Chapter 45 - An unexpected visitor

I woke to frantic knocking, followed by the unmistakable creak of our bedroom door swinging open. Before I could fully register what was happening, Mabel burst in, her face pale and eyes wide.

"Mabel why are you here? It's quite early."

I asked her.

"Ms Cleo!! I am very sorry to disturb you" she said, her voice barely above a whisper but heavy with urgency. "The police are at the door. They're asking for Mr Nicholas Moretti. They said it's very important."

Nicholas stirred beside me, groaning as he rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?" he mumbled, still groggy.

"Past time for nonsense like this," I muttered, throwing the covers aside. The cold air bit at my skin as I grabbed my robe. Nicholas followed suit, tying his belt lazily as if he thought this was a bad dream.

We shuffled down the grand staircase, Mabel trailing anxiously behind us. I could hear the murmur of voices before we even reached the door, their tones curt and authoritative. Nicholas opened it, and the harsh glare of lanterns spilt into the foyer.

"Mr. Nicholas Moretti?" one of the officers asked, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

"Yes, that's me," Nicholas replied, standing straighter now, though confusion still clouded his features.

Without a preamble, they stepped forward and slapped a pair of iron cuffs onto his wrists. The clinking sound made my stomach churn.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, stepping in front of them. "You can't just barge in here and arrest my husband without an explanation!"

The officer, a grizzled man with a stern face, barely spared me a glance. "The charges against your husband are serious, ma'am. If you want answers, you can follow us to the station."

Nicholas turned to me, his expression calm despite the situation. "Cleo, please," he said softly. "Go back to bed. Let me handle this. Just go get some rest."

"Are you mad?" I shot back, my voice trembling with fear and anger. "You're being taken away in handcuffs, and you really think I'm going to go to bed?"

Ignoring his protests, I grabbed my phone and started dialling my lawyer. My hands were shaking so much that I nearly dropped my phone. "I don't care what time it is," I snapped when the call connected. "You have to come and do something; my husband, Nicholas Moretti, has been arrested, and I need you at the station immediately."

The officers began leading Nicholas out the door, their heavy boots echoing ominously. I followed closely, refusing to let them separate us.

It wasn't until I glanced back at the house that I noticed him—Alex, standing on the staircase's landing, dressed in his usual evening robe, his arms crossed, and a smug smirk playing on his lips.

It hit me like a punch to the gut. He knew something. No, he had something to do with this. The satisfaction in his eyes was unmistakable. Of course, he had something to do with it. That was why he gave that warning in the study. He was planning something, he had something up his sleeves all along.

"You," I hissed, my voice low but dripping with venom. His smirk widened, and he raised a brow as if to say, What are you going to do about it?

I wanted to march up there and shake him, demanding answers right then and there, but Nicholas was already being ushered into the back of the police car. My priorities were clear.

"This isn't over," I muttered under my breath, glaring up at Alex one last time before stepping outside.

..............

I gripped the handle of my bag tightly as I stepped out of the car, the cold November air biting at my cheeks. Beside me, Mr. Harding and Ms. Lewis, Nicholas's attorneys, flanked me with grim determination. The station loomed ahead, its imposing structure a reminder of the gravity of the situation. My heart pounded in my chest, but I held my head high. This was for Nicholas.

Inside, the sterile scent of disinfectant mingled with the faint hum of voices and the shuffle of papers. The officers at the desk regarded us with a mixture of suspicion and indifference. Mr. Harding stepped forward, his voice measured and authoritative.

"My client's wife is here to request an audience with him," he said, sliding over a neatly prepared document. "Under the Sixth Amendment, he has the right to consult with his legal team and his spouse in preparation for his defence."

The officer behind the desk, a middle-aged man with tired eyes, barely glanced at the paper. "He's currently in holding, counsel. No visitors allowed."

I stepped forward, trying to temper my frustration. "He's my husband," I said, my voice cracking slightly. "I need to see him."

The officer didn't blink. "Ma'am, I understand, but that's not possible right now. You can consult with his lawyers, but until further notice, he's off-limits."

Mr. Harding bristled. "This is highly irregular. We will be filing a formal objection—"

The officer cut him off with a dismissive wave. "Do what you need to do, but the decision stands."

I could feel the tears threatening to spill, but I refused to let them fall. Not here, not in front of these strangers. I turned to the lawyers, desperation clawing at my voice. "You have to get him out of here. He didn't do this. Nicholas wouldn't do anything he's been accused of; my husband is not a thief.

Ms. Lewis placed a hand on my arm, her expression softening. "Mrs Fontana, we're doing everything in our power. But the accusations are serious. They're claiming misappropriation of funds, and they have credible evidence and witnesses."

"Misappropriation?" I repeated, disbelief lacing my words. "That's ridiculous. Nicholas would never steal. Why would he need to do that in the first place? He'd never—"

"I know," she said gently. "But the evidence they're presenting is compelling. We'll fight this, but it's going to take time."

Time. The very thing we didn't have. How long would it take for this nightmare to end?

Before I could respond, I heard hurried footsteps. I turned to see Jace rushing through the station doors, his usually confident demeanour replaced with worry. Relief washed over me, and before I knew it, I was collapsing into his arms. Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, overtook me as he held me tightly.

"Ms Cleo," he murmured, his voice a mix of comfort and concern. "You shouldn't be here like this. You need rest."

The lawyers exchanged a look, and Mr. Harding stepped forward. "We have been trying to convince her to leave, but she won't listen. This situation is taxing, and it would be best if she went home to rest. Can you take her home please?"

"No," I said firmly, pulling away from Jace. "I'm not going anywhere until I see Nicholas. You can't ask me to leave."

Jace's eyes met mine, filled with sympathy. "Ms Cleo, you're running yourself ragged."

"I don't care!" I snapped, my voice breaking. "He's my husband, Jace. I need to see him. I won't leave him alone in this place."

The room fell silent for a moment. Then, as if by some miracle, the officer from earlier reappeared. "Ms Cleo Fontana?" he said, his tone begrudging. "You're allowed a brief visit. Five minutes, no more."

Relief flooded me, and I nodded quickly. "Thank you."

Jace tried to stop me, but I shook him off and followed the officer down a long corridor. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of the unknown pressing down on me. Finally, we stopped in front of a small, windowless room.

Nicholas sat on the other side of the glass, his usually confident expression marred by exhaustion. When his eyes met mine, a flicker of warmth broke through the bleakness. Picking up the phone, I pressed it to my ear.

"I'm so sorry, Cleo," he said, his voice hoarse. "I didn't want you to see me like this."

Tears spilt over me as I shook my head. "I don't care about that. Tell me the truth, Nicholas. Did you do what they're accusing you of?"

He leaned forward, his face earnest. "No. I swear to you, Cleo. I didn't do this."

I believed him. I always would.

"This is Alex isn't it? He looked so smug when they were taking you away. He did this."

I said with firm resolve but Nicholas shook his head wearily.

"But, I don't understand why Alex would attack me. What does he gain from this?"

I sighed wearily as I rubbed my temple.

"Can't you see Nick? He must hate you. Every time he tries to attack me, you're there. Every time he tries to make some stupid, silly decision in the company, you're there. Every time he tries something, anything, you're there."

"Targeting you is his best option for now."