Chapter 3 - THE RULES OF THE HOUSE
Security found Francesca before she reached the estate.
Alessandro instructed them not to detain her physically.
Just tell her that her employment was suspended and her access credentials had been disabled.
She responded by hiring a lawyer before sunset.
That interested Alessandro.
Innocent people hired lawyers.
So did guilty ones.
He had lived long enough not to confuse the two.
He returned to the cottage with Sophia's permission and a hospital social worker's understanding that he was retrieving clothing for Emma.
He did not search drawers.
He did not open private correspondence.
For a man accustomed to treating locked doors as invitations, restraint felt strangely difficult.
Emma followed him.
She knew exactly where her pajamas were.
While she packed them into a small backpack, Alessandro noticed a corkboard above Sophia's kitchen table.
Work schedules.
A photograph of Emma at two years old.
A preschool flyer.
And a sheet labeled:
HOUSEHOLD STANDARDS.
No unapproved absences.
No personal calls during shifts.
Breakage may be deducted from discretionary bonuses.
Staff housing contingent upon satisfactory employment status.
All concerns routed through department supervisors.
At the bottom appeared a printed Moretti crest.
His name.
Alessandro stared at it.
He had never seen the document.
“Emma.”
She looked up.
“Who gave this to Mama?”
She pointed toward the mansion.
“Miss Francesca.”
That did not prove fraud.
Department heads created internal rules constantly.
Still, one line bothered him.
Staff housing contingent upon satisfactory employment status.
Technically true.
Legally and morally, not as simple as Emma had been made to believe.
His attorney, Samuel Greco, arrived before dinner.
Sam had known Alessandro thirty years and possessed the rare privilege of telling him when he was acting like an idiot.
“You cannot interrogate your staff.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“You were.”
“I was planning to ask questions.”
“With your face, that's interrogation.”
Alessandro almost smiled.
Sam did not.
“Hire outside employment counsel.”
“For my own house?”
“Especially for your own house.”
That sentence irritated him.
Which usually meant Sam was right.
By midnight, an independent labor attorney named Julia Harper had been retained.
She instructed Alessandro to preserve payroll records, schedules, emails, housing agreements, security footage, and employee complaints.
“No retaliation.”
“Obviously.”
She looked at him.
“Mr. Moretti, I'm saying it because your version of obvious and everybody else's may differ.”
That became the second uncomfortable conversation of the day.
The third came from Emma.
She woke on the sofa outside Sophia's hospital room.
Alessandro brought her applesauce.
She looked at the container.
“Mama says those cost too much here.”
“I'll pay.”
Emma immediately shook her head.
“Mama don't like owing.”
Three years old.
Already familiar with debt.
Alessandro opened the applesauce and handed her the spoon.
“You don't owe me.”
She accepted it reluctantly.
Then asked:
“Is Mama fired?”
“No.”
“Are we losing our house?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
Alessandro nearly answered immediately.
Then stopped.
Promises from powerful men were easy.
Systems were harder.
“I promise nobody is taking your house because your mother got sick.”
Emma considered the wording.
Apparently satisfied, she ate.
The next morning, Julia Harper called.
“I've reviewed the first payroll batch.”
“And?”
“Your household has eighteen employees.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Alessandro disliked the question.
Julia continued.
“Because according to your company, you're paying for eighteen.”
“Yes.”
“According to bank deposits, several of them are receiving less than the amounts your household office reports.”
Alessandro went silent.
“How much less?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Where's the difference?”
“That,” Julia said, “is why I need you not to fire anybody else.”
Then she added:
“And Sophia Rossi filed a written complaint about it six weeks ago.”
Alessandro stared through the hospital window at Emma sleeping beside her mother's bed.
“No complaint reached me.”
May you like
Julia's answer was quiet.
“I know.”
