Chapter 9: The Confrontation She Didn't Plan
Two days later, I went back to the apartment to collect my things.
I had timed it for when Luca was supposed to be meeting with his attorney across town.
Claire had a contact at the building who confirmed he had left forty minutes earlier.
Phoebe came with me.
We took two bags and a box.
We were in the bedroom when I heard the front door open.
Phoebe went still.
I set down the box.
Luca appeared in the doorway.
He was still in his coat.
He looked at the box, at the open wardrobe, at Phoebe standing by the window.
"Get out," he said to Phoebe.
"She stays," I said.
He looked at me.
He had clearly been preparing something — I could see it in the way he was standing, the careful arrangement of his expression.
Controlled.
Reasonable.
The version of Luca that had convinced everyone for eighteen months.
"I canceled the meeting," he said.
"I thought you might come."
"Then you wasted your attorney's time."
"Jessi." He stepped into the room.
"I need you to hear me out.
What Wendy did — the document, the LLC — I didn't know the full extent of it.
She told me it was a standard asset protection structure.
She handles that side of things.
I trusted her."
"You're blaming your mother."
"I'm telling you what happened."
"You told me last night — in this hotel room, on our wedding night — that you needed operational access to my company.
That the prenuptial agreement was just a piece of paper.
That what was mine was now yours." I picked up the box.
"That's on a recording, Luca."
His jaw tightened.
"I was talking about partnership.
About building something together."
"You were talking about thirty-one million dollars."
The number stopped him.
Just for a second — a small flinch, quickly covered.
"You've been talking to someone," he said.
"Someone's been feeding you information."
"Multiple people, actually."
He moved to the door.
Not toward me — toward the door.
Blocking it.
"I'm not going to let you walk out of here and hand everything to your attorney and the police without at least—"
"Detective Marsh already has the recording," I said.
"He already has the forged document.
He already has Gerald Whitmore's witness statement from the night of the wedding.
He already has fourteen months of Carver-Venn LLC financial records." I looked at him steadily.
"There is nothing left to negotiate, Luca.
The only thing left is what happens next.
And that's not up to either of us anymore."
He didn't move from the door.
"Phoebe," I said, without looking away from Luca.
"Call Claire."
Phoebe already had her phone out.
Luca looked at Phoebe.
Then back at me.
Something shifted in his face — the performance finally dropping, the careful control going slack.
What was underneath it wasn't rage.
It was something smaller and colder.
"You planned this from the beginning," he said.
"No," I said.
"You planned something from the beginning.
I just planned how to survive it."
He stepped aside.
I walked past him with the box.
Phoebe followed.
We didn't run.
We walked to the elevator, pressed the button, and stood in silence until the doors opened.
Inside the elevator, Phoebe exhaled slowly.
"He's going to call Wendy," she said.
"He already has," I said.
May you like
"It doesn't matter anymore."
The doors closed.
