Chapter 8 - THE BOARD VOTE
The Maranello vote happened again fourteen months after the elevator.
This time nobody threatened anyone.
That was almost disappointing.
Not really.
The board met under independent monitor supervision to decide what to do with the robotics subsidiary after the forensic audit.
Options:
Keep it.
Sell at fair-market auction.
Spin it off.
Bring in minority investment.
No Domenico.
No secret North Crown bid.
No Favorites.
Luca could not vote due restrictions.
That mattered.
For the first time, the company had to decide without the largest shareholder controlling the room.
---
Marcus invited me to watch? No. Not appropriate. But later tells. Let's have public filing after.
The board chose to spin Maranello into a separately governed company with Castellani retaining a minority stake.
Why?
To isolate legacy liabilities, protect patents, and give management autonomy.
Employees received a small equity pool.
The old fraudulent R&D charges stayed visible and subject to restitution.
No burying.
Good.
---
The audit also found something Luca had feared.
Not every old Castellani payment was criminal.
Hundreds were.
Some were ugly but legal.
Some sloppy.
Some normal.
That distinction saved vendors from being painted with family history.
It also cost Castellani money.
Restitution.
Tax corrections.
Contract renegotiations.
Civil settlements.
The company survived.
Smaller margins.
Cleaner books.
Aria Benton did not call it redemption.
She called it governance.
I liked her.
---
My own life became wonderfully busy.
Lakefront Civic Arts promoted me to senior operations coordinator.
I managed:
three event halls.
vendor contracts.
security liaison.
weekend staffing.
Harper Lin trusted me with complicated events because, she said:
“You notice exits.”
The elevator had taught me that.
Not everything trauma teaches is a gift.
Some skills still become useful.
Both.
---
Luca’s home confinement ended on a Tuesday.
He texted:
I am legally allowed to cross a sidewalk without permission.
I replied:
TRY NOT TO ABUSE THE POWER.
He sent:
DINNER FRIDAY?
I stared at the red dress hanging in my closet.
I had not worn it since Rachel’s wedding.
I touched the silk.
No.
Not yet.
I wore blue.
My choice.
---
Our first date was at a small restaurant Luca did not own.
I checked.
He showed me the ownership page on his phone.
“Independent.”
“Good.”
He sighed.
“Not you too.”
“Everyone.”
He smiled.
No private room.
No security at table.
A licensed protective driver waited blocks away because threats against him had not vanished entirely.
He told me in advance.
Good.
---
Dinner was awkward for exactly eight minutes.
Then I asked:
“What did you think when you saw the red dress?”
He nearly choked.
Direct.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
He looked at his wine.
“I thought I had spent eighteen months lying to myself.”
“About?”
“You.”
There.
“And then?”
“I thought about the best man.”
I laughed.
“You did not even know Owen.”
“I disliked him immediately.”
“He was very nice.”
“I dislike him more.”
I laughed harder.
Then:
“Did you really mean ‘not in that dress’?”
His expression tightened.
“No.”
“You said it.”
“Yes.”
“What did you mean?”
He took time.
“I meant I was jealous and panicking and wanted control over a feeling that was not mine to control.”
There.
Good answer.
“Would you say it now?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because what you wear is not a referendum on my emotional stability.”
Excellent.
I lifted my glass.
“Executive coaching worked.”
He groaned.
---
After dinner, we walked.
Michigan Avenue lights.
Cold air.
No elevator.
Luca stopped near my car.
“Can I kiss you?”
My heart moved.
I had imagined this too many times.
“No.”
His face stayed calm.
“Okay.”
I smiled.
“Ask next time.”
His mouth changed.
“Current answer?”
I pointed.
He laughed.
Good.
---
Second date:
Museum.
Third:
Breakfast.
Fourth:
I kissed him first.
Because I wanted to.
No red dress.
No threat.
No ceiling camera.
He froze for half a second.
Then asked:
“Again?”
I laughed.
“Yes.”
Good.
---
Dating Luca revealed ordinary defects.
He hated waiting.
Over-seasoned eggs.
Answered work emails during movies.
Owned twelve identical white shirts and considered that personality.
I discovered I was bossy about kitchens.
Left cabinet doors open.
Scheduled social events without checking my own energy.
Normal.
Wonderful.
---
Then jealousy returned.
Not dramatically.
A Lakefront donor named Evan Holt flirted with me at a reception.
I did not care.
Luca attended as my guest.
Evan touched my elbow while laughing.
Luca’s face changed.
I saw.
Later in the car:
“Say it.”
He looked out window.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“True.”
