Chapter 3: What the Apartment Held
Sophia stood in the doorway for another three seconds.
Then she stepped aside.
It was not an invitation.
It was a calculation.
Dominic understood the difference.
The apartment was small.
One main room that served as kitchen, living room, and dining space combined.
A narrow hallway leading to what he assumed were two doors — one bedroom, one bathroom.
The walls were clean but bare except for a single drawing taped above the radiator.
Crayon.
A woman with yellow hair and a small girl with yellow boots, holding hands under a large orange sun.
Lily had already climbed onto the couch and pulled a blanket over her legs, watching them both with the focused attention of a child who understood more than adults preferred.
Sophia crossed her arms.
"Say what you came to say."
"I didn't come to say anything.
I came to bring her home safely."
"You've done that.
You can go."
Dominic didn't move.
His eyes went to the kitchen counter.
A single bowl in the drying rack.
One mug.
One set of cutlery.
The refrigerator had a drawing on it too — another crayon sun, this one with the words MY MAMA IS THE BEST written in large, uneven letters.
"Who fired you?" he asked.
"That's not your concern."
"Someone used my name to do it.
That makes it my concern."
Sophia's jaw tightened.
"Marcus Webb told me the restructuring came from the top.
From you personally."
"Marcus Webb has not spoken to me in four months."
Something moved across her face.
Not quite belief.
Not quite doubt.
Something in between that she was working hard to keep from becoming hope.
"He showed me a memo," she said.
"With your signature."
"What memo?"
"Termination of contract.
Moretti Holdings letterhead.
Your name at the bottom."
Dominic was quiet for a moment.
"I want to see it."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't sign it."
Sophia looked at him for a long time.
Lily had stopped pretending to look at her blanket.
The apartment was very quiet except for the radiator ticking in the corner.
"Mama," Lily said carefully.
"Is the man telling the truth?"
"I don't know yet, baby."
"His face looks like he is."
Sophia closed her eyes briefly.
When she opened them, she walked to the kitchen drawer and pulled out a folded envelope.
She crossed the room and held it out without moving closer than she had to.
Dominic took it.
He unfolded the letter.
Read it twice.
His expression didn't change, but his grip on the paper did.
The signature was close.
Very close.
Someone had studied it carefully.
But the loop on the second letter of his surname was wrong.
A small thing.
The kind of thing only he would know.
"This isn't my signature," he said.
"You can't expect me to simply believe—"
"Sophia." He turned the letter toward her and pointed to the name.
"My grandfather taught me to sign.
He made me practice for a month.
The loop goes left.
Whoever did this made it go right."
She looked at the letter.
Then at him.
"Marcus Webb," she said.
Quietly.
Like a door opening onto something cold.
"He's been managing the Manhattan accounts since January," Dominic said.
"Without my direct oversight.
I gave him authority to restructure the junior staff."
"He used that authority to remove me."
"Yes."
"And forge your name so I couldn't appeal."
"Yes."
Lily had climbed off the couch.
She stood between them now, looking up at Dominic with her rabbit pressed against her chest.
"So you didn't fire Mama?"
"No."
"Then why did he say you did?"
Dominic looked at the little girl.
At the crease between her eyebrows.
At the steadiness in her blue eyes that he had seen in mirrors his entire life.
"That," he said, "is exactly what I intend to find out."
He folded the letter and placed it in his jacket pocket.
Sophia's hand came up.
"That's my document."
"It's evidence of fraud committed under my name.
I'll return it." He met her eyes.
"You have my word."
"Your word." The two words landed flat.
He deserved that.
"I'll have Webb's personnel file pulled tonight," he said.
"And I'll need to know if he approached you before the termination.
Any conversation, any offer, anything that felt wrong."
Sophia was quiet for a moment.
Then: "He asked me to dinner.
Three weeks before the memo arrived.
I said no."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop two degrees.
"How many times did he ask?"
"Twice."
Dominic's voice stayed level.
"Did he say anything when you refused the second time?"
Sophia looked at the letter in his jacket pocket.
"He said I'd made a mistake.
That people who don't understand which side their bread is buttered on tend to find themselves hungry." She paused.
"I thought he was just being unpleasant.
I didn't think he meant it literally."
From the couch, Lily said: "What does bread and butter mean?"
Neither adult answered.
Dominic buttoned his jacket.
"I'll be in touch."
"Don't," Sophia said.
"Whatever you're planning to do about Webb — do it.
But don't come back here."
"Sophia—"
"We are not a problem for you to solve, Dominic.
Fix your company.
Deal with your employee.
But this—" she gestured at the space between them— "this is not something you get to walk back into because it's convenient."
He looked at her.
Then at Lily, who was watching him with those unblinking blue eyes.
"Mama says we don't need anyone," Lily had told him in the car.
He picked up his coat from the chair where he'd set it.
"I'll be in touch about Webb," he said.
"That part isn't optional.
The rest—" he paused at the door— "the rest I'll leave to you."
He walked out.
In the elevator, he took out his phone and dialed.
"Get me everything on Marcus Webb," he said.
"Tonight.
And find out who else he's done this to."
The answer came back in four seconds.
"Sir — Webb resigned this afternoon.
He's already cleared his office."
May you like
Dominic's hand tightened on the phone.
Webb had known he was coming.
