Chapter 5 – THE GHOST IN THE LEDGER

“That’s my twin sister,” I whispered. “But… she died ten years ago.”

Luca knelt beside me, his large hand gently covering mine as I stared at the photograph. The woman in the picture was signing a ledger at a dimly lit mahogany table. She wore a black dress, a silver pendant I didn’t recognize, and an expression of grim determination.

It was my face. But the eyes were harder, colder.

It was Chloe.

“She died in a boating accident when we were eighteen,” I stammered, the sterile hospital lights spinning above me. “They never found her body, but the coast guard said the current pulled her out to sea. We had a funeral. An empty casket.”

Richard, Rebecca’s father, stood over us, his face tight with anger. “Then a ghost signed that ledger, Miss Bennett. Because that photograph was taken three weeks ago at a Rossi family sit-down.”

Luca stood up slowly, positioning himself between me and Richard.

“Watch your tone, Richard,” Luca warned, his voice dangerously soft. “You are addressing a woman under my protection.”

Richard scoffed, though he took a half-step back. “Protection? Luca, you are protecting a liability! Daniel came to me months ago pitching a hostile takeover of my construction firm. He said he had anonymous backing. That backing was Rossi money.”

I shook my head, desperately trying to piece the nightmare together. “Daniel didn’t know Chloe. We met two years after she died.”

“Are you sure about that?” Luca asked gently, looking down at me.

I opened my mouth to say yes, but the words died in my throat.

Daniel had always been obsessed with my past. He asked endless questions about my family, my parents’ deaths, and especially Chloe. I thought he was just being supportive. I thought he was helping me heal.

Instead, he was doing reconnaissance.

“Oh my god,” I gasped, pressing my hands to my mouth. “The pawn ticket. The bracelet.”

Luca frowned. “What about it?”

“It wasn’t my mother’s bracelet,” I realized, the horror making me nauseous. “My mother’s bracelet had a broken clasp. The one Daniel pawned was in perfect condition. It was Chloe’s. They had matching ones.”

Luca’s eyes darkened with realization. “Daniel didn’t forge your signature. He found your sister.”

“And he’s using her,” Richard interjected bitterly. “Daniel needed collateral for a two-million-dollar loan to launch his hostile takeover. He found a woman who legally shares your face and your DNA, and he convinced her to sign on the dotted line. If the plan fails, he walks away, and you take the fall.”

A nurse rushed out of the emergency double doors, looking frantic.

“Mr. Moretti,” she called out. “Your mother is stabilized, but she’s asking for you. Only you.”

Luca looked at me, torn.

“Go,” I said, forcing myself to stand. “I’m safe here with Marcus.”

Luca nodded, squeezing my shoulder before jogging toward the doors.

As soon as he was gone, Richard took a step closer to me. The anger in his eyes faded into something that looked a lot like desperation.

“Claire,” Richard said quietly. “My daughter, Rebecca. She is devastated. Daniel has access to her trust fund. If the Rossis come to collect that two million, and Daniel runs with Chloe, the mob will take Rebecca’s money to cover it.”

I stared at him, realizing that beneath the tailored suits and the wealth, Richard was just a terrified father trying to protect his little girl and his granddaughter, Mia.

“What can I do?” I asked.

Richard pulled another piece of paper from his pocket. It was folded neatly in quarters.

“Daniel has a safe house,” Richard whispered. “Rebecca found this address on his GPS history. It’s an apartment on the South Side. If Chloe is alive, she’s there. And if she’s there, the original Rossi ledger is there too.”

“The ledger is at the Moretti estate,” I argued. “Marcus brought it to the dining room.”

“That was a copy,” Richard corrected grimly. “The Rossis keep copies for their runners. The original—the one with the actual ink, the one that legally binds you or your sister to the debt—is kept by the guarantor. Daniel.”

If I could find the original ledger, I could prove it wasn’t my fingerprint on the pages. I could prove it was Chloe. I could clear my name and protect Rebecca’s family.

But most importantly, I could find my sister.

“I need to go there,” I said, snatching the paper from Richard’s hand.

Marcus stepped forward immediately, blocking my path. “Absolutely not. The boss gave strict orders. You stay here.”

I looked at Marcus. He was a giant of a man, fiercely loyal to Luca. But I knew his weakness.

“Marcus,” I pleaded softly. “Teresa told Luca that Daniel didn’t forge my signature. She knew about Chloe. If Teresa knew, it means someone in the Moretti house was communicating with my sister. Who was the maid that gave me the coat tonight?”

Marcus hesitated. “Sarah.”

“And where is Sarah from?” I pressed.

Marcus swallowed hard. “The South Side.”

“Sarah is the mole, Marcus,” I said, my voice rising with desperate clarity. “Daniel didn’t blackmail her. Sarah is working with Chloe. If I don’t go to that apartment right now, they are going to burn the original ledger and disappear forever.”

Marcus stared at me for a long moment. He looked at the emergency room doors, then down at the address in my hand.

“We take my armored car,” Marcus grunted. “And you don’t step out of it until I clear the rooms.”

We rushed out of the hospital, leaving Richard behind.

The drive to the South Side took twenty minutes. The apartment building was a decaying brick structure, surrounded by flickering streetlights and abandoned cars.

Marcus drew his weapon, a heavy black pistol, as we climbed the cracked concrete stairs to the third floor.

Apartment 3B.

Marcus signaled for me to stay back. He reached out and tried the handle.

It was unlocked.

He pushed the door open, sweeping the room with his gun drawn. “Clear.”

I stepped inside. The apartment was sparsely furnished, smelling of stale cigarette smoke and cheap perfume.

But it was the wall in the living room that made me stop breathing.

Pinned to the peeling wallpaper were dozens of photographs.

Photographs of me.

Me sweeping the Moretti driveway. Me buying groceries for Daniel’s mother. Me sitting with Teresa on the porch.

And in the center of the collage, pinned with a red thumbtack, was a single photograph of Daniel kissing a woman with my face.

Suddenly, a cold, hard circle pressed against the back of my head.

The unmistakable click of a gun hammer being pulled back echoed in the quiet room.

“Drop the gun, big guy,” a woman’s voice whispered in my ear. “Or I blow my sister’s brains out.”