Chapter 51 51

Chapter 51 51
Dominic's POV

They drove me to a federal building downtown, an ugly concrete behemoth filled with the kind of bureaucratic power that could ruin lives on paper. The look of the interrogation room is what you would imagine — cold, institutional, and purposely uncomfortable. Florescent lights that burned too bright. A metal table screwed in place on the floor. Chairs that would make your back feel like crap after 20 minutes.

Across from me two agents sat. The older was a man in his late forties, with the sort of face that had seen too much and believed not enough. The female agent was much younger, bright-eyed, seemingly amused by making people squirm. Next to me, my attorney Marcus Chen sat poised with his legal pad and fancy pen, ready to object at the first hint of inappropriate comment.

“Mr. DeLaurentis, let’s talk about your business,” the male agent started, speaking to me as if in casual conversation about the weather.

"I run several legitimate businesses. Real estate development, import-export business, restaurants all over Chicago.” Tried to steady my voice, bored it even. “All legitimate, all registered, all paying taxes.”

"And the illegitimate ones?" The girl agent leaned a fraction of an inch closer.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

They pushed several photographs across the metal table. Surveillance photos, clearly shot at a distance with telephoto lenses. Me making contact with criminals in parking lots. Clubbing and working a deal or two. Me at different places around the city doing things that looked sketchy when you took them out of context.

"It seems to me like you keep some pretty lousy company," the male agent said. "Drug dealers, money launderers, enforcers. Quite the social circle."

“I meet lots of people in my business. I can’t control people’s individual backgrounds or where they come from legally.” I hardly even looked at the pictures. “If you lock up everyone who has ever shaken the hand of a criminal, there will be nobody left in Chicago.”

“Can you tell me what these financial transfers are about?” The woman agent of the pair then produced bank statements, and used a yellow marker to mark individual transactions. “Huge amounts of money flowing through multiple shell companies.”

"Business expenses. “Completely legal transactions between me, and my various corporate entities.

“Quarter-million-dollar ‘business expenses’ to offshore Cayman Islands accounts?” Her eyebrow arched skeptically. "That's quite the expense."

"International investments. Diversification of assets. Basic financial planning." I kept my expression neutral. "My accountants handle the specifics. Everything is documented."

It went on like this for more than an hour. Do that, back and forth — them fishing for admissions, me dodging with reasonable explanations Nearly a solid 10. They had information, but no tangible evidence to press a confession. And I had been at this long enough to know how to maneuver these conversations without hanging myself.

I was beginning to believe we’d get out of this with nothing more than a little damage when the female agent changed tactics entirely.

"What about your wife?"

For half a second, the question threw me. "What about her?"

"Vivian Carter. Or is it Veronica Carter? We have records of both names holding you over your account for the past year.” She pulled out more documents. ‘‘Birth certificates, school records, social media profiles. The information is... confusing."

I actually felt cold blood in my veins but managed to keep my face completely blank. “My wife’s full name on paper is Vivian Veronica Carter. Either name is used to refer to her based on the context. What's your point?"

The agent grinned as if she had just spied a chink in the armor. "It's just interesting that you're struggling on the identify of your own wife. Most individuals are pretty sure of their spouse’s name.”

"I'm not confused about anything. Is there a real question here, or are you just wasting my time?” I glanced at Marcus, he was already gearing up to argue.

"When did you meet her, anyway?" the male agent cut in, assuming the questioning.

"Through her father, Viktor Carter. An hour ago, about a year ago when we made the deal."

“And you two got married right after that first meeting. Three months?"

"Yes. When you meet the right person, you don’t wait. Why would I?" The cliché made me feel sick but it was what he’d wanted to hear, what any sane person would say.

“We have individuals who say your bride appeared different at the wedding. Very nervous. Almost frightened. According to one guest, she was ‘terrified.’ "
“Even the most courageous brides get jittery on their wedding day. It's normal."

“This did not strike me as your garden-variety prewedding jitters,” the woman agent pushed. “Several people commented on how unlike what they had thought she was. How she wasn’t really the personality they had ascribed to Veronica Carter.”

