Chapter 4 - The House of CardsThe sun had dipped below the horizon by the time Roman’s black Maybach rolled up the gravel driveway of the Long Island estate.
I was sitting in the grand library, reading a leather-bound volume of poetry by the crackling fireplace, when the front doors opened and heavy footsteps echoed across the marble foyer.
Roman walked into the library, shucking off his heavy wool overcoat and tossing it onto a nearby armchair. His tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the lean, corded muscle beneath his skin. He looked tired, but his eyes were bright with the exhilaration of a general returning from a completely decisive victory.
“You missed a magnificent show today,” Roman said, walking over to the bar cart and pouring himself a glass of neat scotch.
“Did Grant call you?” I asked, not looking up from my book.
Roman took a slow sip of his drink, leaning back against the mahogany edge of the desk. “He didn't just call. He drove out here personally about two hours ago. Security stopped him at the iron gates before he even reached the driveway.”
“Did you let him in?”
“Why would I?” Roman’s lips curved into a cold smirk. “His lawyers spent the afternoon screaming at my general counsel downtown, trying to file emergency injunctions against the asset freeze. By 3:00 PM, the federal judge I keep on retainer reviewed the indemnification clause, took one look at the medical documentation of your prior injuries that my private investigator pulled from your old family pediatrician’s private records, and signed an immediate receivership order.”
My heart skipped a beat. “You got my medical records?”
“I have people everywhere, Evelyn,” Roman said gently, walking over and sitting in the armchair opposite me. “Your brother didn't just lose the Port Elizabeth docks today. He lost the entire Mercer shipping portfolio. Every warehouse, every freight line, every commercial real estate holding in Manhattan and Westchester is now legally transferred to the Caruso-Mercer Consolidated Trust—which, according to our corporate charter, is fifty-one percent owned by you.”
I dropped my book onto my lap. “By... by me?”
“You are now the majority stakeholder of what used to be your family’s empire,” Roman said, raising his glass in a silent toast. “Your brother is legally bankrupt, stripped of his corporate titles, and currently sitting in a holding cell downtown while the U.S. Attorney’s office reviews the financial fraud charges my accountants handed over this afternoon.”
The magnitude of what had happened washed over me in a slow, overwhelming wave.
For ten years, I had been trapped in that house, walking on eggshells, terrified of Grant’s fists and my father’s indifference. I had believed I was a permanent prisoner of my surname, destined to live out my life in the shadows of men who viewed me as property.
And now, in less than twenty-four hours, Roman Caruso had dismantled their entire world, laid their empire at my feet, and handed me the keys to the kingdom.
“Why?” I whispered, looking straight into his gray eyes. “You could have just taken the shipping lanes. You could have crushed Grant financially without giving me control of the trust. Why put it in my name?”
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Roman set his glass down on the table with a soft clink. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his intense gaze locking onto mine.
“Because power isn't something you take from people, Evelyn,” Roman said softly. “It’s something you give back to the right person, so they can watch the people who hurt them burn.”
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