Chapter 4 - Giovanni’s Last Winter
My father’s final winter had looked ordinary from outside.
He ate less.
Slept more.
Worked from the library because stairs exhausted him.
He called Emery “the loudest person in the house” and let her draw on the backs of his meeting agendas.
I remembered the rocking horse.
He had made it in the workshop behind the garage.
A ridiculous amount of work for a child already too tall to ride it properly.
“Why build it?” I had asked.
“Because plastic toys are ugly.”
That was Giovanni.
No prophecy.
No dramatic final speech.
Then one afternoon he asked me a question.
“If something is yours because someone chose you, is it less yours than something you inherited by accident?”
I thought he was talking about me taking over operations instead of Dante.
I answered:
“No.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
I had forgotten until now.
Memory becomes evidence only after danger teaches you what to notice.
Then probate hearing.
Francesca’s expert argued Giovanni’s medications could cause intermittent confusion.
His cardiologist testified he remained capable of complex financial decisions.
The judge reviewed contemporaneous board minutes where Giovanni negotiated financing terms in detail.
Capacity challenge weakened.
Then Francesca produced a video of him confusing two grandchildren’s names.
Human.
Not incapacity.
The judge allowed the packet to be opened under seal before parties and court.
Not public.
Still, one procedural issue delayed full disclosure another week because Emery, as a minor potentially named, required independent guardian ad litem for property interests.
Excellent.
Nobody let me speak for myself and my child simultaneously where interests could differ.
The guardian, Laura Bennett, met Emery once.
No financial questions.
Only confirmed family circumstances and that I was her legal father.
Then Laura asked me:
“If A-24 gives Emery economic rights that conflict with your own interests, will you accept independent management?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it limits your control?”
“Yes.”
I said it quickly.
Too quickly.
She noticed.
“We’ll see.”
Fair.
Then Francesca challenged Laura’s appointment as unnecessary.
Denied.
Then DeLuca Group board.
Independent directors wanted reassurance.
I gave:
“No changes until documents reviewed.”
Dante gave:
“My division is stable.”
Francesca, though no longer formal executive? She was matriarch and perhaps held board seat. Let's establish she was nonexecutive chair of DeLuca Family Holdings? Better now.
Francesca served as chair of DeLuca Family Holdings, the parent company. I was CEO of operating businesses. Dante ran Hospitality.
Her board role mattered.
Could criminal family aspect? Keep legitimate.
Independent directors voted to place any succession-related decisions under special committee until A-24 review.
Francesca opposed.
Lost.
She was not removed.
Good.
Then I found out my father had created the special committee clause himself two years earlier.
He had anticipated disputed succession.
Again.
Not magic.
Governance.
Then Rafe uncovered something more immediate.
Three months before Christmas, Francesca had asked corporate archives for:
Original shareholder ledger, 2018–death.
Any unsigned transfer instruments.
Any documents bearing seal G.D. 24-A.
There.
She knew exact reference.
“How?”
Rafe said, “Request came through her board office.”
“Who fulfilled?”
Archivist found nothing.
Then Francesca asked household staff to search for the horse.
She was trying to locate the ring because First Hudson’s protocol required it.
Why not use court earlier?
Because if she did not possess ring, she could not access packet.
Could she have simply sued?
Maybe.
But she may not have wanted anyone else to know packet existed.
Then Dante came to my office unannounced.
Rafe stopped him at door until I approved.
New rules irritated family.
Good.
Dante entered.
“Mom told me something.”
“What?”
“She said A-24 was Dad’s revenge.”
“For?”
“Choosing her side in the hotel fight.”
“What was in it?”
“She says he transferred voting power away from me.”
“Toward who?”
Dante stared.
“You.”
My stomach tightened.
“Not Emery?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Then why the horse?”
“I asked. She told me not to be stupid.”
Very Francesca.
Then:
“Sal, if Dad gave you control, I need to know.”
“If he did, we’ll both know.”
“I need to know before the board.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m your brother.”
“That’s why.”
He stared.
Then laughed once.
“You sound like Claire.”
My late wife.
I hadn’t heard her name from Dante in months.
“What does that mean?”
“She always thought family asking for private answers was a trap.”
Claire had been right more than I liked admitting.
Then Dante said:
“If Emery is named, Mom will fight until she dies.”
“Why?”
“Because she never accepted the adoption.”
“I know.”
“No. You know she disliked it. You don’t know why.”
I looked at him.
Dante continued:
“She thinks Dad changed the entire succession plan because of Emery.”
There.
Now we were closer.
“Did he?”
“I don’t know.”
“But Mom thinks.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because before Emery, Dad told me Hospitality would eventually be mine.”
A promise.
Maybe not legal.
Then after Emery joined family?
“He stopped saying it.”
Not enough.
But enough for resentment.
Then Dante said:
“Mom thinks Claire convinced him.”
My hands tightened.
“Claire barely talked business with Dad.”
“Doesn’t matter what’s true. It matters what Mom believes.”
That was the first useful thing Dante had said.
Francesca was not only protecting money.
She was protecting the family story where blood entitled her sons to everything Giovanni built.
Emery’s existence had insulted that story.
The ring in the horse was proof that Giovanni had rejected it.
May you like
The sealed packet would tell us whether he had rejected it emotionally, symbolically, or legally.
And because Francesca had been fighting the distinction for years, I suspected the answer was legal.
