Michael Moretti’s Crime Was Not in the Letter

Chapter 07 - Michael Moretti’s Crime Was Not in the Letter

Peter Sloan’s arrest opened files Michael had never preserved.

That was the problem with dead men’s confessions.

They still choose the frame.

Federal investigators found Sloan’s old storage unit in Nevada.

Tax files.

Client ledgers.

Microcassettes.

Photographs.

Among them:

Copies of Moretti payment records.

Not veterans’ fund theft.

Something newer.

Luca’s current empire.

Sloan had kept watching the Morettis after disappearing.

Insurance.

Leverage.

Habit.

The records showed Luca had spent six years modernizing the organization.

Hotels.

Licensed gaming.

Logistics.

Real estate.

Cleaner books.

Fewer street crews.

All true.

They also showed what he kept.

An illegal sports-betting credit operation.

Payments to a city licensing intermediary.

A security contractor known for pressuring vendors who refused Moretti terms.

No murder orders.

No narcotics.

No trafficking.

Still crime.

Luca’s lawyers told him:

“Sloan’s records may be incomplete.”

“They are accurate?”

“Some appear to be.”

“Then incomplete does not help.”

Board counsel opened an internal investigation.

Luca stepped aside temporarily.

His uncle Carlo called.

Finally.

Carlo had been almost invisible since the jacket appeared.

Now he wanted dinner.

Luca declined.

Carlo came anyway.

Seventy-two.

Silver hair.

Old-school suit.

A cane he refused to call a cane.

He looked at Michael’s photograph on Luca’s office wall.

“You dug up ghosts.”

“No.”

“Your maid did.”

Luca’s expression changed.

“Emma is not my maid.”

Carlo looked surprised.

“She quit?”

“Yes.”

“Smart girl.”

That irritated Luca.

Then Carlo said:

“Sloan always kept insurance.”

“You knew he was alive?”

“No.”

Luca studied him.

Maybe true.

“Did you know Daniel was?”

“Yes.”

Of course.

“When?”

“After Michael died.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because Daniel asked me not to.”

Family.

Always someone asking.

Carlo continued.

He learned Daniel Carver’s identity during a security review.

Confronted him.

Daniel told him about the crash and Sloan.

Carlo believed enough.

Then chose silence.

Why?

“Because you were twenty-two and furious at the world.”

“That’s your defense?”

“No.”

Carlo looked at him.

“My defense is that I was a coward.”

Unexpected.

Luca waited.

Carlo had spent years believing Michael suspected him of sabotage.

Michael never apologized directly.

Only later told him Sloane was responsible.

Their relationship never recovered.

Carlo could have forced truth into the open.

Did not.

“I wanted him to live with thinking he almost destroyed us.”

Luca stared.

“You punished my father by lying to me.”

“Yes.”

No one in this family knew how to keep revenge in its own lane.

Then Carlo looked at Sloan’s current Moretti records.

“You’re going to prison.”

“Maybe.”

“Fight.”

Luca almost laughed.

“Why?”

“Because you’re a Moretti.”

The disease in one sentence.

Luca said:

“That is not a legal argument.”

“It used to be.”

“Exactly.”

Carlo’s eyes hardened.

“You think confessing makes you clean?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Separating what I did from what my father did.”

Carlo stared.

Then sat.

Maybe age.

Maybe impact.

Luca continued.

“I kept the betting operation.”

“Yes.”

“I knew who our security contractor was.”

“Yes.”

“I authorized licensing money I knew was not normal consulting.”

Carlo said nothing.

“I’m not putting those under Michael.”

“You inherited them.”

“I continued them.”

Silence.

Then Luca said:

“If you want to help, tell investigators what you know about Sloan.”

Carlo laughed.

“You ask too much.”

“No.”

Luca looked at him.

“I’m asking once.”

Carlo left without answering.

Two days later, his lawyer contacted prosecutors.

He would cooperate regarding historical Sloan records.

Not Luca’s current crimes.

Meanwhile Emma began a new job.

The hotel promoted her after three months.

Housekeeping supervisor.

Slightly better pay.

Health insurance.

A schedule that let her attend Walter’s therapy on Thursdays.

She also enrolled in one evening hospitality-management course at community college.

One.

Not a transformation montage.

A class.

Her professor assigned a project on labor costs.

Emma knew too much already.

She got an A-minus.

The minus annoyed her more than it should.

Walter laughed.

His speech had improved enough for sarcasm.

“Tragedy.”

Emma threw a napkin at him.

Life.

Then Luca’s lawyer sent her a formal request.

Not Luca.

Would she provide a statement about the engagement dinner and Vanessa’s attempt to destroy the jacket?

Emma agreed.

Her own attorney present.

Short.

Facts.

No romance.

Afterward Luca waited in the lobby.

He had not planned to.

Or said he had not.

Emma looked at him.

“You promised not to ask again.”

“I’m not asking.”

“Then?”

“I wanted to thank you for giving the statement.”

“You could send a note.”

“Yes.”

She almost smiled.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I wanted to see you.”

Honest.

Still not permission.

Emma looked at him.

“Five minutes.”

They sat in the lobby.

He told her about the Sloan records.

Not details protected by investigation.

Enough.

“I may be charged.”

Emma’s chest tightened.

“For your father?”

“No.”

“For me.”

Better.

“What did you do?”

He told her.

No euphemisms.

Illegal betting.

Bribery.

Coercive contracting.

Emma listened.

Then:

“Why tell me?”

“Because if I ask you to dinner someday, I don’t want you discovering who I am after you say yes.”

She looked at him.

“That is almost manipulative.”

His face changed.

She smiled slightly.

“Almost.”

Then Emma said:

“You still cannot ask.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

He smiled.

“Can I ask one thing unrelated?”

“What?”

“How is your father?”

Emma softened.

“Walking farther.”

“Good.”

“His right hand still doesn’t cooperate.”

Luca nodded.

No offer.

He had learned.

Five minutes ended.

Emma stood.

Luca did too.

Neither touched.

As she walked away, her heart hurt in a way she did not appreciate.

Then her phone rang.

It was Daniel.

He had found something in Michael’s Army jacket after the conservator returned it.

Not another letter.

A bloodstain.

Old.

Testable.

And forensic comparison suggested the blood did not belong to Michael Moretti.

It belonged to Patrick Sloan.

The jacket had been present during a confrontation Michael never described.

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And if Sloan’s blood was on Michael’s uniform after the crash—

Michael had lied about letting him simply walk away.