Chapter 9 - The Man With the Crown
Carlo DeSantis had not fled the country.
He had not been seen because Vincent had hidden him in plain sight.
Three days after Isabelle’s murder, a man named Charles Denton purchased a small marina repair business near Cape May, New Jersey.
Cash purchase.
No mortgage.
The photograph on his state business filing showed a heavier man with a beard.
But behind his left ear, barely visible, was a black crown.
Luca found him forty-eight hours after Olivia described the tattoo.
I did not go.
That surprised Luca.
It surprised me more.
Instead, Miriam contacted the Nassau County district attorney through a former federal prosecutor she trusted.
We gave them enough evidence to make Carlo interesting without giving them my entire life.
The district attorney wanted the garage recording.
Miriam wanted immunity boundaries.
I wanted Carlo breathing.
At 6:12 the next morning, New Jersey State Police arrested him for an outstanding weapons charge while Nassau investigators waited to question him.
He asked for a lawyer immediately.
Good criminals usually did.
By noon, Vincent knew.
At twelve-ten, Romano Harbor Construction’s board called an emergency meeting.
At twelve-fifteen, three accounts were frozen.
At twelve-thirty, two union representatives suddenly refused to honor agreements negotiated by my companies.
Vincent was no longer hiding.
He was preparing a war.
But the battlefield was not docks or streets.
It was legitimacy.
That was clever.
If he could make me look unstable, corrupt and compromised, he could take the companies while police attention focused on Isabelle’s murder.
At three, I walked into the boardroom.
Vincent sat at the far end.
Seven directors avoided my eyes.
Aaron Bell’s chair was empty.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
Vincent folded his hands.
“Protecting the company.”
“From?”
“You.”
I almost smiled.
“Careful.”
“There. That.”
He looked around the room.
“That is exactly what I mean. Threats. Fear. Every decision depends on whether Dominic Romano is angry.”
One director cleared his throat.
“Dominic, there are concerns about recent events.”
“My wife was murdered.”
“Fourteen months ago.”
I looked at him.
He turned pale.
Vincent seized the moment.
“You see?”
I sat.
“No. Let him finish.”
The director swallowed.
“There are allegations you have diverted corporate security toward personal investigations.”
“True.”
Murmurs.
“Anything else?”
“Questions about your relationship with an employee.”
Grace.
“And questions about your mental state.”
I looked at Vincent.
He had prepared this carefully.
“Do you want the company?”
Vincent leaned back.
“I want it protected.”
“From your twenty-three-million-dollar theft?”
Silence.
His face barely changed.
But barely was enough.
I slid copies of Northstar transfers across the table.
One director picked them up.
Another followed.
Vincent laughed.
“You have no idea what those represent.”
“Explain.”
“Strategic reserves.”
“Hidden through six shell companies?”
“For acquisitions.”
“Then why did Bellweather transfer one hundred fifty thousand dollars to Lieutenant Peter Sullivan four days after my wife was murdered?”
No one moved.
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
“You’re accusing me of murder in a corporate meeting?”
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“I’m asking why company money paid the police officer supervising her case.”
He stood.
“This meeting is over.”
“Sit down.”
His face flushed.
For twenty years he had watched other men obey those words.
Now they were aimed at him.
“I’m your brother.”
“You keep saying that like it is evidence of innocence.”
The boardroom door opened.
Miriam entered.
Beside her were two forensic accountants.
Vincent stared.
“What is this?”
“A special audit.”
“You don’t have authority.”
“I own forty-one percent.”
“I control proxies representing another twenty.”
“Not anymore.”
I placed a trust document on the table.
Isabelle had created it nine months before her death.
Thirty-five percent of Romano Harbor Construction had quietly been transferred to a trust for our daughters.
I had discovered it that morning among papers held by her attorney.
Under the trust terms, voting authority remained with Isabelle.
Upon her death, it passed to me.
Vincent had assumed those shares were still controlled by a proxy he managed.
He was wrong.
His face finally cracked.
“You knew?”
“Since breakfast.”
He looked around the room.
For the first time, he was outvoted.
The special audit passed.
Five to two.
Vincent walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he bent near my chair.
“You think Isabelle made you righteous from the grave?”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“What then?”
“She made me curious.”
He smiled coldly.
“Curiosity killed her.”
Every person in the room heard it.
Vincent realized too late.
Miriam’s eyes sharpened.
He walked out.
Ten minutes later, my phone rang.
The district attorney.
Carlo DeSantis had changed his mind.
He wanted to talk.
Not because he feared prison.
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Because someone had attempted to poison him in county lockup.
And Carlo believed Vincent Romano had just tried to erase the last living man who knew exactly who ordered Isabelle’s murder.
