She lives off our parents, my brother Anthony said to his inner circle in the back room of the port tavern.
“Get out, Clara. Now.” Uncle Dominic’s words were a cold hand, pushing me toward the door.
Anthony watched me, a smug, triumphant smirk pulling at his lips.
I gripped the strap of my messenger bag, pulling out a stack of neatly printed bank statements. “Uncle Dominic, Aunt Teresa, look at these. These are my wire transfers. Every single one went to an anonymous account, but the bank can trace it back to Salerno’s syndicate. These aren’t payments *to* him. They’re payments *for* Anthony’s gambling debts.”
I placed the papers on the table. The dates were clear: monthly payments, $4,000, for nearly a year.
Anthony snatched them up, his eyes darting across the pages. “These are fakes!” he bellowed, crumpling the printouts in his fist. “She’s fabricating evidence. Anyone can print out phony bank statements.”
Dominic leaned back, his gaze unwavering on me. He didn’t even pick up the crumpled papers. His face, usually a map of weathered experience, was now a mask of stern judgment.
“You left this family, Clara,” he stated, his voice flat. “For twelve years, you were a ghost. Now you return, bringing trouble to our door and accusing my son of ruinous debts, while men like Salerno’s sit outside our gates.”
“Anthony brought Salerno here, not me!” I countered, my voice tight. “He gambled away nearly two million dollars of the company’s future.”
Aunt Teresa finally spoke, her voice laced with a familiar disdain. “Anthony has always been focused on the family business. Always. You, on the other hand, well… you’ve been a problem.” She tapped her pen on a ledger. “Your name isn’t even on the payroll for eighteen years.”
Marcus, who had been standing silently by the door, took a step into the office. “Mr. DeLuca,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “I’ve dealt with various creditors. Vic Salerno is not a standard one. His methods are… aggressive. You should consider Clara’s information carefully.”
Anthony shot Marcus a glare. “Stay out of family business, Drake. You’re a security consultant, not a financial advisor.”
“He’s a loan shark,” Marcus continued, ignoring Anthony. “And his presence here suggests your family is in deep. Clara’s story aligns with the kind of trouble he brings.”
Dominic waved a dismissive hand at Marcus. “Your contract is with Anthony, Mr. Drake. Not with us. You’re dismissed.”
He turned back to me, his jaw set. “You are no longer welcome on this property, Clara. Not while Salerno’s demands hang over our heads. We will handle this our way.”
The finality in his tone was like a physical blow. The door swung shut behind me, the sound of the latch echoing in the sudden silence. I stood in the hallway, cut off, rejected. Salerno’s black sedan was still parked outside, a dark sentinel.
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