Chapter 8 - The Woman Who Counted Everything
Clara Voss asked to speak with Dominic at 2:17 in the morning.
Dominic was awake.
He had not slept since finding Mia in the laundry room, and he suspected sleep would not be friendly when it came. His office smelled of coffee, paper, and old wood. On his desk were ledgers, photographs, vendor records, payroll reports, and a child’s drawing Mia had insisted he keep because “offices need happy.”
The drawing showed three stick figures.
Mama. Mia. Mr. C.
Dominic had stared at it longer than any financial document.
Enzo brought Clara in without handcuffs. Dominic believed restraints were for people without imagination.
Clara looked older than she had at breakfast.
“I want protection,” she said.
Dominic did not invite her to sit.
“For yourself.”
“For my daughter.”
That made him look up.
“You told me your daughter lived in Boston.”
“She does. Rinaldi knows where.”
Dominic leaned back.
“Now you want to be a mother.”
Pain flashed across Clara’s face.
“I was always a mother.”
“No. You were a bookkeeper who stole from mothers.”
She absorbed that like a slap because it was cleaner than one.
“I did what I had to do.”
“People love that sentence. It turns greed into survival.”
“You don’t know what he had on me.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“Then tell me.”
Clara sat without permission.
For once, Dominic allowed it.
“Nine years ago, before Whitfield, your father had accounts that never touched official books. After he died, some men came looking for them. I found irregularities. I should have gone to you.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t trust you.”
Dominic almost smiled.
“That was probably wise.”
“I trusted Whitfield less, but he knew I had altered records for your father. Small things at first. Political donations. Payments to men who later became respectable. If those records surfaced, my daughter’s life would have been destroyed too.”
“How?”
Clara closed her eyes.
“She works for the federal courts.”
Dominic understood.
A mother stealing to protect a daughter from a father’s sins.
It did not excuse anything.
But it explained the rot.
“Rinaldi found out?”
“Whitfield found out first. Then Rinaldi. They used the old accounts to create new ones. At first, it was just money. Then goods. Then documents.”
“Passports.”
Clara nodded.
Dominic’s mouth tightened.
“Names.”
“I’ll give them.”
“All.”
“Yes.”
“And Sofia?”
Clara looked at the floor.
“I’m sorry.”
Dominic said nothing.
“I know that means nothing.”
“It means less than nothing unless you say it to her.”
“I will.”
“No,” Dominic said. “You will write a sworn statement. You will provide documents. You will return every dollar you can. Then, after Sofia chooses whether she wants to see your face, you may apologize.”
Clara’s eyes filled.
“You really would let a maid decide whether I deserve to speak?”
Dominic leaned forward.
“She is not a maid in this conversation. She is a witness you helped intimidate.”
Clara lowered her head.
For a long time, the only sound was the clock.
Then she removed a small flash drive from inside her sleeve and set it on the desk.
“Everything I copied before Whitfield locked me out last year.”
Dominic stared at it.
“You’ve had this for a year?”
“I was afraid.”
“So was Mia.”
Clara flinched.
Good.
Dominic picked up the drive.
“If this is incomplete—”
“It isn’t.”
“If this is a trap—”
“It isn’t.”
“If Rinaldi touches your daughter because of what you tell me, I’ll handle it.”
Clara looked up, startled.
Dominic’s expression remained hard.
“Not for you,” he said. “For her.”
Clara’s tears finally fell.
Dominic felt no satisfaction.
He dismissed her with a nod.
When she was gone, Enzo looked at the flash drive.
“Could be malware.”
“Use the isolated system.”
Enzo nodded.
At the door, he paused.
“You’re doing all this because of the kid?”
Dominic looked at Mia’s drawing.
“No.”
Enzo waited.
May you like
Dominic’s voice was barely audible.
“I’m doing it because she was the first one honest enough to show me my house.”