Where in the hell were they headed with this? “Are you doubting my marriage?”

"We're doubting everything about you, Mr. DeLaurentis, That's our job." She pushed more photographs across the table. “These were from the charity gala, the one where Veronica had swooped in dramatically. your wife doesn’t look too comfortable in those pictures. She looks scared. Trapped, even."

“She was getting used to married life, to being in the public eye as my wife. It's an adjustment for anyone."

“Or maybe she’s not happy because she is pretending to be someone who perhaps she is not?” The question hovered, grenade like, with the pin pulled.

Marcus finally intervened. "Unless you have specific accusations that are rooted in facts, I recommend you stop trying to get speculation. My client has been cooperative, but this is harassment."

The agents stepped back a little, exchanging looks that seemed to say they had what they came for — assurance that this was something sensitive worth investigating further.

"Wait just a second before you go," the male agent said as I was getting up to leave and grabbing my jacket. A guy reached out to us claiming he had info about your wife. About who she actually is and how your marriage came to be. We're actively pursuing that lead."

My face remained stone cold while I felt panic boiling up in my chest. "Who contacted you?"

"We can't disclose our sources. But, assuming the information pans out and what we are hearing is confirmed, we will be adding new charges to your indictment. Fake marriage, identity theft, conspiracy to defraud, potentially human trafficking depending on the exact circumstance.” He paused, to let that sink in. “Those are federal charges with mandatory minimums.

I didn't make a scene until we were out of the building, and Marcus making his way back to his office as Xavier cleared off my car. I didn't let myself react until then.

"How bad?" My face was read by Xavier right away.

"Bad. They're investigating Vivian now. Her identity, the marriage, everything."
"Fuck." Xavier revved the engine, merging with more cars on the road. “What do they really know?”

"Not sure yet. But someone tipped them off. Someone gave them a message to investigate whether Viviana is truly Veronica.” The scenarios flashing through my head. “The question is who would know enough to say that to them and why they’d take the risk of doing so.”

“Viktor Carter would know, but he’d be giving himself up for the fraud.”

"Exactly. So, you know, not him would be my guess based on all that unless he already has an immunity offer.”

"Veronica knows. If she confided in Cassius, he could have told the Feds.”

That made the most sense. Veronica had the most to gain if she could reveal the truth—it would annul the marriage, nullify my father-in-law’s debt to me, and perhaps ruin me as well. Cassius, after all, had demonstrated he would employ any weapon that came to hand.

“We’ve got to get ahead of that somehow,” I said, though I didn’t know how. “Curb the storyline before it curbs us.”

"How exactly do we do that?"

"I don't know yet." I looked outside at Chicago rolling past. "If we can prove the marriage was a sham, the debt to Viktor is waived. I’d be up on human trafficking for having kept Vivian. As a victim or accomplice, depending on how they want to develop it. But either way, it’s a total disaster.”

"Where's Vivian now?"

"Celeste's house. Under heavy guard. I want her to stay there, until this gets resolved.”

"Good. But at least she’s safe for now.”

We drove in strained silence, my brain spinning through possibilities and potential narratives. None of them were good. All roads ahead seemed destined for ruin — or mine, Vivian’s, or both.

My phone rang. Unknown number. I thought about not answering, but then I did.

"Hello?"

There was heavy breathing at the other end. It was a voice I knew right away even though I’d only heard it a few times.

"Hi Dominic. We need to talk. About my little sister. And what really happened at your wedding.”

Veronica.

"Where are you?" I did my best to keep my voice level, though I felt the rage beginning to rise.

"Close. Very close. Closer than you'd probably like." I heard her smile in her voice. "Meet me tomorrow. Noon. The fountain at Millennium Park. Alone, no guards, no weapons. Or surveillance when, I turn over everything I know you and Vivian to the Feds. Every detail of the substitution. Every lie. Everything."

"Veronica—"

"Tomorrow. Alone. Don't be late."

The line went dead.

I looked at the phone, my mind already flipping through consequences. This was it. The second where all I’d built might collapse. Veronica had all the cards now, and she knew it.