Chapter 4
The banquet boxes in the hidden passage led to invoices.
Hundreds of them.
Most were ordinary.
Linens.
Glassware.
Rental tables.
Floral equipment.
Temporary kitchen stations.
Engagement events generated absurd amounts of paper.
Grant’s team found one vendor repeatedly associated with deliveries through the service wing.
Sterling House Events.
Luciano recognized the name.
Celina had worked in luxury event planning before meeting him.
Sterling House was supposedly one of her former clients.
His CFO, Evelyn Shaw, reviewed the invoices.
“They’re high.”
“How high?”
“Not enough to notice individually.”
“That wasn't what I asked.”
“Twenty to forty percent above comparable market rates.”
Luciano frowned.
“How much total?”
“Over eighteen months? About $1.3 million.”
“That includes tonight?”
“And other estate functions.”
“Who approved them?”
Evelyn turned the report.
Household expenses below a certain threshold could be approved by the senior estate representative.
Marianne.
Larger packages required event authorization.
Celina had signed many.
Luciano stared at the two names.
“That looks obvious.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“Obvious is not the same as proven.”
He almost smiled.
Apparently every competent professional in his life attended the same school.
Sterling House was legitimate.
Employees existed.
Events happened.
Products arrived.
The question was whether prices had been deliberately inflated.
Evelyn continued.
“There’s another issue.”
Sterling House subcontracted large portions of work to three smaller businesses.
One provided transport.
One specialty catering equipment.
One temporary staffing.
All three had connections to companies owned by relatives of senior Vescari associates.
No single relationship was illegal.
Together, they warranted review.
Luciano looked at the service stairwell again.
Banquet boxes moved through it because the corridor allowed staff to bypass the main house during events.
That could explain the recent traffic.
Then Grant found something stranger.
The lower door had a modern electronic contact sensor installed less than a year ago.
Not connected to the estate security system.
Connected to a small standalone device hidden behind a utility panel.
Grant explained it simply.
“Someone wanted to know when this door opened.”
“Who installed it?”
“Still checking.”
“Could it lock anything?”
“No. Alert only.”
“So somebody was monitoring the passage.”
“Yes.”
Luciano thought of Ellie wandering.
A three-year-old could open doors.
Walk where she should not.
See adults she did not understand.
Celina had described her as a child who “interrupts adult conversations.”
Maybe that phrase mattered.
At dinner, Luciano asked Marianne directly about Sterling House.
“Good company.”
“You recommended them?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Celina knew them.”
“Before she knew me?”
Marianne hesitated.
“Probably.”
That answer was strange.
“You introduced me to Celina.”
“I introduced you at a charity dinner.”
“So you knew her.”
“Socially.”
“How well?”
Marianne’s expression hardened.
“What are you implying?”
“Nothing yet.”
He held her gaze.
“I’m asking how long you knew my fiancée before I did.”
May you like
Marianne did not answer immediately.
For the first time, Luciano wondered whether his engagement and the estate contracts had entered his life through the same door.
