Chapter 4 - Breakfast with Thieves
The next morning, Dominic held breakfast in the formal dining room.
He never ate there.
The room could seat thirty-two people beneath portraits of Castellanos who had built fortunes through blood, shipping, construction, unions, politics, and silence. Dominic preferred coffee in his office. But that morning, he sat at the head of the long table with a full staff roster placed beside his plate.
Gerald Whitfield entered first.
Clara Voss arrived two minutes later, carrying a folder and wearing the composed expression of a woman who had survived decades by never appearing surprised.
Behind them stood Enzo.
That was when Whitfield understood this was not breakfast.
“Sit,” Dominic said.
They sat.
A footman poured coffee with hands that shook. Dominic dismissed him gently.
“Close the doors behind you.”
When they were alone, Dominic opened the folder Whitfield had provided.
“This is your summary?”
Whitfield nodded.
“As requested.”
“I requested everything.”
“I believed a summary would be more efficient.”
Dominic turned one page.
“It says Sofia Reyes has repeated attendance issues, damages owed, and disciplinary warnings.”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
Whitfield said nothing.
Dominic placed another stack of papers beside it.
“These are records from Sofia’s apartment.”
Whitfield looked at them only once, but once was enough.
Clara Voss did not look at all.
That interested Dominic more.
“Do you know what I hate more than theft?” Dominic asked.
Whitfield remained carefully still.
“Sentimentality?” Clara said dryly.
Dominic looked at her.
It was the first time she had spoken.
“Laziness,” Dominic said. “Theft is old. Everybody steals something eventually. Money. Time. Credit. Forgiveness. But lazy theft insults me.”
Whitfield’s nostrils flared.
“I don’t know what Sofia told you—”
“She told me less than the paperwork did.”
Clara folded her hands.
“Staff grievances are often emotional.”
Dominic smiled faintly.
That smile had emptied rooms.
“Clara, I have known you since I was thirteen. You gave me peppermint candy the day my father sent me to negotiate with men too old to threaten children honestly.”
Her eyes softened by instinct.
Then hardened when she realized he had noticed.
“You also know,” Dominic continued, “that I remember numbers.”
No one moved.
“In 2022, this house spent eighty-four thousand dollars on imported linen replacements. Yet inventory logs show only twelve percent of that linen entered the property. In 2023, staff housing repairs were billed under three vendor names. All three companies share a mailing address with your nephew in Yonkers.”
Clara’s face lost color.
Whitfield turned toward her.
That was the first fracture.
Dominic saw it and pressed.
“And Gerald, you charged staff for damages already covered by household expenses. You terminated employees accused of theft, then continued payroll under their names. You threatened a sick woman and frightened her child over a shirt I didn’t even ask about.”
Whitfield stood.
“I will not be spoken to like a criminal.”
Dominic remained seated.
“Then stop behaving like a cheap one.”
Whitfield’s chair scraped the floor.
Enzo stepped forward.
Whitfield stopped.
Clara closed her eyes.
Dominic turned to her.
“How many years?”
She whispered, “Dominic—”
“Do not use my name like family now.”
She swallowed.
Whitfield pointed at her.
“She handled the accounts.”
Clara laughed once, bitter and sharp.
“And you brought me the deductions. You brought me the ghost names. You begged me to cover your gambling debts before Mr. Castellano found out you were selling access to staff quarters.”
Dominic’s gaze shifted.
“Access?”
Whitfield’s mouth opened.
No sound came.
Clara knew then she had gone too far.
Dominic stood slowly.
The room seemed to shrink around him.
“What kind of access?”
Clara looked down.
“Nothing improper.”
“What kind?”
Whitfield’s voice cracked.
“Temporary storage. That’s all. Certain outside parties used empty rooms for packages.”
Dominic stared at him.
“In my house.”
Whitfield licked his lips.
“In unused staff spaces.”
“In my house,” Dominic repeated.
This was no longer payroll theft.
This was invasion.
Someone had been moving goods through his property under his name, behind his back, using workers too poor to object as cover.
Dominic looked at Enzo.
“Lock down the property.”
Enzo nodded.
Dominic turned back to Whitfield and Clara.
“You two are going to tell me every name attached to this.”
Whitfield found some last scrap of arrogance.
“And if I refuse?”
Dominic leaned both hands on the table.
“Then I start by asking Mia Reyes what she remembers adults carrying past her window at night.”
The color drained from Whitfield’s face.
There it was.
Fear.
Dominic did not enjoy it.
That surprised him.
May you like
He only felt tired.
“Congratulations,” he said softly. “You stole from a thief and made a child pay for it. That is the stupidest thing anyone has done in this house since my father thought I would become him.”
