Chapter 2 - The First Missing Dollar
By six in the morning, the Castellano estate was awake in a way Dominic had never heard before.
Not with the polished rhythm Gerald Whitfield had always presented to him — breakfast trays moving silently, gardeners arriving on schedule, chauffeurs waiting with engines warm. This morning the house breathed differently. Nervously.
Staff members spoke in whispers. Doors opened and closed too carefully. No one looked Dominic in the eye for long.
That told him more than words could.
He stood in his office with his sleeves rolled to the elbow, staring at the first stack of records Gerald had delivered. The papers were arranged too neatly. Perfect tabs. Perfect dates. Perfect signatures.
A lie dressed for church.
His accountant, Lena Park, arrived at 6:17 with wet hair, no makeup, and a laptop under one arm.
“You said urgent,” she said.
Dominic handed her a payroll binder. “Nine years.”
Lena flipped through three pages and frowned.
“What am I looking for?”
“Everything.”
She glanced up.
Dominic’s expression told her not to ask again.
Lena had worked for him for eleven years. She had untangled shell companies, hidden debts, and inheritance traps left behind by men who thought money could bury anything. She was calm under pressure, cruel to spreadsheets, and allergic to nonsense.
By 7:04, she had found the first problem.
“Sofia Reyes,” she said.
Dominic looked up.
“According to this, she earns almost double what the average live-in housekeeper earns.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t.”
“No,” Lena said. “I assumed not.”
She turned the laptop toward him.
There were two payroll entries for Sofia Reyes. One official. One adjusted. The adjusted version — the one Dominic’s office had been billed for — showed overtime, night shifts, weekend premiums, and medical allowance.
The actual deposit account received less than half.
Dominic stared at the screen.
“Who approved the adjustment?”
Lena clicked.
Gerald Whitfield.
“Find the destination of the missing amount,” Dominic said.
“I already started.”
There was no emotion in his voice when he asked, “How many staff?”
Lena hesitated.
“All of them may need to be checked.”
Dominic turned toward the window. Dawn was spreading over the Hudson, soft and gold and useless.
For years, he had trusted the smooth running of his home because he had no patience for domestic details. Food appeared. Laundry returned. Fires were lit. Bills were paid.
He had mistaken silence for loyalty.
A knock came at the door.
One of his security men, Marco, stepped inside.
“Sir, Whitfield is asking permission to leave for a family emergency.”
Dominic laughed once.
It was not a pleasant sound.
“Tell him his family emergency is now here.”
Marco nodded.
“And Marco?”
“Yes?”
“Put two men on every gate.”
The air changed.
Marco understood exactly what that meant.
No one left.
Upstairs, Mia woke before Sofia did. She slipped from the bed and padded into the hallway in borrowed socks too big for her feet. Dominic was still there, seated in a chair with a cup of coffee gone cold beside him.
“You stayed,” she said.
“I said I would.”
She considered this seriously, as if adults keeping promises was an unfamiliar concept.
Then she held up his dress shirt.
Dominic blinked. “Where did you get that?”
“I brought it. From laundry.”
The shirt was wrinkled, stained, missing a button, and damp in one corner. Mia had folded it with heartbreaking care.
“I’m sorry it’s not fixed.”
Dominic took it from her.
“This shirt is retired.”
Her eyes widened. “Like old people?”
“Exactly.”
“Because I ruined it?”
“Because it served bravely in battle.”
Mia’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
Then her face fell.
“Will Mama wake up?”
Dominic set the shirt aside and crouched.
“Yes.”
“You promise?”
The word struck him harder than it should have.
Promises were dangerous in his world. Men made them before betrayals. Families made them before funerals. Dominic had built an empire by never promising anything he could not enforce.
But Mia was four.
And Sofia was fighting fever upstairs because the people in Dominic’s house had used his name to frighten her.
“I promise,” he said.
Mia nodded and leaned forward, placing her small hand against his cheek.
“You look tired.”
“So do you.”
“I was fighting the stain.”
“I know.”
She looked at the office door. “Is Mr. Whitfield in trouble?”
Dominic chose his words carefully.
“Mr. Whitfield is going to answer some questions.”
Mia lowered her voice. “He doesn’t like questions.”
Dominic glanced toward the stairs.
“What do you mean?”
Mia twisted the sleeve of her nightshirt.
“When Mama asked about her money, he got loud.”
Dominic went still.
“What money?”
“The medicine money.”
Before Dominic could ask more, Dr. Vale stepped into the hallway.
“Sofia’s awake.”
Mia ran past him.
Dominic stood slowly.
For half a second, he watched the child disappear into the room where her mother lay alive because he had come home early.
Then Lena’s voice called from downstairs.
“Dominic. You need to see this.”
He walked back into his office.
Lena’s face had gone pale.
“I found the missing payroll.”
“How much?”
She swallowed.
“From staff wages alone? Just under two million dollars.”
Dominic said nothing.
Lena continued, quieter now.
“And that doesn’t include vendor invoices.”
May you like
Dominic looked at the neat stacks of paper on his desk. Suddenly, his quiet mansion felt less like a home and more like a crime scene.
“Bring Gerald in,” he said.
