Chapter 8 - Isabelle’s Last Argument
The recording lasted eleven minutes and forty-three seconds.
I listened to it four times.
Each time destroyed something different.
First, my faith in Vincent.
Then my understanding of Isabelle.
Then the version of myself I had spent twenty years defending.
The recording began with Isabelle asking Vincent about seventeen million dollars missing from three legitimate companies.
Vincent laughed.
“You married a criminal and suddenly discovered ethics?”
“I married Dominic.”
“Same thing.”
“No,” she answered. “That is what you need everyone to believe.”
I closed my eyes.
Grace stood beside me in Room 317.
Miriam, my attorney, was near the door.
Isabelle continued.
“You’ve been using his reputation as camouflage. Every time money disappears, people assume Dominic ordered it.”
“He benefits.”
“He doesn’t even know half these companies exist.”
That was true.
I had allowed Vincent to handle legitimate business because I considered it boring.
The arrogance embarrassed me now.
Vincent said, “You think he wants to know?”
“Yes.”
“You think he’ll choose you over me?”
“I think he deserves the choice.”
A chair scraped.
Then Vincent’s voice moved closer.
“You’re going to destroy your husband.”
“No. I’m going to force him to stop letting other men decide what kind of man he is.”
Grace looked at me.
I kept my face still.
The recording continued.
Isabelle told him she had copies.
Vincent asked where.
She refused.
Then he mentioned Carlo.
Not by name.
“You saw someone you shouldn’t have seen downstairs.”
“Is that supposed to frighten me?”
“Yes.”
Long silence.
Then Isabelle spoke softer.
“If anything happens to me, Dominic will find out.”
“You overestimate him.”
The words cut deeper than I expected.
“He loves his daughters,” Isabelle said.
“He loves power.”
“He loves both. That’s the problem.”
Another silence.
Vincent’s last clear sentence was simple.
“Garden City gets crowded in the morning.”
The recording ended thirty seconds later.
No explicit murder order.
No confession.
But intent had a shape now.
Motive.
Threat.
Opportunity.
Carlo.
The altered security records.
The red mitten.
The payments to Lieutenant Sullivan.
Miriam removed her glasses.
“This is substantial.”
“Enough to arrest him?”
“Not by itself.”
I hated law instantly.
“He threatened her.”
“Yes.”
“He appeared with a contract killer the morning she died.”
“Yes.”
“He bribed the detective handling the murder.”
“Likely. We still need the financial trail authenticated.”
“What exactly does a person have to do before the law considers murder suspicious?”
Miriam did not flinch.
“The law has to survive his lawyers too.”
Grace touched my sleeve.
Isabelle’s letter again.
Truth, not revenge.
I breathed.
“What do we need?”
“Carlo.”
“He disappeared.”
“Then find where.”
That part I understood.
By evening, half a dozen people were quietly tracing Carlo DeSantis without knowing why.
I did not authorize violence.
That confused everyone.
Especially Luca.
“You want him brought in alive?”
“Yes.”
“He killed your wife.”
“Maybe.”
“Boss.”
“Alive.”
“What if he resists?”
“Do not be stupid, Luca.”
He nodded.
Later, I went upstairs.
Olivia was awake.
She sat beneath the canopy of her bed holding Isabelle’s old ring.
I sat beside her.
“Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“Did Mommy ever tell you she wanted to leave me?”
Children deserved truth.
Apparently fathers did too.
Olivia thought.
“She said we might live somewhere smaller.”
My throat tightened.
“Did she say why?”
“She said big houses can still be scary.”
The sentence was too adult.
Too Isabelle.
“Was she scared of me?”
Olivia looked directly at me.
“Sometimes.”
I could have survived hatred easier.
“When?”
“When you yelled on the phone. When men came downstairs. When Mommy told us to go upstairs.”
I swallowed.
“Were you scared of me?”
She nodded.
I forced myself not to look away.
“Are you now?”
A long pause.
“Less.”
It was the greatest compliment I had earned in years.
“Why less?”
“Because you put your gun away.”
The kitchen.
The first afternoon.
One small decision.
I kissed her forehead.
As I stood, she grabbed my hand.
“Daddy?”
Everything inside me stopped.
She had not called me that in fourteen months.
“Yes?”
Her eyes filled.
“Uncle Vinny didn’t shoot Mommy.”
I stared.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“He was there.”
“Who shot her?”
Olivia’s breathing became shallow.
I sat again.
“You don’t have to answer.”
She whispered, “The man with the crown.”
Carlo.
Then she said something that changed the entire case.
“But Uncle Vinny told him where Mommy would be.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Mommy heard him.”
“When?”
“In the car.”
“What did she hear?”
Olivia squeezed my fingers.
“Uncle Vinny said, ‘Nine-fifteen. Same place she always parks.’”
I went cold.
Then Olivia added:
“Mommy started recording him on her phone.”
“Where is that phone?”
“The bad man took it.”
Carlo had taken Isabelle’s phone.
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Which meant if we found Carlo—
we might find Isabelle’s final recording too.
