CHAPTER 6 — THE BILLIONAIRE ORDERED HIS MEN TO PROTECT MY MOTHER
By sunrise, Linda was under the protection of twelve Moretti men.
I hated it.
She hated it more.
“This is ridiculous,” Mom said from the hospital bed.
I looked at her.
“You were kidnapped.”
“And I'm still alive.”
“That isn't the point.”
“It is to me.”
Dominic stood near the window.
He had been there all night.
He hadn't slept.
Neither had I.
“You're coming with us,” he said.
Mom looked at him.
“Where?”
“Somewhere secure.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Dominic frowned.
“I don't take no very often.”
“You should start.”
I almost smiled.
Mom looked at him carefully.
“You're Anthony's son.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know what he was like.”
Dominic nodded.
“He didn't trust anyone.”
“He trusted Michael.”
Dominic looked at me.
“Apparently.”
Mom sighed.
“Your fathers weren't criminals.”
“I know.”
“They were trying to stop something.”
“What?”
She looked toward the door.
“Not here.”
Dominic immediately understood.
“Private room.”
Five minutes later, the hospital room was cleared.
Security stood outside.
Dominic locked the door.
Mom finally spoke.
“Michael and Anthony discovered a network.”
“Money laundering?”
“No.”
“Human trafficking?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“How?”
“Companies were being used to transport people across state lines.”
“For what?”
“Blackmail.”
Dominic frowned.
“Explain.”
“People with money wanted other people controlled.”
She looked at me.
“Politicians.”
“Business owners.”
“Judges.”
“Police officers.”
“Anyone who could destroy someone else's life.”
I felt sick.
“And my father found them?”
“He found records.”
“What records?”
“Names.”
“Of victims?”
“Of buyers.”
The room went silent.
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“How many?”
“Enough to destroy half the city.”
I looked at him.
“Then why didn't he expose them?”
“He tried.”
“And?”
“They threatened you.”
My heart stopped.
“Me?”
“You were nineteen.”
Mom's eyes filled with tears.
“They showed Michael photographs of you.”
I couldn't breathe.
“What photographs?”
“You leaving school.”
“You training.”
“You coming home.”
“They followed you for months.”
I stared at her.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father begged me not to.”
I closed my eyes.
Suddenly, memories returned.
The feeling of being watched.
A black sedan near the gym.
A man standing outside the community college.
My father always insisting on driving me home.
I'd thought he was overprotective.
He hadn't been.
He'd been terrified.
Dominic sat down.
“What happened to Michael?”
Mom looked at him.
“He was going to meet Anthony.”
“When?”
“The night he died.”
Dominic froze.
“What?”
“They were supposed to meet at Northstar.”
My heartbeat increased.
“What happened?”
“Michael never came home.”
“And Anthony?”
“Never came either.”
Dominic stood.
“Then the accident report was fabricated.”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
Mom looked at me.
“I don't know.”
A knock came at the door.
One of Dominic's men entered.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found something.”
He handed Dominic a tablet.
Dominic watched a security recording.
His expression changed.
I moved closer.
“What is it?”
He turned the screen toward me.
The video showed Northstar Industrial eight years ago.
A black SUV entered the loading dock.
My father walked out.
A second man followed.
Anthony Moretti.
Then a third person appeared.
Vanessa.
I stared.
“No.”
Dominic looked at me.
“She was there.”
Eight years earlier.
Before she became Dominic's fiancée.
Before she ever met me.
She had been standing beside my father.
Then another man appeared.
Gabriel.
He handed Michael a folder.
My father looked at it.
Then suddenly—
the screen went black.
The recording resumed three minutes later.
Michael was gone.
Anthony was gone.
Gabriel was gone.
Only Vanessa remained.
She walked toward the camera.
And looked directly into it.
As if she knew someone would eventually watch.
She raised one finger to her lips.
Then walked away.
I felt cold.
“She's been involved from the beginning.”
Dominic nodded.
“She wasn't my fiancée by accident.”
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
He stared at the screen.
“Someone placed her beside me.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
His phone rang.
He answered.
“Yes?”
Silence.
Then—
“Repeat that.”
His face changed.
He hung up.
“What?”
“Your mother's medical account.”
“What about it?”
“Someone paid every dialysis bill for the last three years.”
I stared.
“What?”
Dominic handed me the phone.
The payment history showed thousands of dollars.
Every month.
From an anonymous trust.
I felt dizzy.
“I thought we paid these.”
Mom stared at the screen.
“I did too.”
Dominic scrolled.
The account had been created eight years ago.
Three weeks after Michael's death.
Beneficiary:
LINDA CARTER.
Primary authorized person:
MICHAEL CARTER.
I stared.
“But he's dead.”
Dominic nodded.
“That's the problem.”
I looked at the payment history.
The last payment had been made yesterday.
My blood went cold.
“Someone is still using my father's account.”
Dominic's phone rang again.
This time, the call was from his chief financial officer.
Dominic answered.
“What?”
The man's voice was frantic.
“Sir, we've found an account connected to the Carter payments.”
“Where?”
“Offshore.”
“How much?”
A pause.
“Four hundred and eighty million dollars.”
I stared at Dominic.
He looked at me.
The billionaire's expression had completely changed.
“Avery…”
“What?”
“That money isn't yours.”
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“It was your father's.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Michael left behind four hundred and eighty million dollars?”
“No.”
Dominic shook his head.
“He didn't leave it behind.”
“Then what?”
“He hid it.”
“From whom?”
Dominic looked at the black key in my hand.
“Everyone.”
My phone suddenly buzzed.
Unknown number.
A text message.
YOUR FATHER DIDN'T DIE.
Another message appeared.
HE'S WAITING FOR YOU.
Then a third.
A photograph.
An old warehouse.
And a man standing outside it.
Older.
Gray hair.
But unmistakably alive.
My father.
I dropped the phone.
Mom screamed.
Dominic caught it before it hit the floor.
He stared at the photograph.
Then at me.
“That's impossible.”
I could barely speak.
“He's alive.”
Dominic zoomed in.
At the bottom of the photograph was a date.
Yesterday.
I looked at Dominic.
“My father is alive.”
He nodded slowly.
Then his phone rang again.
This time, he answered without speaking.
A man's voice came through.
Old.
Calm.
Familiar.
“Avery.”
My knees weakened.
I knew that voice.
I'd heard it in dreams for eight years.
My father's voice.
“Dad?”
Silence.
Then—
“Don't trust Dominic.”
The call ended.
I looked at Dominic.
He stared at the phone.
Neither of us moved.
Because suddenly, the question wasn't whether my father had survived.
It was why—
May you like
after eight years of hiding—
he was warning me about the one man who had just saved my mother.
