Chapter 2
The charity gala officially benefited the Moretti Neighborhood Recovery Fund.
Publicly, the fund supported families after workplace deaths, paid emergency medical bills, financed addiction treatment, and maintained several food programs on Chicago’s West Side.
Privately, it served another purpose.
It allowed Eleanor to see how people connected to the Moretti organization behaved when they thought nobody important was watching.
That had not been the original design.
It became necessary six months earlier.
Three catering employees independently reported unpaid overtime.
Two temporary banquet workers claimed tips were being withheld.
A floral vendor complained that an executive assistant demanded a “placement fee” to keep her contract.
Every complaint vanished before reaching the Moretti charitable board.
Eleanor initially assumed incompetence.
Then a hotel server named Rosa Alvarez sent a handwritten letter directly to an old Moretti accountant who knew Eleanor personally.
The letter contained one sentence Eleanor could not forget.
They only behave when they know a Moretti is in the room.
So Eleanor decided to enter the room without looking like one.
Only four people knew.
Her attorney.
Her security chief.
Her longtime accountant.
And the senior capos who arrived through the elevator after she triggered an emergency call from a discreet button beneath her wristwatch.
Even Maya had been told only that her mother was helping with the charity event.
Now the disguise was finished.
The investigation was not.
The next morning, Eleanor reviewed the ballroom’s staff assignments.
Julian Hale had no official management role.
Yet his name appeared repeatedly in operations notes.
VIP authority.
Executive guest representative.
Approved by A.M.
Eleanor stared at the initials.
Daniel noticed.
“Adrian?”
Adrian Moretti was Eleanor’s forty-three-year-old cousin.
Publicly, he was one of the most visible executives associated with the Moretti organization’s legitimate companies.
Polished.
Educated.
Respected by banks.
Comfortable in rooms where Eleanor preferred not to be photographed.
He was also Genevieve’s fiancé.
That connection was precisely why Eleanor had avoided telling him about the undercover review.
“Maybe.”
Daniel looked at her.
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m not surprised Julian used Adrian’s name.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
Eleanor closed the folder.
She had trusted Adrian for fifteen years.
Trusted him with corporate meetings.
Trusted him with donor relationships.
Trusted him enough that Genevieve’s arrival in the family had not worried her.
But the complaint system passed through administrative departments that ultimately reported to Adrian.
Every missing complaint had disappeared somewhere inside his chain.
That did not make him guilty.
It made him impossible to ignore.
Maya entered the room holding a stuffed fox.
She climbed onto Eleanor’s lap without asking.
Eleanor let her.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Why did that lady call me dirty?”
Eleanor closed her eyes for a second.
“Because she wanted to make you feel small.”
“Am I?”
“No.”
Maya thought about it.
Then:
“Is she?”
Eleanor almost smiled.
“That’s more complicated.”
After Maya left with her nanny, Daniel said:
“You’re going to have to tell her eventually why you were dressed like staff.”
“I know.”
“And you’re going to have to tell yourself whether you were investigating a bad event operation or something inside your own family.”
Eleanor looked at the initials again.
May you like
A.M.
“First I find out which one it is.”
