My mind returns to the fact that it seems as if Belina brought some idea to Alec. Before he met her, his business was small and financially unsuccessful. A few months after she started working for him, and likely arranged the meeting with CF, Alec’s cash flow began increasing substantially.
I have to recalibrate how I view her in this investigation. She’s not just the victim but the link.
Used by everyone.
Even you.
The real question now is who she knew who could bring Alec this kind of high-risk/high-reward deal.
Just because she’s dead doesn’t mean she’s innocent.
Just because he was your friend doesn’t mean he is anymore.
The voice is right there. If I make this about helping Alec, or even Emmett, I’m going to miss facts and ignore others. This cannot be for them. It cannot be for Belina.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Phillip texts that CNN has booked him after Dateline. He’s giving them the theory about CF and . This is his big break, the national exposure we need to start finding answers. He’s drafting the talking points, and I’ll review them later. He knows I’m not sleeping.
I go into my office, turn on the desk lamp, and open my laptop. I type Venantius Ventures. The home page says it’s the largest commercial seafood supplier in New England and, subsequently, the country. That makes sense, considering Alec’s business.
I check the staff page, and the first photo is a headshot labeled Stefano Venantius, founder and CEO. He’s got a full head of silver hair, dark eyes, and a bright-white smile. His name is familiar, and I know I’ve seen it before.
I open my phone and zoom in on the photo I took of the signature from the only contract in Alec’s office. It definitely starts with an S, so this may be one of the “bad people” Misha warned me about.
I google Stefano, and there are dozens of photos from society events and puff piece write-ups, like him holding a fishing pole to commemorate the purchase of his fiftieth boat. Several pages later is a photo from five years ago with a very tan Stefano standing in the center of his employees. In the back I see a familiar half grin. Her long black hair is draped over one bare shoulder in her strapless red top.
“There you are, Belina,” I whisper.
I click back to Stefano’s corporate bio and note he was a founding member of Uncle Cal’s Economic Development Council. He served only one year. I think back to what Phillip had on Uncle Cal. The bank account linking money laundering to his committee. I didn’t know at the time the account was connected to Alec, since all I saw were account numbers.
You didn’t want to look.
You just wanted it all to go away.
But this time line matches. It’s possible only Stefano cleaned money through Alec’s business, sure. It’s also possible Uncle Cal lied to me when I confronted him with Phillip’s information. That he’s remained in business with Alec. Or at least started it up again.
Either way, Alec would have already heard of Stefano, if Belina brought him to meet her new employer. And then she started taking care of Alec’s financials. Potentially telling CF everything.
Perhaps I should feel some sense of betrayal about my friendship with Belina. She peppered me with questions about my accounting background, never offering her own. Made it seem she was just a hostess from Newport looking for a change. Not someone working an angle on my friend.
Like recognizes like.
The stairs creak, and Jack is standing behind me.
He wishes you’d never come home.
“I watched the arrest,” he says. “The mayor called too. We’ve got a seven a.m. debrief.”
“I can take Ester tomorrow,” I say, not wanting to leave her again.
“Let me see if Gillian has time to help you,” he says. “How’s Misha?”
“About what you’d expect,” I say. “I screwed up.”
“How?”
“The planner. I gave Detective Ramos what he needed to make the alibi stick.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder, rubbing at a knot. “Maybe you should take a break?”
Before he leaves you and your crying-nonstop baby.
“It’s not over,” I say. “Belina’s planner is still an asset. I can make this work.” I flinch at how defensive I sound. After waiting ten seconds, I turn my chair to face him. “I tried to do it the right way. That was my mistake.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head as if he were expecting this all along. “Now what? The wrong way?”
“My way.” I hope he’ll leave it at that because I want to get back to work. He doesn’t respond, so I continue. “I need to push harder. Force the killer out.”
“This feels like betrayal,” he says. He stares at my computer, and then his gaze lands back on me. “It’s not only hacking, if that’s what you’re planning. Or the fact that you’ll lie. Work with dangerous people.” He pauses, but I don’t contradict him. “It’s that you won’t be here. In our home. The place you swore you wanted us to build and live in and have a normal life together. We know how this goes. How it ends. You said you didn’t want that anymore.”
He’s right, of course. When I was prosecuting cases in DC, I was gone all the time, barely sleeping or eating, nothing but the job. I almost lost him. Lost the life I had always wanted but never thought possible. The life I was living right now.
“I will be here,” I say. “I am here. For you and Ester.”
So many lies.
Then as if she heard me, she begins to cry. “Oh no. That’s her—”
“I got it.” He closes his eyes, drawing in a long breath, fighting something I hope isn’t tears because I can’t take it. “Uncle Cal’s here,” he says quietly and then leaves for the hallway leading to the nursery.
I smell the cigar before I open the back-porch door. I see Uncle Cal’s outline, the expensive overcoat and leather gloves, puffing away in the dark like Tony Soprano. I throw a blanket around my shoulders and head outside.
“Thank you for coming over,” I say, hearing my exhaustion.
