Chapter 8: What Richard Really Wanted
Grace called the next morning with the answer.
I was making breakfast when Victor came downstairs with his phone already at his ear.
He listened for a long time without speaking.
Then he said, "Send me everything," and hung up.
He sat at the table.
I put coffee in front of him without being asked — old habit from the mansion — and he looked at it for a moment before he spoke.
"Richard Russo has a gambling debt," he said.
"Significant.
He owes money to two separate creditors, one of whom has connections to organized crjme.
The debt is approximately four hundred thousand dollars."
I sat down across from him.
"He wants money."
"He wants me to pay his debt in exchange for withdrawing the competing petition." Victor wrapped both hands around the coffee cup.
"Grace received a call from his attorney this morning.
They're framing it as a 'settlement for emotional distress related to his sister's passing.' But the number they named matches his debt exactly."
"He's using Noah," I said.
"He was always using Noah." Victor's voice was flat.
"He doesn't want to raise his nephew.
He wants to be paid to go away."
Daniel was standing at the edge of the room.
He had come in quietly and neither of us had noticed.
"What happens if you pay him?" Daniel asked.
Victor looked at him.
"He goes away.
The petition disappears.
The hearing proceeds without a competing claim."
"But he could come back," Daniel said.
"Later.
When he needs money again."
"Yes."
"So you're not going to pay him."
"No," Victor said.
"I'm not."
Daniel nodded slowly.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to find out what he actually has.
Because a man who files a custody petition as a financial threat is counting on the other side being afraid of a public hearing.
He's counting on me wanting this resolved quietly." Victor set down his cup.
"I don't want it resolved quietly.
I want it resolved correctly."
Grace arrived at ten with a folder and a colleague named James, who handled investigative work for the firm.
James was quiet and methodical and within twenty minutes had laid out on the table everything they had found about Richard Russo in the past eighteen hours.
The picture it painted was not complicated.
Richard had been estranged from Elena for six years.
The estrangement had started when he borrowed money from her — a significant amount — and failed to repay it.
Elena had documented the loan in writing.
The document was in her journal.
He had no stable address.
He had moved between three cities in the past four years.
He had no history of caring for children, no references, no employment that lasted longer than eight months.
And he had contacted a tabloid journalist two days ago.
James set a printed email on the table.
"He reached out to a reporter at a Chicago gossip publication.
He offered them an exclusive — billionaire's secret son discovered in basement shelter, raised by a thirteen-year-old employee.
He was asking for payment for the story."
The table was quiet.
"He's running two plays at once," Grace said.
"Pressure from the legal side and pressure from the press side.
If Victor pays to settle, Richard gets his money and kills the story.
If Victor doesn't pay, Richard sells the story and uses the publicity to make the custody hearing messier."
"Can he sell it?" I asked.
"He can try," James said.
"But a story like that cuts both ways.
It also exposes Richard's own conduct — the estrangement, the loan, the debt, the timing of his petition.
A good journalist would ask why he waited until his sister had been gone for a year to suddenly care about her son."
"Is this journalist a good journalist?" Victor asked.
James paused.
"She's thorough," he said.
"And she called our office this morning to ask for comment before running anything.
Which means she's already asking the right questions."
Victor looked at Grace.
"Call her back.
Give her the full picture.
Not a statement — a conversation.
Let her see the journal entries about the loan.
Let her see the timeline of Richard's petition versus the timeline of his debt calls."
Grace raised an eyebrow.
"You want to go on record."
"I want the truth on record before Richard's version becomes the only one she has."
"That's a risk," Grace said.
"So is letting him control the story." Victor looked at the folder on the table.
"Elena spent a year protecting these children from a distance, through a thirteen-year-old, because she didn't trust the people around her to do it right.
The least I can do is stop being afraid of the truth."
James gathered the papers.
Grace made a call in the corner.
I looked at the email on the table.
The journalist's name was Karen Solis.
"She's going to write about me," I said.
"About the basement.
About being thirteen."
"Probably," Victor said.
"Is that okay?"
He looked at me.
"Is it okay with you?"
I thought about it.
About seven months of making sure nobody saw the photograph in my backpack.
About learning to be invisible so the children could stay safe.
"If it helps them stay together," I said, "then yes."
Victor nodded.
That afternoon, Richard's attorney called with a revised number.
The debt, apparently, had grown.
The new figure was five hundred and twenty thousand dollars.
Victor's attorney sent back two words.
*No.
Proceed.*
Richard's next move came faster than anyone expected.
At four in the afternoon, James called.
"He's contacted child services," James said.
"He filed a complaint an hour ago alleging that the children are currently residing in an unsafe environment under the supervision of a minor.
He's requesting an emergency inspection."
Victor was already standing.
"When?"
"They said tomorrow morning.
Nine o'clock."
Victor looked at me.
I looked at the basement — the fixed ventilation, the proper mattresses, the shelf of medicine, the shoes lined up by the door.
"Let them come," I said.
But that evening, when I was putting the twins to bed, Ava tugged my sleeve.
"Olivia," she said.
"There was a man outside today.
While you were upstairs with Victor.
He was standing across the street looking at the building."
I kept my voice calm.
"What did he look like?"
"Thin," she said.
"Dark eyes.
He was on his phone."
I pulled the blanket up around her.
"Thank you for telling me."
"Is he going to cause trouble?" she asked.
"Some people try to," I said.
"But trouble isn't the same as winning."
She seemed to accept that.
She closed her eyes.
I sat with her until she was asleep.
Then I went upstairs and told Victor that Richard Russo had been outside the building that afternoon, watching.
Victor made one call.
By morning, there were two men from his security team stationed at the building's entrance.
May you like
And at exactly nine o'clock, the child services inspector arrived.
She was not the same woman who had come before.
