Chapter 8
Richard stared at the date.
For the first time that night, his face lost color.
Helen sat down.
Slowly.
Domenico watched both of them.
Neither asked whether he was certain.
They already knew.
He turned the Nevada file toward his father.
“Explain.”
Richard’s jaw worked once.
No sound.
Domenico felt his pulse beating beneath the signet ring on his finger.
The signature was genuine.
That made the impossibility worse.
A forensic review of old documents began immediately.
The answer emerged by morning.
The signature page had originally belonged to a different operational authorization Domenico signed six weeks earlier.
Someone had reused the page.
The Nevada order had been printed above it later.
Domenico stood in the archive room while the examiner explained.
His hands remained in his pockets.
“What access was required?”
“Senior family archive access.”
“Who had it?”
The examiner looked uncomfortable.
“Your father. Your mother. The old consigliere. And you.”
Richard had served as patriarch then.
Helen controlled family records during Domenico’s hospitalization.
Domenico looked toward them.
His mother’s face was rigid.
Richard appeared furious.
Not ashamed.
That distinction mattered.
Richard pointed at the examiner.
“You're interpreting paper.”
Domenico stepped between them.
“No.”
His voice dropped.
“He’s reading it.”
Richard’s eyes met his son’s.
For a moment the old hierarchy returned.
Father.
Son.
Patriarch.
Heir.
Then Domenico broke it.
“You don't interrupt him again.”
Richard’s nostrils flared.
But he stopped.
The examiner continued.
The signature-page substitution had occurred within seventy-two hours after Michael died.
Not before the operation.
After.
Someone altered the record after there was a body to explain.
Helen’s hand rose to her throat.
Domenico saw her fingers tremble.
“You knew.”
She looked at him.
“Domenico—”
“You knew.”
Her eyes filled.
Richard snapped:
“Enough.”
Domenico did not even look at him.
Helen whispered:
“We were trying to keep the family together.”
Domenico’s face went still.
That was not a denial.
Then an elderly former bodyguard named Frank Malloy was brought in from retirement.
He had transported the original Nevada order.
Domenico asked one question.
“Who gave it to you?”
Frank looked toward Richard.
Richard stared back.
Frank’s breath shook.
Then he answered.
“Your father.”
The room went silent.
May you like
Domenico’s mother closed her eyes.
Richard had ordered the mission that killed Michael.
