Chapter 3 - The Account I Never Opened
Vincent read the message twice.
Then a third time.
The fear on his face disappeared.
In its place came the expression I had seen in newspapers whenever Moretti Holdings was accused of cornering a competitor.
Still.
Cold.
Precise.
"Come inside," I said.
He entered without touching me.
I locked the door.
"Is it real?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only honest one I have."
He enlarged the screenshot.
The transfer listed a private banking division Vincent recognized immediately.
"That branch handles family office accounts," he said. "But you never opened one."
"I think we've established that."
He looked at the authorization line.
"Vanessa should not have access to anything under your name."
"Should not?"
"She has limited administrative authority for my corporate accounts. Scheduling. Travel. Certain reimbursements. She has no legal authority over your personal identity."
I laughed once.
"She had authority over my husband. Why not my identity too?"
He flinched.
Good.
I wanted him to.
"Who sent this?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"Can I forward the messages?"
"No."
"Claire—"
"No. You've controlled information in our marriage long enough."
He stared at me.
Then he nodded.
"Fair."
That word sounded strange coming from him.
I called the number.
It went straight to a distorted voicemail.
No name.
No greeting.
I hung up.
Vincent walked toward the window.
"Thomas Greer has been with the company eleven years."
"Do you trust him?"
"I trusted him enough to make him CFO."
"That isn't what I asked."
He turned.
"I don't know anymore."
The answer frightened me because Vincent always knew.
He knew who was loyal.
Who was useful.
Who was weak.
He built his world by categorizing people.
Apparently, I had been categorized as manageable.
His phone rang.
Vanessa.
I saw her name on the screen.
Vincent declined the call.
Three seconds later, she called again.
"Answer it," I said.
"Why?"
"Because she doesn't know I'm with you."
He understood.
Vincent put the call on speaker.
"Yes?"
Vanessa's voice came through smooth and concerned.
"Mr. Moretti, I've been trying to reach you. Security told me you left the residence."
"I'm handling a personal matter."
A pause.
"Is Mrs. Moretti with you?"
I looked at Vincent.
He answered evenly.
"No."
Another pause.
Too long.
"Has she contacted you?"
"No."
"Then I think you should stay away from her tonight."
My fingers curled.
Vincent's eyes hardened.
"Why?"
"She's emotional. The accident obviously upset her. She may make irrational accusations."
"Such as?"
Vanessa hesitated.
"I don't know. I'm only thinking about your protection."
"How thoughtful."
She missed the contempt in his voice.
"Also, Thomas wants approval on the Sterling transfer before midnight."
Vincent's gaze snapped to mine.
"What transfer?"
"The one from the Bennett reserve account."
My blood went cold.
Vanessa continued before she realized what she had said.
"Thomas said you already reviewed it."
Vincent's voice became deadly quiet.
"I did not."
Silence.
Then: "I must have misunderstood."
"Send me the documents."
"I don't have them with me."
"You just referenced the transfer."
"They're in the office."
"Then go to the office."
"It's almost midnight."
"I don't care."
Her breathing changed.
"Mr. Moretti, perhaps this can wait until tomorrow."
"No. Send me everything connected to the Bennett reserve account within twenty minutes."
The call ended.
I stared at him.
"Bennett reserve account?"
"My grandfather set up a reserve vehicle years ago using your maiden name because he planned to transfer certain foundation assets to you."
"You knew that?"
"I knew the vehicle existed. I was told it was dormant."
"Who told you?"
"Thomas."
Of course.
Vincent started pacing.
"He said it had never been funded."
"Yet four-point-eight million dollars was transferred through it."
"At least."
"What do you mean, at least?"
He looked at me.
"If someone used your identity to reactivate a dormant family account, one transfer may not be the only one."
My stomach twisted.
"Could this make me criminally liable?"
"If the account was used for illegal transfers, someone may try to make it look that way."
I sat down.
My body still hurt from surgery, but fear pushed the pain aside.
"Why me?"
Vincent crouched in front of me.
For once, he didn't reach for my hand without permission.
"Because you were the one person in my life I never monitored."
I stared at him.
The truth of that sentence was almost unbearable.
He monitored markets.
Employees.
Security reports.
Competitors.
Even dinner reservations.
But me?
He had assumed I would remain exactly where he left me.
"I thought privacy was respect," he said.
"No. Neglect isn't privacy."
"I know."
"Do you?"
His jaw tightened.
"I am beginning to."
His phone buzzed.
Email from Vanessa.
Three attachments.
Vincent opened the first.
It was a transfer authorization form.
My name appeared at the top.
Claire Bennett Moretti.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
I had never signed it.
The second attachment was a board certification stating I had personally approved the account's activation.
Also false.
The third file was worse.
A scanned copy of my passport.
I stood so quickly pain shot through my abdomen.
"How did she get that?"
Vincent looked sick.
"She arranged our travel."
"She copied my passport?"
"Apparently."
I stepped away from him.
"Your assistant stole my identity."
"Yes."
"And your CFO moved money through it."
"It appears so."
"While you gave her control over my access to you."
His face changed again.
He understood the connection before I said it.
Vanessa hadn't merely been rude.
She had been isolating me.
Controlling when I could speak to Vincent meant controlling what I could tell him.
"How long?" I whispered.
Vincent didn't answer.
He opened the transfer metadata.
Created six months ago.
Six months.
I remembered that period.
Vanessa had convinced Vincent that my frequent calls were "disrupting executive operations."
Two weeks later, he created the fifteen-minute rule.
I stared at the date.
"She didn't enforce your schedule because you were busy."
Vincent went pale.
"She needed me unable to reach you."
He said nothing.
I kept scrolling.
There were more transactions.
Seven.
Eleven.
Then seventeen.
The total exceeded thirty-one million dollars.
My name was attached to every one.
At the bottom of the last page was an internal compliance note.
BENEFICIAL OWNER CONFIRMED BY EXECUTIVE OFFICE.
Signed electronically by V. Moretti.
I looked up.
"Vincent."
He took the phone.
His face drained of color.
"I never signed this."
"Can your signature be used electronically?"
"Only with my encrypted authorization token."
"Who has access to it?"
"No one."
He stopped.
I watched him think.
Then I saw it.
The answer.
Vanessa.
"She manages your devices," I said.
His eyes closed.
"During travel, yes."
The room went silent.
Then another message appeared from the unknown number.
You have twelve hours before the account is closed and the records disappear.
This time, there was one additional sentence.
If Vincent goes to the police now, Claire becomes the target first.
I looked at my husband.
May you like
He looked back at me.
And for the first time in seven years, neither of us knew who was more dangerous to trust.
