Chapter 4 - Thanksgiving Preparations
The week leading up to Thanksgiving felt like walking through a house built entirely of cracked glass. Every movement had to be calculated, every breath measured.
Gabriel was unusually attentive. He came home earlier than usual, helped set the dining table, and even accompanied Hannah to her bi-weekly ultrasound appointment. As Dr. Grant pointed out the tiny, flickering heartbeat on the monitor and measured the baby's steady growth, Gabriel slipped his warm hand into Hannah's, whispering how much he loved her.
Hannah looked at his profile—the strong jawline, the sincere-looking brown eyes—and felt a chilling numbness spread through her veins. He was a masterclass in deception.
That evening, the family gathered at the Caruso family estate in Greenwich for an early holiday dinner briefing. Patricia, Gabriel’s mother, swept through the formal dining room like an aristocratic general reviewing her troops.
"Everything must be pristine," Patricia announced, adjusting a silver candelabra. "Senator Vance and his wife are attending this year. Gabriel, your career trajectory depends on these high-level social optics. And Hannah, my dear, you look a bit pale. Are you keeping up with your vitamins?"
"I'm fine, Patricia," Hannah replied smoothly, her voice betraying none of the internal storm raging inside her. "Just pacing myself."
Uncle Ray sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, nursing a glass of single-malt scotch. He looked up, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the chandelier light as he offered Hannah a warm, avuncular smile.
"You listen to your mother-in-law, Hannah," Uncle Ray said smoothly, his voice deep and reassuring. "We need to keep that precious granddaughter of mine safe. Gabriel is lucky to have a wife as grounded as you."
Hannah met his gaze across the table. For a second, the grandfatherly warmth in his eyes didn't reach the cold corners behind his spectacles. It was the exact same look she had seen him flash at Mallerie Keane on Park Avenue—the look of a predator who believed everyone around him was a chess piece to be managed.
"Thank you, Uncle Ray," Hannah said, her voice eerily level. "Family is everything, isn't it? We protect our own above all else."
Ray’s hand paused inches from his scotch glass. A micro-expression of surprise flickered across his face before he smoothly recovered, chuckling softly. "An absolute truth, my dear. An absolute truth."
Later that night, as Gabriel slept deeply beside her, breathing in the rhythm of an innocent man, Hannah slipped out of bed. She walked down the long, carpeted hallway to Gabriel’s home office.
The door was unlocked—his fatal hubris.
She stepped inside and closed it quietly behind her. Turning on only the amber desk lamp, she bypassed his computer and went straight for the heavy mahogany filing cabinet in the corner. It was locked, but Hannah knew Gabriel too well. Growing up with an estate-managing father, she knew where the spare key was kept—tucked neatly behind the brass plaque of his grandfather's portrait on the wall.
She unlocked the bottom drawer. Inside lay a stack of thick manila folders labeled Private Holdings.
Hannah opened the first folder. Her breath caught in her throat.
Inside were bank statements, property titles, and offshore wire transfer receipts routing hundreds of thousands of dollars from the Caruso Family Foundation accounts into private shell companies managed by... Raymond Caruso.
And tucked beneath the financial records was something else. A printed string of text messages between Gabriel and Uncle Ray dating back over a year.
Uncle Ray: The Keane woman is getting restless. She wants more money for her silence about the construction contract failure.
Gabriel: Handle her. I can't have this blowing up right now while I'm positioning for the congressional run.
Uncle Ray: Don't worry. I've got her right where I want her.
May you like
Hannah stared at the words, the room spinning around her. It wasn't just an affair. It was extortion, embezzlement, and a cover-up that reached back to the very construction accident that had killed Mallerie's husband. Uncle Ray hadn't just been helping a widow; he had been hiding corporate negligence, using foundation funds to buy her silence, and trapping her in a vicious cycle of fear.
And Gabriel was entirely complicit.
