Chapter 18 - THE MONEY THAT MADE NELL LOOK BOUGHT
Z
By noon the next day, people were calling Nell Fontaine a millionaire.
By two, someone threw red paint across the bakery window.
The words beneath it were worse.
BLOOD MONEY.
Nell stood on the sidewalk staring at the dripping letters.
Carmine stood beside her.
Benny stood six feet away speaking quietly into a phone.
Maria came outside holding a bucket.
Nell stopped her.
“No.”
Maria looked at the paint.
“I can clean it.”
“I know.”
“Then—”
“We're not cleaning it yet.”
Carmine looked at Nell.
She pointed toward the reporters across the street.
“Let them photograph it.”
Benny ended his call.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Nell's jaw tightened.
“If someone wants to say what Bellarose's money did to people, let them.”
Carmine studied her face.
“You think the person who did this was a victim.”
“I think they might be.”
“And if they weren't?”
“Then they still gave me useful decorating advice.”
Benny smiled.
Carmine did not.
The story had spread faster than any of Bellarose's indictments.
Anonymous legal records showed Nell as beneficiary of nearly five million dollars.
Online articles used photographs of her engagement ring.
Photos of Carmine leaving the bakery.
Photos of Fontaine Bakery reopening.
The implication wrote itself.
The maid who exposed Conrad Bellarose had somehow ended up rich.
Truth required paragraphs.
Suspicion required a headline.
At three, Maria's mother arrived.
Her name was Rosa Alvarez.
Nell had met her twice.
Warm woman.
Fast Spanish.
Always brought food despite visiting a bakery full of food.
Today she brought nothing.
She walked directly toward Nell.
“My husband worked in Bellarose kitchens.”
Nell's face changed.
“I know.”
“No.”
Rosa shook her head.
“You know his name.”
She pointed toward the red window.
“You don't know what happened.”
Nell did not defend herself.
Rosa continued.
“Ten years, he worked sixty-hour weeks.”
Her voice shook.
“They held his documents.”
Maria appeared from the kitchen.
“Mama.”
Rosa ignored her.
“They charged him for housing. Transportation. Food. Every week they told him he owed more.”
Nell swallowed.
Carmine remained silent.
Good.
This was not his conversation.
Rosa looked at Nell's ring.
Then at the bakery.
“Now television says Bellarose left you five million dollars.”
“He didn't leave it to me.”
“Your name is there.”
“Yes.”
“Then explain.”
Nell could have said lawyers.
Investigation.
Frozen assets.
Unknown trust.
Instead she said, “I can't yet.”
Rosa laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
“Mama,” Maria whispered.
Rosa finally looked at her daughter.
“You work here because you believe these people are different.”
Maria answered quietly.
“I do.”
Rosa's eyes filled.
“I want to believe that too.”
Then she walked out.
Maria looked at Nell.
“I'm sorry.”
Nell shook her head.
“No.”
“But—”
“Do not apologize for your mother.”
Nell looked toward the red paint.
“She earned the right to be angry.”
That evening, Nell met federal prosecutor Dana Mercer.
Mercer was forty-five.
Gray suit.
No jewelry except a watch.
She had helped reconstruct Bellarose's financial network after his arrest.
Nell liked her immediately.
That worried her.
Mercer sat across from Nell, Carmine, Charlotte, and three attorneys.
“The trust contains four million eight hundred fourteen thousand dollars.”
Nell looked at her.
“Very specific.”
“Money usually is.”
“What happens to it?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Where it came from.”
Charlotte spoke.
“My father created it.”
Mercer nodded.
“But deposits came from nine companies over fourteen years.”
Carmine leaned forward.
“Bellarose companies?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
Mercer opened a folder.
“One deposit came from Fontaine Holdings.”
Nell frowned.
“There is no Fontaine Holdings.”
“There was.”
“When?”
“Sixteen years ago.”
Nell looked toward Charlotte.
She shook her head.
Mercer continued.
“The company existed for eleven months.”
“Owner?”
“Lydia Brisco.”
Nell stopped.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
Evelyn Marchand entered thirty seconds later.
