Chapter 1 - the night before everything changed
Three days earlier, Moretti Manor had looked untouchable.
The mansion stood on forty acres outside Greenwich, Connecticut, behind black iron gates and rows of ancient oak trees. Its pale stone walls rose above the lawns like the headquarters of some forgotten dynasty.
For Vincent Moretti, it had never been a symbol of luxury.
It had been a responsibility.
His grandfather had bought the estate.
His father had expanded the family's real estate company from three buildings to almost two hundred.
Vincent had inherited both at thirty-one.
Eight years later, Moretti Holdings was worth more than anyone in the family publicly discussed.
Vincent had also inherited his father's distrust.
It had protected him in business.
It had made him wealthy.
It had also made him lonely.
Until Isabella Reed.
She stood beside the fireplace that Thursday evening, wearing a simple black satin dress and holding a glass of sparkling water.
Vincent watched her from across the drawing room.
"You haven't touched dinner," he said.
"I'm waiting for you."
"I told you to start."
"And I told you I don't like eating alone in a room designed for twenty people."
Vincent almost smiled.
Almost.
Isabella had learned how to read the tiny movements in his expression.
She noticed.
"That was nearly human."
"Don't get used to it."
She crossed the room and adjusted his tie.
They were supposed to marry in six weeks.
It would be a small ceremony by Moretti standards, which meant one hundred guests instead of six hundred.
Vincent had rejected three magazines that wanted photographs.
Isabella had rejected six designers who wanted to sponsor her wedding dress.
Neither wanted spectacle.
That was one of the reasons Vincent trusted her.
At least, he thought he did.
Mia Bennett entered quietly.
She had worked at Moretti Manor for five years.
Unlike many employees who became nervous around Vincent, Mia spoke to him directly.
"Mr. Moretti, Mr. Cole asked me to remind you that the foundation documents require your signature tonight."
Vincent glanced toward the hall.
"Where is Adrian?"
"In your study."
"Of course he is."
Mia hesitated.
Vincent noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Mia."
She lowered her voice.
"I thought I saw someone near the west cellar corridor earlier."
Isabella looked toward her.
"Someone?"
"The lights were off. I couldn't see clearly."
"Security?" Vincent asked.
"I don't think so."
Vincent put down his drink.
"Tell Adrian."
Something passed through Mia's face.
"Yes, sir."
She left.
Isabella watched the doorway.
"She didn't want to tell Adrian."
Vincent had noticed that too.
"You think everyone's hiding something."
"So do you."
"That's different."
"Because you're professionally paranoid?"
"Because I'm usually right."
Isabella smiled.
Then Adrian entered.
Dark suit.
Perfect posture.
Calm eyes.
He looked as if he belonged in the mansion almost as much as Vincent did.
"We have a problem," Adrian said.
Vincent's almost-smile vanished.
"What kind?"
Adrian held up a tablet.
"A transfer was authorized from the Moretti family reserve account."
"How much?"
"Three million two hundred thousand dollars."
Isabella stopped breathing for a moment.
Vincent did not move.
"To where?"
"A private investment company in Delaware."
"Reverse it."
"I already initiated the process."
"Who authorized it?"
Adrian looked at Isabella.
Not dramatically.
Not accusingly.
That made it worse.
Vincent followed his gaze.
Isabella frowned.
"What?"
Adrian placed the tablet on the table.
"The authorization came through your credentials."
Silence filled the room.
Isabella laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
"That's impossible."
Vincent stared at the screen.
Her name was there.
Her encrypted signature.
Her access code.
Her authentication token.
The same system Vincent had personally approved.
Isabella looked at him.
"Vincent."
He said nothing.
"I didn't do this."
Adrian spoke carefully.
"I haven't accused you."
"You don't have to."
Vincent picked up the tablet.
"When was the transfer made?"
"Yesterday at 11:47 p.m."
Isabella's expression changed.
"I was here."
Vincent remembered.
She had been upstairs.
Or at least he thought she had.
"We had dinner," she said. "Then I went to the library."
"Alone?"
She stared at him.
"Are you serious?"
"I'm asking."
"And I'm answering. Yes."
Adrian stepped closer.
"There's another issue."
Vincent looked at him.
"The security system shows Isabella's access card entering your private study at 11:41."
Isabella went pale.
"My card was in my purse."
"Where was your purse?"
"In my bedroom."
"Was the bedroom locked?"
"No, because I don't expect people to steal from me inside my fiancé's house."
Vincent's expression hardened.
Isabella looked at him.
There was hurt in her eyes now.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm already guilty."
Vincent said nothing.
That silence created a crack between them.
Adrian watched it happen.
From the doorway, unseen by the others, Mia Bennett watched too.
Later that night, after the mansion had gone quiet, Mia carried a basket of folded towels toward the guest wing.
She passed the west corridor.
A faint light appeared beneath the cellar door.
Mia stopped.
The door was supposed to remain unlocked during housekeeping hours and secured only by the old interior bolt after midnight.
She heard voices.
Adrian's voice.
Then a woman's voice.
Mia could not hear the words.
She stepped closer.
A floorboard creaked.
The voices stopped.
Mia turned and walked away quickly.
May you like
She didn't see Adrian open the cellar door behind her.
And she didn't see the second person standing in the darkness beside him.
