Chapter 2 - THE FIFTY PERCENT
Dominic called his attorney at 1:13 a.m.
Not family counsel.
Personal counsel.
Elena Rossi arrived forty minutes later wearing jeans beneath a trench coat.
She read the deed twice.
Then looked at Rebecca.
“This appears authentic.”
Rebecca stared.
“Appears?”
“We verify everything.”
Dominic nodded.
Good.
No dramatic transfer.
No instant fortune.
Records first.
Title history.
Trust documents.
Tax filings.
Valuation.
The next morning, they knew enough to understand the scale.
Samuel Hail’s fifty-percent interest had not simply vanished.
It had been held through a dormant trust structure.
The property had appreciated dramatically.
Rebecca’s share was potentially worth tens of millions.
But value was not cash.
There were leases.
Debt.
Operating agreements.
Tax issues.
Governance rights.
Complications.
Rebecca sat silently while Elena explained.
Then said:
“I scrubbed floors in a building I might partly own.”
Nobody answered.
That sentence did enough.
Dominic looked ashamed.
“I didn’t know.”
“I believe you.”
That helped him less than he hoped.
Rebecca continued:
“But someone knew.”
Genevieve.
Elena requested historical estate correspondence.
Hours later, they found another document.
A letter Genevieve had sent Antonio Falcone before his death.
Not romantic.
Financial.
She had asked whether Samuel Hail’s trust could be “consolidated into Falcone interests.”
Antonio wrote back:
No. Samuel’s daughter is entitled to what belongs to her. That discussion is closed.
Rebecca stared.
Genevieve had known for at least fourteen years.
Before Rebecca ever took a job in the mansion.
Before Clementine was born.
Before Rebecca’s husband died in a construction accident.
Before she needed work.
Genevieve had known.
And when Rebecca applied for a housekeeping job, Genevieve approved the hire personally.
Dominic’s face hardened.
“She brought you here.”
Rebecca whispered:
“Why?”
That answer came from Maria.
The housekeeper sat in the kitchen wringing her hands.
“Mrs. Falcone asked about you constantly.”
“What things?”
“Your debts.”
Rebecca froze.
“Your apartment.”
Maria looked ashamed.
“Whether you were dating anyone.”
Dominic’s expression darkened.
Maria continued:
“She wanted to know whether you had legal papers from your father.”
Rebecca whispered:
“She was searching.”
Not punishing.
Searching.
Genevieve had turned Rebecca into staff so she could keep her close.
Poor.
Busy.
Dependent.
Invisible.
Dominic stood.
“Where is my wife?”
A guard answered:
“Upstairs.”
“Bring her to the study.”
Rebecca rose.
“No.”
Dominic looked at her.
“What?”
“Not yet.”
“You deserve answers.”
“Yes.”
Rebecca’s voice became steadier.
“And I don’t want answers from someone who knows we just discovered the file.”
Dominic paused.
Smart.
Rebecca had survived eighteen months by watching Genevieve carefully.
“She’ll lie.”
“Yes.”
“So let her keep thinking we only know about the pool.”
Elena smiled faintly.
“For someone who claims she’s only a maid, Mrs. Hail, you think like counsel.”
Rebecca looked at her.
“I’ve spent years surviving people with more power than me.”
That evening, Genevieve left for Vermont.
Not prison.
Not exile forever.
Dominic’s punishment from the party still stood.
But he said nothing about the deed.
Nothing about the trust.
Nothing about Samuel.
Genevieve smiled coldly at Rebecca before leaving.
As though she still believed she controlled the important secret.
Rebecca smiled back.
May you like
For the first time, Genevieve was the only person in the room who did not know enough.
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