Chapter 7
The Blue Room had been Claire’s plan to convert an unused rehearsal studio into a permanent adaptive-music classroom.
Adjustable keyboards.
Wheelchair-accessible percussion stations.
Low music stands.
Sensory panels.
A quiet space for children overwhelmed by large performance halls.
Donors had contributed specifically for it.
Vittorio remembered the campaign.
He had donated the first $250,000 himself.
“What happened to the room?”
Rachel looked toward the concert hall’s upper floor.
“It never got built.”
Vittorio drove there with Daniel and the independent auditor the board had hired, CPA Margaret Sloan.
The supposed Blue Room was being used to store banquet linens.
No adaptive equipment.
No renovation.
Nothing.
Margaret compared the physical space with invoices.
Northline Cultural Logistics had billed the foundation more than $400,000 for the project.
“Who certified completion?”
“Owen,” Rachel said.
“Who authorized final payment?”
Mark Feldman pulled up the record.
Claire Greco.
Again.
Vittorio stared at the signature.
Margaret did not react emotionally.
“I need originals, not scans.”
“We have the originals.”
“Good. We also need bank permissions, email headers, vendor ownership records and board minutes.”
Vittorio looked at her.
“You think her signatures could be forged?”
“I think guessing is expensive.”
That answer kept him from jumping ahead.
Back at the townhouse, Bianca was waiting outside.
Daniel had told her not to come.
She came anyway.
“I want my things.”
“You’ll get them.”
“I want them now.”
“Nico’s home.”
Her eyes moved toward the upper windows.
“I’m not going near him.”
Vittorio watched her.
“Why did you cancel Claire’s Blue Room?”
Bianca’s jaw tightened.
“I didn’t.”
“Her note says you told her to cut it.”
“Claire wrote a lot of things near the end.”
Again.
Near the end.
Sick.
Confused.
Bianca had been repeating the same explanation for eighteen months.
Vittorio stepped closer.
“What did Owen mean when he called Nico the child of trash?”
Bianca’s eyes flicked toward Daniel.
Then back.
“You know Owen’s mouth.”
“No.”
Vittorio shook his head.
“I know he hated my wife.”
May you like
Bianca looked away.
And that was the first time she did not deny it.