Maybe Uncle Cal hears it too. He motions for me to sit down, but I shake him off. I remain at the top of the few stairs, away from where he stands on the dead grass. “Alec was arrested despite my best efforts.”
“Are your efforts over?”
“No,” I begin, not completely sure how hard to twist. “I analyzed your information from when Alec got the grant. It’s partial at best.”
“And?”
“I also reviewed emails Alec sent to the police,” I say. “It’s pretty basic but plenty to guess what’s really going on.”
“What’s that?” he says and lets out a long puff of smoke.
“You and a few other board members were washing money through Alec’s failing business. It’s what Phillip accused you of the last time we worked together. I dropped it because you said you fired the people involved.”
He coughs, and I realize it’s a laugh. “Even after all these times working together, you surprise me.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not. I thought we’d hid it better.”
“You hid it fine,” I say. “But it’s a cash-based business with a relatively stable gross income, and then suddenly there are large infusions unrelated to expenses. The fact that your Economic Development Council gave Alec the cash with zero oversight was another red flag. Plus, I know you.”
“Alec was only useful as a patsy,” he says, matter of fact. “I realized that after I gave him the grant. Something you foisted on me.”
With so few people who like you, it’s no wonder your loyalty is so dumb and blind.
I’m culpable. He’s right. I felt bad that Jack and I never invested with Alec. That I’d let our friendship lapse. So when Alec asked me for the favor, I did it as much to alleviate my own guilt as help him.
This is your fault.
“But the money laundering did stop,” he says. “I stopped it.”
“I want your real files, not just those that make Alec look guilty. Start with every member of your board.”
“You think a board member could have been involved in that girl’s murder?”
“Her name was Belina,” I say, even though he damn well knows. “Start with Stefano Venantius. One of your board members the first year. When you gave Alec that grant. Who resigned after serving only one year.”
“Forced to resign,” Uncle Cal corrects. “Alec’s not smart enough to pull off any long-term scheme. Stefano is not as smart as I thought if he started dithering with Alec again.”
But it wouldn’t have been just Alec. “Belina worked for Stefano before she worked for Alec,” I say. “I think she set up the meeting a year and a half ago when she started working for Alec.”
“Really?”
“Or,” I say, still unsure, “Stefano had her work for Alec. Luring him in, as it were.” Uncle Cal chuckles at the lame joke, and that reminds me of what Phillip mentioned. “Belina’s mother told Phillip Belina was involved with a big fish, like literally, I guess.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if she and Stefano were seeing each other,” Uncle Cal says. He pauses, looking at the glowing end of his cigar. “Big fish is an interesting term. Stefano has a nickname. No one says it to his face.”
“What is it?”
“The Codfather,” Uncle Cal says.
I laugh at first because that’s a pretty solid nickname. But then my brain clicks. “Oh my God,” I whisper and steady myself against the back door. “He’s CF. She met him the whole time she worked for Alec. He was supposed to meet her the night she was killed at Swan Point.”
“Now wait,” Uncle Cal says. “That’s a tremendous accusation.”
“It’s only an accusation now,” I say. “Give me time.”
He steps toward me and looks up. “I’m not handing over ammunition against a man like that to just anyone. You bring a knife to a gunfight with Stefano, and you’ll feel the bullet and the blade.”
“What do you suggest?”
“If you will really go after him, not this half-assed walking the line bullshit, then I’ll give you everything you need.”
You’re going to betray everyone again.
You’ll lose the home you never deserved.
“It can’t be like before,” I say. “This isn’t about your political enemies who happen to also be crooked. This is about real, honest justice. To make sure whoever killed Belina rots in jail for the rest of their life.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
“Listen,” I snap and step down one stair, getting in his face. “The work we did to put those corrupt opponents of yours in jail . . . we’re lucky we didn’t join them.”
You should have.
You still can.
He pulls back and glances around. The closest streetlight isn’t working, so the stars are vivid above us. I pull my blanket tighter, longing for my bed with Jack next to me.
He’ll be out of it soon enough.
“Do you know why I consider Jack my son?” he asks, taking a long drag on his cigar before continuing. “He’s my son because of you.”
Trepidation blooms in my chest, an awful weight warning me that I don’t want to hear what’s next.
“We marry our parents, Devon. Jack married you. You are nothing like my brother. Jack’s caring but simple-living father. You’re nothing like his strong but hyperreligious late mother.”
“This is ridiculous,” I say. I put my hand on the back door. “I’m going inside.”
He takes my arm, pulling me down a step. We’re so close the cigar smoke wafts between us and stings my eyes. “Jack is my son because he married you.”
I pull away, stumbling back up the stair. “You and I are not the same.”
“It’s a compliment as much as an insult. The sooner you understand your role, what you must do, the quicker we’ll have Jack in the governor’s seat. How else could I stomach my beloved nephew marrying some nobody from Kansas?”
He’s never been more right.
You’re trash that doesn’t belong with someone like Jack.
“I’m good for him,” I say weakly.
“I’m not in the good and bad business. Neither are you.” He releases his serpentine smile. “You’re what he needs. Now be who you are and build a real case against Stefano. Your way. The way that gets things done.”
