Chapter 8: Marco Makes His Move
Three days passed.
Danny joined Giovanni's legal team on Tuesday.
By Wednesday, he'd identified two additional irregularities in the trust documentation — a date discrepancy on an amendment filed in 2020, and a witness signature that appeared on two separate documents in different cities on the same day.
Giovanni's attorney, a measured woman named Claire Ashworth, called it the strongest foundation she'd seen for a fraudulent insertion claim.
Marco called Giovanni on Thursday morning.
I know because Giovanni told me about it afterward, sitting in the kitchen of the apartment he kept in Lincoln Park — a place I'd been to twice now for what Renata's people would see as a married couple's ordinary life, and what I privately thought of as the strangest job I'd ever had.
"He knows about the document," Giovanni said.
He set his phone face-down on the counter.
"He knows Carver gave it to you."
"What did he say?"
"He said he wanted to meet.
The three of us.
He used the word 'resolution.'"
"What does that mean in Marco language?"
"It means he wants to make an offer before this reaches a courtroom," Giovanni said.
"He's done the same calculation we have.
He knows the case is stronger now.
He'd rather settle privately."
"And you said?"
"I said I'd ask you."
I looked at him.
"It's your company."
"You're in this too," he said.
"What happens in that meeting affects you as much as it affects me."
I thought about it.
"When?" I asked.
"Saturday.
His office."
"I'll be there."
Marco's office was on the forty-second floor of a building that looked like it had been designed to make visitors feel small.
The view was extraordinary — the whole city laid out below, the lake flat and gray in the November light.
Marco himself was nothing like I'd expected from the man I'd glimpsed at the wedding.
In his own space, he was warmer.
He offered coffee.
He asked about my work with what seemed like genuine interest.
He had the easy manner of someone who'd learned very early that charm was more efficient than confrontation.
I didn't trust a single word of it.
"Jessica," he said, when we'd all sat down.
"I want to apologize for how Carver approached you.
That was clumsy.
It wasn't what I intended."
"What did you intend?" I asked.
"Information," he said.
"I wanted you to have the full picture.
Giovanni's version of events is — " He paused, choosing his word carefully.
"Incomplete."
"Tell me your version," I said.
Marco leaned forward.
"Our grandfather loved Giovanni.
But he worried about him.
Giovanni has always been better with the company than with people.
Aldo wanted him to build a life — not just a balance sheet.
The clause was his way of pushing Giovanni toward something real." He spread his hands.
"It wasn't an attack.
It was a grandfather trying to protect his grandson from himself."
"And the four months when you managed Aldo's affairs," I said.
"When he was recovering from his stroke."
Marco's expression stayed pleasant.
"A difficult time for the whole family."
"Did Aldo understand what he was signing?"
"He was tired," Marco said.
"But he was lucid.
His physician's notes reflect that."
"Some of them," Giovanni said quietly.
"Not all."
Marco glanced at him.
"The ones that are relevant."
"Claire has all of them," Giovanni said.
"Not just the ones your attorney selected."
A small pause.
"This doesn't need to go to court," Marco said.
He turned back to me, and I understood then that I was the audience he'd arranged this meeting for.
Not Giovanni.
Me.
"Giovanni gets the company.
I retain my share of the trust assets.
The clause is dissolved by mutual agreement.
Everyone walks away with something."
"And the three hundred employees?" I asked.
Marco blinked.
Just once.
"They keep their jobs," he said.
"Of course."
"I'd want that in writing," I said.
"Specific language.
Employment protections.
A minimum five-year commitment against liquidation or restructuring."
Marco looked at me for a moment.
"You're a nurse," he said.
Not unkindly.
More like someone recalibrating.
"I'm also a mother," I said.
"I know what it looks like when someone's trying to make a problem disappear quietly.
I'd like the solution to be as specific as the problem."
Marco sat back.
He looked at Giovanni.
"She's good," he said.
"I know," Giovanni said.
"I'll have my attorney draft the language," Marco said.
"It'll take a few days."
"We'll have Claire review it," Giovanni said.
"Naturally." Marco stood.
Offered his hand to me first.
"Jessica.
It's been a pleasure."
I shook it.
His grip was firm and dry and told me nothing.
In the elevator going down, Giovanni stood beside me and said nothing until the doors opened on the lobby.
"He agreed too easily," he said.
"I know," I said.
"He has something else."
"I know that too."
The lobby doors opened onto the street.
Cold air.
The smell of the lake.
"What do we do?" I asked.
"We wait for the draft," Giovanni said.
"And we read every word."
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Ms.
Hale." A woman's voice this time.
Crisp.
Official.
"This is the office of Tyler Marsh's attorney.
We're calling to inform you that Mr.
Marsh has filed a petition for formal visitation rights regarding the minor child, Lily Hale.
You'll be receiving documentation at your home address within forty-eight hours."
The street noise continued around me.
A bus.
Someone's music.
The ordinary city.
"Thank you," I said.
And ended the call.
Giovanni looked at me.
I put my phone in my pocket.
"Tyler filed," I said.
Giovanni didn't say anything.
He just pulled out his own phone and dialed.
May you like
"Claire," he said when she answered.
"We need to add something to your workload."
