PART 2
Luca called twenty-three times before noon.
I didn’t answer a single one.
I was already checked into a downtown hotel suite under my maiden name, pressing an ice pack against my cracked ribs, laptop open on the desk as I sent encrypted PDF files to three people: my senior divorce attorney, the detective assigned to my domestic assault report, and the regional bank’s corporate fraud unit.
Inside the thick envelope on our empty dining table, Luca found high-resolution copies of Wendy’s fraudulent invoices, wire transfers totaling $186,400, screenshots of a text thread showing him approving the unauthorized payments, and one highlighted page from the family company’s operating agreement.
He called again. This time I hit the green button.
“What the hell did you do, Jessi?!” he shouted, his voice tight with panic.
“Nothing yet,” I said, my voice completely flat.
“My mom made a mistake!”
“She committed felony assault, Luca.”
“You’re trying to destroy my family!”
“No, Luca. I’m simply documenting what your family did to itself.”
His tone flipped instantly, dropping into a desperate, pleading whisper. “Please… come home. We’ll sit down and talk. We can fix this.”
I almost laughed.
“I was home, Luca,” I said softly into the phone. “When your mother beat me.”
