Chapter 10 - Building 6Saint Agnes Tower had been supposed to save a neighborhood.
That was the public version.
A mixed-income development. Affordable units. Retail space. A daycare on the ground floor. A project announced with ribbon renderings and speeches about dignity. Pierce Urban Development owned the site. Ricci Harbor Group provided logistical support through a subsidiary before Matteo fully took control of the family corporation.
Seven years ago, during construction, a fire broke out on the sixth floor.
Three workers died.
Two were undocumented.
One was a twenty-two-year-old apprentice named Daniel Reyes whose mother still kept his work boots by the door because grief made no sense and did not care who noticed.
The investigation concluded faulty wiring by a subcontractor.
Pierce Urban Development paid settlements.
The project was renamed, refinanced, and eventually completed as luxury rentals with a tasteful memorial plaque near the service entrance.
Eleanor learned all of this from Adrian in a conference room while Matteo stood at the far window, silent.
She listened without interrupting.
When Adrian finished, she looked at Matteo.
“What did you do?”
The question was quiet.
That made it worse.
Matteo turned.
“I was not running Ricci Harbor then. My uncle was.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“No.”
Adrian closed his folder. “Eleanor—”
She held up a hand. “Please don’t manage me.”
Adrian stopped.
Matteo’s face showed nothing, but Eleanor knew him well enough now to see the battle beneath.
“My uncle’s company supplied materials to the site,” Matteo said. “After the fire, I found evidence that Pierce used cheaper wiring than what had been certified. My uncle knew.”
Eleanor felt cold spread through her chest.
“And?”
“And I confronted him.”
“That’s not the end.”
“No.”
Rain struck the windows harder.
“My uncle told me dead workers were cheaper than delayed projects. He said Pierce would bury it, inspectors would sign off, families would settle, and the city would forget.”
Eleanor swallowed.
“What did you do?” she asked again.
Matteo’s eyes darkened.
“I removed my uncle from power.”
The room went silent.
Eleanor did not ask how.
She did not want the details. Not because she was naive. Because once a person knew certain things, they could not unknow them.
Matteo continued.
“I gave the evidence to a federal contact who owed my father a debt. The case disappeared for reasons I never got explained.”
“Disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“Three men died, and the case disappeared?”
His jaw tightened. “I pushed. Quietly. Money reached the families. More than settlements. I thought—”
“You thought money fixed it.”
“No.” His voice cracked slightly. “I thought it was the only thing I could still make happen.”
Eleanor looked at the photo on her phone.
Smoke.
Ambulance lights.
A building that had swallowed sons.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was ashamed.”
It was the first answer that did not sound like a defense.
Eleanor sat back.
She thought of Brandon pouring charm over lies. Thomas Pierce sitting in Matteo’s conference room, pretending his company’s only problem was liquidity. Tiffany laughing because some people believed humiliation was harmless when no one died.
But people had died.
And now someone was using their deaths as a weapon.
Mira entered quickly, holding her phone.
“The anonymous messages are not isolated. Accounts are pushing a new narrative tying Matteo to the Saint Agnes fire. They’re saying he covered it up to control Pierce.”
Adrian cursed under his breath.
Eleanor looked at Matteo. “Did you?”
“No.”
The answer came without hesitation.
She believed him.
Not because he was innocent of everything.
Because he had never lied well when it mattered to her.
Mira continued. “The timing is strategic. First they accuse Eleanor of staging Bellissimo. Then they shift to Matteo’s past. The goal is to make every fact look contaminated.”
“Who is behind it?” Matteo asked.
“Not Brandon alone,” Adrian said. “Too sophisticated.”
Thomas Pierce.
Claudia Pierce.
Victor Monroe.
Or someone worse who saw opportunity in the chaos.
Eleanor stood.
“We need Daniel Reyes’s mother.”
Matteo’s eyes widened slightly. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Eleanor, she has suffered enough.”
“Exactly. Which is why everyone keeps using her son without asking what she wants.”
Mira watched Eleanor carefully. “Contacting her could look exploitative.”
“Then we don’t exploit her. We ask privately. We tell her what’s happening. We offer her the choice.”
Matteo shook his head. “You are already under attack.”
“And now dead workers are being dragged into it. This is bigger than me.”
His face hardened. “It became bigger than you because of me.”
Eleanor stepped closer.
“Then help me make it right.”
The words hit him like judgment and grace at once.
That evening, Eleanor and Matteo drove to a modest duplex in Queens without cameras, without Mira, without a publicist. Only Luca followed at a distance Eleanor had agreed to after a long, tense conversation.
Marisol Reyes opened the door wearing a cardigan and slippers.
She was smaller than Eleanor expected, with silver in her hair and eyes that looked as if they had learned to distrust official apologies.
She recognized Matteo first.
Her face went cold.
“No,” she said.
She began to close the door.
Eleanor stepped forward. “Mrs. Reyes, my name is Eleanor Hayes. I’m sorry to bother you. Someone is using your son’s death online, and I thought you deserved to know before strangers made it worse.”
The door stopped.
Marisol looked at Eleanor.
Recognition flickered.
“You’re the waitress.”
Eleanor nodded.
Marisol looked behind her at Matteo.
“Why is he here?”
Eleanor answered honestly.
“Because part of this belongs to him.”
Matteo lowered his head.
Marisol studied them for a long moment.
May you like
Then she opened the door.
“Come in,” she said. “And do not lie in my house.”
