Chapter 3: Seven People
The message had four words.
*It's done.
He ate.*
The name above it was Vincent Moretti.
Dominic's younger brother.
He stood in the corridor for a long moment.
The candle in the ballroom behind him had gone out on its own.
He hadn't noticed when.
Marco was watching him carefully.
"Sir—"
"Where is he now?"
"He left with the other guests.
His car cleared the gate at nine-fourteen."
Dominic folded the screenshot once and put it in his jacket pocket.
"Pull every call Vincent made from this property in the last thirty days.
Every visit.
Every time his car was logged at the gate." He started walking.
"And find out who he called after nine-fourteen."
"Already running it," Marco said.
"But sir — if this goes where I think it goes, we need to be careful.
Vincent has his own people inside the organization."
"I know."
"Some of them are in this house."
Dominic stopped walking.
"Then we don't tell anyone in this house." He turned.
"You.
Me.
That's it.
Until I know who else knew."
Marco nodded once.
Dominic went upstairs.
He stood outside Ethan's room for a moment before going in.
Dr.
Harris was seated near the window, reading something on his phone.
Ethan was in bed, awake, the blanket pulled to his chin.
"Dad."
"Hey." Dominic sat on the edge of the mattress.
"How do you feel?"
"Okay.
My stomach hurts a little."
"That's normal.
Dr.
Harris says you're fine."
Ethan looked at him.
"Was it the cake?"
"Yes."
"Did someone do it on purpose?"
Dominic looked at his son.
Eight years old.
His mother's eyes.
His mother's directness.
"I'm going to find out," he said.
Ethan was quiet for a moment.
Then: "Is Lily okay?"
"She's with her mom.
She's fine."
"She's really little," Ethan said.
"But she wasn't scared."
Dominic looked at his hands.
"No.
She wasn't."
He stayed until Ethan fell asleep.
Then he went to his study, closed the door, and called the one person outside the estate he trusted completely.
His attorney, Frank Deluca, answered on the second ring.
"Dominic.
It's past midnight."
"I need everything you have on Vincent's finances.
Accounts, transfers, anything that moved in the last six months."
A pause.
"That's a serious ask."
"I know what it is."
"Can you tell me why?"
"Not yet."
Another pause.
Longer.
"I'll have something by morning," Frank said.
"Dominic — is Ethan all right?"
"He is.
Because of a three-year-old girl."
He ended the call.
The study was quiet.
On the desk, framed in silver, was a photograph of Elena — Ethan's mother, Dominic's wife.
She had been gone seven years.
A car accident on the Taconic Parkway in February.
The investigation had been thorough.
The conclusion had been ice on the road.
Dominic had accepted that.
He picked up the photograph now and looked at it for a long time.
Then he set it face-down on the desk.
Because a thought had arrived that he could not push away — a thought so ugly he had refused to let it form until this moment, alone, with the door closed and no one watching his face.
Elena's accident had happened three weeks after she told him she was changing her will.
She had wanted to leave a portion of the estate to a charitable foundation she'd built.
Vincent had argued against it loudly at a family dinner.
He had called it sentimental.
He had said the money belonged inside the family.
Elena had smiled and said the decision was already made.
Three weeks later, she was gone.
Dominic sat very still.
He had never questioned it.
The roads had been icy.
The investigators had been thorough.
He had grieved and moved forward because that was the only direction available to him.
But now his brother's name was on a burner phone found near the service entrance of his home, attached to a message that said *It's done.
He ate* — sent before anyone knew the attempt had failed.
He opened the desk drawer.
Inside was a small evidence bag Marco had left for him — the silver box, sealed in plastic.
Wiped clean, Marco had said.
But Dominic looked at it for a long time.
His phone buzzed.
A text from Marco.
*Vincent called a number in the Cayman Islands at 9:31.
Same number he called the night of Elena's accident.*
The room didn't change.
May you like
The light didn't change.
But everything in it felt different.
