Chapter 3
Martin Kessler was found that evening in a hotel near O’Hare.
Alive.
Terrified.
He had checked in under his own name but turned off his phone after someone followed him home Monday night.
Vincent did not bring him to the estate.
He met him instead in the conference room of an outside law firm, with two attorneys present.
Kessler looked exhausted.
“I told your aunt I wouldn’t change the report.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“When?”
“Monday afternoon.”
Before the ambush.
“What did she ask you to change?”
“She wanted several transactions reclassified.”
“What transactions?”
Kessler opened his laptop.
Between four and six million dollars had moved out of the Relief Trust over five years through a series of vendor contracts.
Consulting.
Property maintenance.
Medical administration.
Transportation.
Nothing illegal on its face.
The problem was that several vendors appeared to exist only on paper.
“I asked for ownership disclosures,” Kessler said. “Mrs. Caradonna became very angry.”
“Did Dominic contact you?”
“Yes.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“When?”
“Sunday night.”
“What did he say?”
Kessler hesitated.
“He asked how much of the audit existed outside my office.”
Vincent felt the pieces arranging themselves.
“What did you tell him?”
“That the working files were backed up.”
“And?”
“He said, ‘Then it’s already too late.’”
Vincent looked toward his attorney.
That sounded like a man worried about evidence.
But not necessarily a man planning a murder.
“What happened Monday?”
“Helena came to my office around noon. She told me the trust had always been handled internally and outside scrutiny would embarrass families who depended on discretion.”
“Meaning?”
“I think she wanted the audit stopped.”
“Did she threaten you?”
“No.”
Kessler swallowed.
“She said Vincent had already agreed to reconsider it.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
Vincent sat back.
Helena had lied using his name.
Hours later, somebody tried to kill him.
Then she removed the audit binder from his office.
The obvious conclusion was ugly.
But Vincent had spent too many years surviving obvious conclusions.
He asked one final question.
“Did the missing money go to Dominic?”
Kessler shook his head.
“That’s what I couldn’t establish.”
“Who benefited?”
“I don’t know yet.”
That answer bothered Vincent.
A simple coup would have been easier.
Dominic wanted power.
Helena wanted her son elevated.
Kill Vincent.
Take control.
But then why risk everything over an audit that had not tied either of them personally to theft?
When Vincent returned to the estate, Marco handed him another document.
The private family council had been scheduled to meet immediately after Vincent’s memorial.
Dominic was supposed to be appointed interim head.
Vincent read the resolution.
“Interim?”
“Ninety days,” Marco said.
Vincent looked up.
May you like
If Dominic had planned to take his throne permanently, ninety days made no sense.
Unless the throne was never the real prize.
