Chapter 12 - the signature from the grave
Rain hammered against the windshield of Dante’s armored black sedan as he sped toward the Chicago docks.
Beside him in the passenger seat was Salvatore, his veteran enforcer.
"Boss," Salvatore said, reviewing files on a secure tablet. "We pulled the offshore banking records connected to the harbor warehouse. The lease on that cold-storage unit was renewed six months ago."
"Under whose name?" Dante asked, gripping the steering wheel.
"That’s the crazy part," Salvatore replied, handing Dante the tablet at a red light. "The lease was signed digitally using Carmela's personal notary seal. And the rent is being paid monthly from a blind trust in Zurich."
Dante examined the digital signature. It was Carmela’s signature, exact down to the slight flourish on the letter *F*.
"It’s a forgery," Dante muttered. "Marco had access to her digital files."
"Look at the third page, Dante," Salvatore urged.
Dante swiped the screen.
It was a copy of the trust's monthly distribution list. Every thirty days, ten thousand dollars was wired from the Zurich account to a private checking account at Chase Bank in Chicago.
The beneficiary of that account was Rosa Bennett.
Dante slammed his foot on the brake, pulling the car onto the wet shoulder of the harbor road. The tires hissed against the asphalt.
"What did you say?" Dante turned to Salvatore, his eyes burning with fury.
"Rosa Bennett," Salvatore repeated quietly. "The account was opened three years ago, right after Sophia was born. The payments have cleared on the first of every month. The last deposit was made three days ago."
Dante’s mind spun violently.
Rosa had told him Carmela gave her cash at a coffee shop before she died. She never mentioned a monthly wire transfer of ten thousand dollars. She never mentioned a Zurich trust fund.
She was playing him.
The innocent maid, the terrified mother, the little girl in the pink dress mimicking his stride—was it all an orchestrated performance to gain access to the Falcone estate?
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Dante shifted the sedan back into drive, flooring the gas pedal. The engine roared, hurtling the car toward the rusted shipping cranes of the Chicago Harbor.
"Take Marco alive," Dante ordered, his voice devoid of all human emotion. "And bring Rosa’s background investigator to the harbor. Tonight, every single lie dies."