She had been summoned that morning.
When Mercer showed her the company records, Evelyn closed her eyes.
“You knew,” Nell said.
Evelyn shook her head.
“No.”
“You recognize it.”
“Yes.”
“Explain.”
Evelyn looked tired.
“Lydia created shell accounts while collecting evidence.”
“For Bellarose?”
“Against him.”
“So why was she putting money into a trust he controlled?”
Evelyn studied the statements.
Then her expression changed.
“She wasn't.”
Carmine looked up.
“What?”
“This account predates the trust.”
Mercer nodded slowly.
Evelyn pointed toward the routing numbers.
“Conrad absorbed the account later.”
Nell stared.
“Why?”
“Because Lydia was stealing from him.”
Silence.
“Stealing?” Nell repeated.
Evelyn shook her head.
“Redirecting.”
“That is a polite word for stealing.”
“Yes.”
Evelyn looked at her.
“Lydia took portions of Bellarose's illegal labor payments and moved them into hidden accounts.”
“Why?”
“She said the money belonged to the workers.”
Nell thought of her mother hiding tapes.
Writing names.
Separating evidence.
“She was building restitution.”
Evelyn nodded.
“She intended to return it if Bellarose was ever exposed.”
Mercer looked through the pages.
“The original Fontaine Holdings deposit was three hundred thousand dollars.”
Nell stared.
“And the rest?”
“Bellarose discovered the account after Lydia died.”
Charlotte's voice became bitter.
“So he turned it into insurance.”
Everyone looked at her.
“My father would do that.”
She tapped the trust papers.
“He couldn't erase money without creating more questions.”
“So he renamed it,” Carmine said.
“Put Nell's name on it,” Benny added from the wall.
“And if anyone found it,” Nell whispered, “I looked paid.”
Mercer nodded.
“That's my current theory.”
Nell almost laughed.
Even from prison, Conrad Bellarose had managed to make her defend herself.
Mercer closed the folder.
“There will be a hearing.”
“When?”
“Ten days.”
“What happens there?”
“A judge decides whether the account belongs to the government, the Bellarose estate, you, or a victim compensation structure.”
Nell answered immediately.
“The last one.”
Mercer looked at her.
“You may have a legal claim.”
“I don't want one.”
“You should understand the amount before making decisions.”
“I understand five million dollars.”
“Four-point-eight.”
“Still no.”
Carmine said nothing.
Mercer noticed.
“Mr. Orsini?”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“Your companies are currently funding substantial restitution payments.”
“Yes.”
“If Ms. Fontaine receives this trust, some attorneys may argue her household indirectly offsets obligations connected to your family.”
Nell looked at Carmine.
He understood immediately.
Marriage complicated money.
Everything did.
“If I marry Nell,” he said, “her money remains hers.”
Mercer watched him.
“Legally?”
“Yes.”
“Prenuptial agreement?”
Nell blinked.
Carmine answered.
“Yes.”
She turned toward him.
“We have one?”
“We will.”
“You never mentioned that.”
“You haven't picked a wedding date.”
“That seems like something you mention before prosecutors do.”
Mercer almost smiled.
Almost.
Carmine looked at Nell.
“The agreement protects you.”
“From you?”
“From my businesses.”
That silenced her.
Of course.
He was not preparing for divorce.
He was preparing for consequences.
Nell looked away.
Mercer gathered the papers.
“One more issue.”
The room became still.
“The missing cassette.”
Nell looked at her.
“You found something?”
“Security records.”
“Who entered the bank?”
“No one unauthorized.”
“That makes no sense.”
“The deposit box was opened under a federal evidence order.”
Carmine's face hardened.
“By whom?”
Mercer hesitated.
“An investigator assigned to the Bellarose case.”
“Name.”
Mercer looked directly at him.
“Daniel Avery.”
Nell froze.
Thomas Avery had saved Lydia's envelope twenty years earlier.
Thomas Avery had helped expose Bellarose.
May you like
Daniel Avery was his son.
And according to the bank record, he was the last person who touched the box before the tape labeled NELL disappeared.
