Chapter 7: Marcus Fights Back
He moved fast.
I had underestimated how fast.
By noon, a story appeared on a financial news blog.
Anonymous source.
The headline read: *Moretti Global Facing Internal Dispute Over Paternity Claims — CEO's Ex-Wife Surfaces With Children.*
My name was in the second paragraph.
My phone started ringing before I finished reading.
I let every call go to voicemail except Diane's.
"He's trying to make you the story," she said.
"I know."
"If this becomes a paternity circus in the press, it buries the financial fraud.
That's the point."
"Then we move faster than he does.
What do we have that's ready?"
"The emails are solid.
The shell company filings are solid.
I spoke to Carla Voss this morning."
I sat up.
"She talked to you?"
"She's been waiting for someone to call for four years.
She kept copies of everything, Nia.
Everything.
She felt guilty about what she helped set in motion and she never fully left it behind." Diane paused.
"She's willing to provide a full statement."
"Get it in writing today."
"Already in progress.
But there's something else.
Hale's attorney sent a letter to Moretti Global's board this morning.
He's claiming Luca is mentally unfit to lead the company.
He's citing the restaurant incident — someone filmed part of it on a phone — and he's suggesting Luca's emotional instability poses a risk to shareholders."
My jaw tightened.
"He's going after Luca's position."
"If Luca is removed from leadership before the fraud investigation is formalized, Hale has allies on the board who could potentially bury it."
"How many allies?"
"Two confirmed.
Possibly three."
I thought for a moment.
"Who chairs the audit committee?"
"A woman named Patricia Osei.
She's been on the board for eleven years.
Completely independent.
No known connection to Hale."
"I need a meeting with her.
Today if possible."
"I'll try.
Nia — Hale also sent something to your home address this morning.
Registered mail.
I'd open it carefully."
The envelope was already on my kitchen counter.
I hadn't touched it yet.
I opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
No letterhead.
Typed.
*You were gone for six years.
The children have a life.
Think carefully about whether disrupting it serves them — or only you.*
I read it three times.
Then I took a photograph of it, sent it to Diane, and put it in the folder with everything else.
My daughter appeared in the kitchen doorway in her school clothes, backpack on, looking at me with those dark eyes.
"Mom.
You have your serious face."
"I'm fine, baby."
"Is it about the man from the restaurant?"
I looked at her.
Six years old and already reading rooms the way I had learned to read them at thirty.
"A little bit," I said.
"But it's nothing you need to worry about."
She considered this.
"He had sad eyes," she said.
"That man."
"He did."
"Why?"
I crossed the kitchen and zipped the top pocket of her backpack that she always forgot.
"Sometimes people make choices they wish they could take back," I said.
"And they carry that for a long time."
Maya thought about this seriously, the way she thought about everything.
"Can they fix it?" she asked.
"Sometimes," I said.
"If they work hard enough."
She nodded, satisfied, and went to find her brother.
I picked up my phone and called Luca.
He answered on the first ring.
"Hale sent something to my home," I said.
"He's threatening the children's stability.
Indirectly, but clearly."
A silence.
Then: "He'll regret that."
"He already does," I said.
"He just doesn't know it yet.
I need you to call Patricia Osei before I do.
Tell her everything.
Today."
"Done," Luca said.
"Nia — the board meeting is tomorrow morning."
"I know," I said.
"I'll be there."
Another silence.
"You don't have to — "
May you like
"I'll be there," I said again.
And hung up.