His words are echoes of mine to Jack earlier. This is the only way forward. “Can I borrow Gillian tomorrow?” I ask, and he nods.
I lean back on the door, staring up at the clear night sky, ignoring how easy this sell was for him.
“Send my files back,” I say, referencing the box I gave him after we professionally parted before Ester was born. There was dirt on every political leader in the state. And also the dirt on Uncle Cal and his Economic Development Council that Phillip almost published and I buried. “And send my knife.”
Chapter 18
Monday, December 12
Ester’s midnight cries begin, and I’m almost relieved to have something simple to do. She was with Jack downstairs all day Sunday so I could go through the files Uncle Cal sent over. Doing my own research. I focus on her, calming us both as I bounce on the exercise ball.
What kind of mother ignores her child this long?
Ester is back asleep in her crib after only twenty minutes, a new record, as if she senses my change. The commitment I’ve made to Uncle Cal. The promise I’ve broken to Jack and Phillip. The person I’ve become again. Likely the person who was always there, reposed beneath the surface of my skin like Ester once was, protected by hard scars and the kind of anger that never goes away.
I slip out of her room and avoid the creaking floorboards on the way to my office. Standing in the dark, with only a sliver of moonlight and the glow of my phone, I smile. Back to work.
My phone buzzes because I didn’t put it on silent, hoping for this call. I may have left my brother behind, but he’s always come through for me. At least when I pay him.
“Hello there,” I answer.
“Hey, sis,” Derek says, slightly slurring his words.
This is your fault.
“Hey yourself,” I say. I estimate ten to thirteen minutes of lucidity from him. “How did the research go?”
“Pretty good,” he says. “I was wired most of the night.”
Likely speed or meth to start things off, then some kind of opioid to bring it all down. I hope it’s not heroin again. No one gets that many lives. But I don’t say anything because it’s all been said, all been tried, all failed. I doubt he likes many of my choices either, but here we are, breaking the law together again.
This is your fault.
“That Alec guy’s files were easy,” he says with the dramatic tap of his finger on the keyboard. “Just took some poking around in the banks and accounts to see who was sending the money. Nothing major.”
“Good,” I say, waiting for the file to come through. I hear at least ten of the dogs he’s collected yapping at something. Living in the country is good for his drug habit. Good for his fear of people and the anxiety that comes with having to interact with them. Good for his depression. It is also good for his inability to turn away a stray, from dogs to feral cats. “You doing okay?” I ask finally, unable to stand the quiet once the dogs settle.
“Yup, yup.” He pauses, and it’s as if I can hear the drugged-out gears clicking. “Oh,” he says. “You know Jack hasn’t called since the hospital. How are you . . . doing with everything?”
“Ester’s not sleeping at night,” I say. “But holding her feels like a second chance for the kind of life . . . you know, we didn’t have.”
“Huh,” Derek says. “Jack said you were pretty bad for a while. Voices come back?”
Tell him how broken you are.
He knows anyway.
I glance around my office as if someone could have heard him say it. Or heard the voice. But it’s just the two of u
s, and suddenly I want to be honest. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Best to ignore them,” he says, as if it’s possible. There’s another long pause. “Tell Jack about it?”
He’ll leave you.
He’ll take Ester.
You’d be alone again.
Just like you deserve.
“No,” I say. “I can’t. He’s dealt with enough.”
“So have you.”
I know he’s not just talking about almost dying in labor. It goes so far back between us, and if I’m not careful, I’ll feel this room change into my bedroom as a girl. Hear the sound of a body shifting at the edge of my twin bed. The springs creaking. The metal of a buckle.
“I’m not . . . defined by what happened,” I say too quickly. “Even if we’d had it perfect, I’d still be me.” It’s all the reassurance I can muster.
“You always been you,” he says. “But I still wonder—”
“Well, don’t,” I say. Derek doesn’t need to be reminded of my problems and shoot up an extra time because of them. The computer dings that I have a new message. “Ah, got it.” I quickly open the encrypted folder analyzing Alec’s bank records and the data I copied from his computer. “Tell me what stood out?”
He clears his throat, and I hear the rattle of a collar as he scratches whatever creature is in his lap. “Alec’s living on credit cards and lump payments every month from a shell corporation located out of Portugal.”
“Stefano Venantius tied to it?”
“Presto,” he says, though he means bingo. “He’s three degrees removed but close enough.”
I scan the numbers, the language easiest for me to understand. I look at the first lump payment of $10,000 from Stefano’s account to Alec. Then, one month later, Alec transfers $60,000 back to Stefano. Because Stefano owns the boats, it could be justified as rent. But I’ve been researching the fishing business, and the amounts don’t add up. I need to understand what the boats brought in that could cover a money transfer of that high of an amount.
There’s another payment through a company I remember from Phillip’s file about Uncle Cal. That’s where the Council has been trying to wash some money. Only thousands per month versus Stefano’s tens of thousands. Then I see a shocking number from six months ago.
Little Voices Page 16