Chapter 6: The Man Who Ran
Ashworth had a twelve-hour head start by the time Detective Reyes issued the alert.
I spent the morning in Paul's office with two prosecutors, a forensic accountant, and a woman named Claire Dunne from the financial crimes unit who had the focused, unhurried manner of someone who had seen worse than this and knew exactly what to do about it.
She spread the ledger copies across the conference table.
"Four names," she said.
"Marco Vitelli.
Gerard Ashworth.
A man named Philip Crane — he's a minority shareholder in two of your construction subsidiaries.
And a woman named Dana Reiss." She looked up.
"Do you know her?"
"No."
"She's a trust attorney.
Specializes in estate restructuring." Claire tapped the relevant page.
"Her entry in the ledger is the most recent before Marco's purchase.
She appears to have provided the legal analysis — what would happen to the Moretti holdings if Ethan were no longer the primary heir.
She mapped the restructuring.
She identified who would benefit and by how much."
"She told them it would work," I said.
"She told them exactly how much each of them would receive." Claire slid a page across the table.
"Crane stood to recover approximately four million in failing investments.
Reiss had a contingency fee arrangement.
Ashworth—" She paused.
"Ashworth's share was the largest.
Eleven million."
Eleven million dollars.
Six years of birthday cards.
Six years of *With love, Uncle Gerard.*
"He needed money that badly?" Paul asked.
"He needed it quietly," Claire said.
"His personal accounts show a pattern of significant losses over the past three years.
Private investments that went wrong.
He couldn't liquidate without it becoming visible in the business accounts.
He needed a different kind of solution."
I looked at the page.
Four people.
Four different reasons.
One eight-year-old boy.
"Where is he?" I asked.
Detective Reyes answered from the far end of the table.
"His phone last pinged a tower near the New Jersey Turnpike at six-forty this morning.
After that, nothing.
He either switched phones or powered down."
"He has contacts," I said.
"Business contacts in three countries.
If he reaches an international departure—"
"We have alerts at every major port of exit." Reyes was calm.
"His passport is flagged.
Credit cards are being monitored.
He can't use his own name to move."
"He has cash," I said.
"He's been managing my accounts for six years.
He knows how to move money without leaving a clear trail."
Reyes looked at me steadily.
"Mr.
Moretti.
We will find him."
I had spent twenty years in business learning to read the difference between a person who was reassuring you and a person who was telling you the truth.
She was telling me the truth.
I nodded once and looked back at the table.
Philip Crane had surrendered to police at nine that morning, accompanied by his attorney, and was already cooperating.
Dana Reiss had been taken into custody at her office in Midtown at ten-fifteen.
Her assistant had reportedly stood in the doorway of the conference room and watched without expression as the detectives led her out.
Marco was in a holding cell awaiting arraignment.
Three of four.
I drove back to the estate at noon.
Sophia met me at the door.
She looked like she hadn't slept.
"Lily's been asking for Ethan," she said.
"Where is he?"
"In the garden with Maria."
I found them near the far hedge — Ethan sitting cross-legged on the grass, Lily standing in front of him with a stick she was using to draw something in the dirt.
Maria, my housekeeper's assistant, sat on a bench nearby pretending to read a magazine.
I stopped at the edge of the garden and watched.
Lily was explaining something with great seriousness.
Ethan was nodding.
I couldn't hear the words.
Then Lily looked up and saw me.
She dropped the stick and ran across the grass in her white sneakers — both tied now, I noticed — and stopped directly in front of me.
She looked up at my face.
"Is the bad man gone?" she asked.
I crouched down.
"Yes," I said.
"He's gone."
She studied me with the same expression she had worn in the ballroom the night before — the look of a child deciding whether an adult was telling the truth.
Then she nodded, satisfied, and ran back to Ethan.
I stood up.
Maria caught my eye from the bench and looked away quickly.
Her magazine was upside down.
My phone rang.
Vincent.
"We found Ashworth," he said.
"He didn't make it to a border.
He's at a motel in Pennsylvania.
Reyes is already coordinating with local police."
I exhaled.
"Is he contained?"
"He's in the room.
Local units are outside.
Reyes wants to be present for the arrest.
She's forty minutes out."
"Good."
I watched Ethan lean forward to look at whatever Lily was drawing in the dirt.
"Vincent," I said.
"When it's done — call me directly."
"I will."
I put the phone in my pocket and stayed where I was, at the edge of the garden, watching my son and a three-year-old girl with a stick and a patch of dirt, until the afternoon light shifted and Maria finally turned her magazine right-side up.
The call came at two-forty-seven.
"He's in custody," Vincent said.
I put the phone back in my pocket.
Ethan looked up from the garden.
"Dad?
You okay?"
"Yes," I said.
"Come inside.
I'll make lunch."
He scrambled up from the grass.
Lily followed, still carrying her stick.
May you like
She walked through my front door like she owned the place.
I didn't stop her.
