Chapter 8 - The Price of Opening Every Account

The next morning, the independent accountant called a meeting at Lydia's office. Damian was there when I arrived. So was a woman from his outside legal team, who introduced herself as counsel for the companies rather than for him personally. I appreciated the distinction, even though it made the room feel colder.

On the table lay a map of the harbor. Pier Twelve extended into the water like a finger. Beyond it were warehouses, a dredging channel, and a strip of land that Damian's construction company hoped to redevelop. I had heard him talk about the project for years. In our home it had been called the future of Greyhaven. Sitting in Lydia's office, I saw how much of that future depended on people who had never been told the truth about the past.

The accountant was a quiet man named Paul Mercer. He began by describing the limits of his findings. He had reviewed records the Romano companies could lawfully provide, supplier correspondence, and corporate filings. He had not seen every bank record. Investigators would have to obtain some information through formal requests.

“The North Channel invoices show a pattern,” he said. “The disputed Harborlight payment was the earliest one we've identified. Several later invoices use similar descriptions and approval routes. The services lack ordinary support, such as work reports or deliverables.”

“Who owns North Channel?” Damian asked.

“Public filings list a holding company. Its registered representative is a former employee of Victor Hale. That connection warrants examination, but it does not by itself establish beneficial ownership.”

Paul placed another page on the table. The current harbor proposal cited North Channel's past work at Pier Twelve and attached what purported to be my authorization for the original emergency service expense. A vendor reference letter had been assembled from fragments of real correspondence.

The person who had used my initials four years earlier hadn't forgotten them. Someone had carried that altered document forward every time the project needed a history.

“Can you withdraw the proposal?” I asked Damian.

“Yes.”

The answer was immediate. His lawyer turned toward him.

“Damian, suspending the bid will have consequences. The financing arrangements rely on those projected contracts.”

“Then we'll face the consequences.”

I looked at him. He had always spoken like that when ordering someone else to bear a cost. Hearing him say it about himself felt unfamiliar.

Paul wasn't finished. “There is a related issue. The project accounts were supervised by your office, Mr. Romano. Victor approved the individual payments, but several oversight reports went to you. The investigation will examine what you knew and whether reasonable controls were in place.”

Damian's face remained still. “I know.”

I remembered how often he'd said that business was complicated and that he couldn't explain every decision to me. I had accepted that as one of the conditions of marrying him. Now I understood that protecting a man's power from questions could leave him vulnerable to the people who used it.

After the meeting, Lydia advised me to prepare a factual statement and preserve my own records. She had contacted the appropriate financial-crimes authorities about the suspected document alteration and was coordinating how evidence could be delivered without changing or contaminating it. She made clear that my diary would not need to become public merely because it existed. Only relevant entries, if needed, could be considered with legal advice.

That mattered more than I expected. The diary held things no investigator needed to read. Notes about birthdays I'd waited through alone. A page about the anniversary dinner Damian forgot, and the excuses I made for him to the restaurant staff. A sentence about missing him while he was sitting at the same table. None of those memories belonged to Victor's scheme. I would not allow the world to treat my private life as a folder to be opened for convenience.

I told Lydia I was prepared to share the relevant dates and preserve the original under her guidance. I also told her I intended to speak about the benefit in my own words, even if Olivia eventually admitted everything.

“You don't need your sister-in-law's permission to describe what happened to you,” Lydia said.

On the way out, Damian asked whether we could talk somewhere quiet. We sat on a bench in the courtyard outside the building. The air smelled of rain on concrete. A tree had begun to flower beside the entrance, indifferent to every terrible thing people had said indoors.

“I read something about the heart tests,” he said. “I wanted to know what might happen next.”

“I have a follow-up tomorrow. You could have asked me.”

“I know.”

He rubbed his hands together. “I don't know how to do any of this without trying to fix it.”

“Perhaps you can't fix it.”

He looked away. “Do you want a divorce?”

The question had been waiting between us since breakfast four days earlier. I wasn't ready to answer it in a courtyard while attorneys moved in and out of the building.

“I want to know who I am without being responsible for your peace,” I said. “I need time to find out.”

“I can give you time.”

“Not as a favor, Damian. Time that belongs to me.”

He nodded.

Then he said something I'd never heard from him before.

“When you told me Olivia had changed the date, I wanted it to be untrue. Not because I had evidence. Because if it was true, I'd have to look at what I did to you. So I asked why you hadn't told me. I made my ignorance your responsibility.”

I felt tears gather unexpectedly. I had imagined him admitting that Olivia lied. I hadn't expected him to understand why the lie had lasted.

“That's what hurt,” I said. “You made me explain my pain as though it was another inconvenience you needed to manage.”

He didn't reach for me. He let the words remain between us.

That afternoon, Beatrice sent me a letter. She confessed that she had allowed the catering story to continue because correcting it would have embarrassed Olivia and forced questions about Victor's unexplained presence in the event accounts. She said she'd never imagined the lie could become a weapon. She had failed to notice that it already was one.

I did not forgive her because she finally wrote the truth. I saved the letter with my other records.

At six, Lydia called. Olivia had provided messages from four years earlier, including one in which Victor instructed her to submit the revised authorization and assured her that nobody would examine the file once Emma accepted the blame for the event.

There was also a recent message. Victor had warned Olivia that if the harbor contract failed, he would reveal her old debts and tell investigators she had acted alone.

It was the strongest indication yet that the old deception and the new proposal were parts of one continuing scheme.

The harbor bid deadline was the next morning. Damian had to decide whether to withdraw his company's support before the proposal was accepted, knowing that disclosure might invite scrutiny of his businesses far beyond one fraudulent invoice.

When he called that night, his voice sounded exhausted.

“I've signed the withdrawal,” he said. “Our lawyers are notifying the procurement board and preserving the records.”

I sat on the edge of my hotel bed, looking at the place where my ring once rested against my hand.

“What about Victor?”

“His authority is suspended. He has been told not to contact the staff or touch company systems. Counsel is arranging the next steps.”

“And if the investigators ask about your other operations?”

There was a long pause.

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“Then I answer what I'm required to answer. I won't use you to keep those questions away.”

For the first time, the promise sounded like a choice that would cost him something.