations my recovering leg might require, and whom I could call if an unfamiliar lawyer contacted me directly. I wrote the information down carefully. I was beginning to understand that knowledge could protect me in ways silence never had. For months she had counted on my fear of unemployment to control what I said. Now I had a lawyer who answered my questions, a patient advocate who treated me as an adult, and a mother who reminded me that survival wasn't a favor anyone could demand repayment for.
Two afternoons later, Luca brought Matteo to visit.
I had pictured his younger brother as a shadow of the man in the childhood photographs. Instead Matteo stood at the door in a denim jacket embroidered with tiny stars, leaning on a cane and grinning like someone who had decided life would not be allowed to stay solemn forever.
“So you're the woman who attacked a filet mignon,” he said.
“Only the plate,” I replied.
“That's what I heard. The steak never stood a chance.”
My mother invited them in and set more chairs around the kitchen table. Matteo examined her houseplants, complimented the bread, and told me that Luca still couldn't make a grilled cheese sandwich without checking his phone for instructions.
“That's an exaggeration,” Luca said.
“Last year you needed an assistant to buy groceries,” Matteo replied.
“I was busy.”
“Apparently too busy for bread and cheese.”
I laughed, and for a little while the Moretti name felt less like a threat and more like two brothers trying to remember how to tease each other.
After lunch, Matteo asked to speak with me while Luca helped my mother wash dishes. We sat in the living room where sunlight fell across my course brochures and the stack of books I'd borrowed from the library.
“I know about the fake form,” Matteo said. “Dominic used to do the same thing to me. Not with your name, obviously. With mine.”
“How did you know when the documents were wrong?”
“I kept my own notes. On days when my memory was worse, I wrote down what happened as soon as I could. I noted which nurse came in, what time they gave me medicine, and when I asked to phone Luca.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It was. But the notes gave me something that belonged to me.”
He looked down at his cane. “People saw me needing help to walk or remember things and assumed I couldn't decide anything. Sometimes I did need help. That didn't mean they could take my life away.”
I thought of my injuries, of Luca telling me to sit down before I collapsed, and of the difference between receiving care and losing control.
“Luca seems determined to make up for everything,” I said.
“He is. Yesterday he offered to buy the entire apartment building where I want to live so he could make sure it was safe.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him to buy me a good frying pan.”
We laughed. Matteo grew thoughtful.
“He's learning. But don't let his guilt become your responsibility. You can care about him and still tell him no.”
I looked toward the kitchen. Luca was drying a plate badly while Teresa instructed him to use a clean towel. The sight did something strange to my chest.
“I know,” I said, though I was still learning what it meant.
Before Matteo left, he told me something else about Silvio. Their father had initially accepted restrictive medical advice after the accident, then realized Matteo's records contained statements that weren't true. Silvio apologized during a visit and promised to bring Luca into the conversation. The office fire happened before he could keep that promise.
“He made mistakes,” Matteo said. “I can love him and still be angry with him.”
That was the kind of sentence Luca needed to hear too.
The next morning Detective Price called with news about Marco Ruiz. Financial investigators had found payments to him from a company associated with Dominic, and electronic records placed him near the building where the threatening photograph of my mother and me had been taken. He was being questioned, with counsel present, about the threats and use of security credentials.
“Does this clear Dante?” I asked.
“It points toward Marco, but we follow the evidence rather than announcing conclusions too soon.”
I called Dante afterward. He sounded relieved to hear my voice.
“I owe you an apology,” I said. “I suspected you.”
“You had good reason to be cautious,” he replied. “When someone uses your name to scare a witness, caution is the sensible response.”
“Did you know Marco was working for Dominic?”
“No. I thought he needed a job. I helped him get one, and I missed things I should have noticed. I'm dealing with that.”
I understood the difference between regret and guilt. Dante had made a mistake in trusting someone. It wasn't the same as ordering the threats.
Later that day, Grace informed me that Keller had provided a sworn account. He admitted falsifying parts of Matteo's records and preparing the capacity evaluation for Luca without proper examination. He said Dominic and Vanessa had pressured him, offering money and threatening to expose misconduct from earlier in his career. His cooperation did not erase his role in the scheme, and he still faced legal and professional consequences.
“Does he say they wanted Luca dead?” I asked.
“He says they intended to make Luca appear impaired after the meal and use that appearance to gain control. He claims they knew the substance could be dangerous. Investigators will test that account against the physical evidence.”
I held the phone close. Even without a murder plan, the truth was horrifying. They had been willing to gamble with Luca's body because a convincing appearance of helplessness would make their documents easier to sell.
Grace also confirmed that Keller's stored files contained a recording of Vanessa discussing the false assessment and Dominic's role. Specialists were examining its authenticity and context before prosecutors relied on it.
That evening Luca came to see me again. We sat on the apartment balcony watching light spill from the neighboring windows. He didn't reach for my hand, though I could sense that he wanted to.
“I keep wondering how many people were afraid to speak in my house,” he said.
“More than you want to know, probably.”
“I'm changing the employee reporting process. Outside auditors are checking payroll. Nobody in my family will be able to write a disciplinary notice without review.”
“Make sure the staff are asked what they need,” I said. “A complaint channel isn't much use if employees think they'll be fired for using it.”
He nodded. “They'll be part of the review.”
For a while we were quiet. Then his phone vibrated. He read the message and all the color left his face.
“Emma,” he said, “the investigators found a payment in Dominic's records. It was sent to Marco on the night my father died.”
“What was it for?”
Luca turned the screen toward me. The transaction contained two words in the reference field.
FINAL DISPOSAL.
I remembered Silvio's burned office, Matteo's note, and the ledger hidden behind the hearth.
“Are they saying the fire was deliberate?” I asked.
May you like
“They're investigating that possibility.” Luca's voice cracked. “And I'm beginning to think everything I believed about that night was arranged for me.”
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