“That counts.”
“It does.”
Silence.
Then:
“I wanted him moved to another table.”
I smiled.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did you ask Lakefront security about him?”
“No.”
“Did you Google him?”
A pause.
“Public search.”
I stared.
He winced.
“Too much?”
“Depends. Did you run a dossier?”
“No.”
“Call anyone?”
“No.”
“Then you are allowed to dislike him.”
He looked at me.
“Really?”
“You are not under emotional probation.”
That made him laugh.
The point was not that jealousy vanished.
The point was it stopped becoming other people’s work problem.
---
Domenico was sentenced months later.
A long federal term.
Financial forfeiture.
Restitution.
Bar from corporate fiduciary roles.
Silas received less because he cooperated.
Mara Harker attended neither sentencing.
She sent a written statement focused on privacy and coercion.
No forgiveness.
Good.
---
Luca completed probationary business restrictions carefully.
When permitted, he returned to Castellani Industries as nonexecutive board member.
Not CEO.
Aria remained CEO.
That was permanent by board choice.
At first Luca hated it.
He told me.
“I built half that company.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
Good.
“What do you miss?”
“Deciding quickly.”
“Of course.”
“Aria sends decisions to committee.”
“Scandalous.”
“She likes you.”
“I like her.”
“Betrayal.”
I laughed.
---
A year into dating, Lakefront hosted a manufacturing-history exhibition.
Castellani Industries loaned archival machinery.
No criminal artifacts.
Just old lathes, patents, worker photographs.
Aria asked me to coordinate.
Conflict?
I disclosed relationship with Luca.
Lakefront assigned another staff member to negotiate financial terms.
I handled logistics only.
Friction.
Good.
The exhibition opening drew board members.
Marcus came.
He saw Luca beside me.
“Am I allowed to talk to Audrey now?”
Luca closed his eyes.
“You are never going to stop.”
“No.”
I laughed.
Then Marcus asked me:
“Did he ever apologize for the quarterly reports?”
“Yes.”
“Not enough.”
Fair.
Luca pointed.
“Do not teach her that word.”
Too late.
---
That night, after the exhibition, Luca and I stood beside an old Castellani milling machine.
A brass plaque listed workers who operated it in 1962.
Ordinary people.
No founders.
No mafia mythology.
Luca touched the edge.
“My grandfather used to say the family built everything.”
I looked at hundreds of names.
“Families love forgetting payroll.”
He smiled.
Then:
“I don’t want to be CEO again.”
I looked at him.
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because I was good at making decisions. I was not good at being contradicted.”
“Those are related.”
“I know.”
There.
He had finally learned the difference between capability and entitlement.
Maybe.
---
He asked:
“Do you think you’ll ever wear the red dress again?”
I stared.
“Why?”
“No reason.”
“Liar.”
He smiled.
“I would like to see it without an elevator being hacked.”
“Jealous?”
“Probably.”
“Dangerous?”
“Less.”
I laughed.
“Maybe.”
Current answer.
Our fifth date tested the difference between old Luca and current Luca more than the first four combined.
Lakefront hosted a late-night donor reception. A man who had read about the elevator case waited outside the employee entrance and asked whether I was “the red-dress girl.”
He was not threatening.
Just intrusive.
Security moved him along.
I told Luca afterward.
His face hardened.
“What was his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did security get identification?”
“Probably.”
He reached for his phone.
Stopped.
Then looked at me.
“Do you want me to do anything?”
There.
The pause mattered more than the question.
“No.”
He put the phone back down.
“Okay.”
“Are you going to spend all night imagining twelve things you could do?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck.”
He laughed without humor.
The next morning nothing happened.
No investigator called.
No dossier appeared.
No one at Lakefront received a mysterious warning.
The man remained what he had been:
an annoying stranger who was told to leave.
A small event.
Exactly.
Healthy systems are allowed to keep small things small.
I told Harper about the encounter the next morning because workplace safety belonged to work, not romance.
She reviewed the security report, confirmed staff had followed policy, and closed the matter.
No secret file.
No permanent watch list.
No red flag attached to the man unless he returned.
That restraint impressed me.
A good safety system could remember an incident without turning a person into a dossier.
I wrote that sentence down later.
I had seen too many people confuse documentation with ownership.
That afternoon I updated Lakefront’s own incident form to separate temporary safety notes from long-term behavioral flags. Harper approved the change after legal review.
Tiny policy.
Real consequence.
May you like
Maybe that was what reform actually looked like when nobody was giving a speech.
I liked that the form changed before anyone needed it again.
