Chapter 13 - THE ACCOUNTANT
Anthony Farris handled North Harbor’s books.
He was not glamorous.
Fifty-three.
Divorced.
Loved spreadsheets.
Hated the Bellandis.
Prosecutors identified him because he had prepared vendor income schedules and could explain where Marcella’s payments were booked.
His initial lawyered interview was limited.
He said:
Marcella’s payments were coded consulting.
He did not know whether services occurred.
Lacey directed payments.
Nothing more.
Then Daniel found an email Anthony wrote to Lacey:
Why is MB getting 40% on Bellandi foundation invoice? This looks like pass-through comp.
Lacey replied:
She owns the relationship. Just book consulting.
Strong.
Anthony knew something looked unusual.
Then another:
Need separate support in case charity asks.
No support found.
Prosecutors wanted him.
Marcella’s lawyers wanted him.
I wanted him to stop hiding behind:
I only kept books.
That was where I made the mistake I had avoided for months.
I ran into Anthony at a private restaurant in Midtown.
Not arranged.
No Rafe beside me.
No lawyer.
He saw me and looked away.
I should have done the same.
Instead I walked over.
“Anthony.”
He stiffened.
“Mr. Bellandi.”
“Tell the truth.”
“I have counsel.”
“I’m not asking about testimony.”
I was.
He knew.
“Then don’t talk to me.”
I leaned closer.
“You helped book payments to my sister.”
“Nico.”
He used my first name because fear makes people strange.
“I did what Lacey instructed.”
“And when you thought it was wrong?”
He looked around.
“I’m leaving.”
I caught his forearm.
Not hard.
Enough.
The second my hand touched him, I knew.
Anthony looked down at it.
Then at me.
I released.
“Don’t ever touch me.”
“You’re right.”
But it was already done.
A restaurant security camera captured everything.
No audio clearly.
Video showed me approaching, leaning, grabbing his arm.
Anthony reported it to his lawyer.
His lawyer reported it to prosecutors.
Within twenty-four hours:
I was formally warned against direct witness contact.
The court in the foundation civil case entered a no-contact order covering witnesses represented by counsel.
Prosecutors opened an intimidation review.
No charge immediately.
My family reputation did the rest.
Headlines:
BELLANDI BOSS CONFRONTS CHARITY WITNESS.
This time, not fake.
I had.
Anthony’s willingness to cooperate collapsed temporarily.
He said he feared retaliation.
His attorney demanded security accommodations.
My name became evidence for Marcella.
Her lawyer:
“This investigation has been weaponized by a man accustomed to coercion.”
I had handed her that sentence.
Then Rafe came to my office.
“You told me months ago to keep everything through lawyers.”
“I know.”
“You were alone.”
“I know.”
“What were you thinking?”
“That he knew.”
“So?”
I looked at him.
No answer.
He continued:
“You think knowing something makes someone yours to confront.”
That sounded like Doreen? Different story. In this one maybe Marcella/family ethos. Still.
My father would have called it handling business.
Rafe called it stupid.
Correct.
Then I met prosecutors voluntarily.
“I touched his arm.”
“Why?”
“Anger.”
“Did you threaten him?”
“No.”
“Did you say anything about consequences?”
“No.”
“Did you ask him about the case?”
“I said tell the truth and asked about payments.”
“Yes, then.”
They investigated.
Restaurant audio from overhead microphone? Probably no usable. Witnesses heard no explicit threat.
No criminal intimidation charge ultimately, but the conduct remained relevant.
The civil judge sanctioned me for violating litigation conduct expectations? No prior order at time. Instead imposed no-contact and required communications through counsel. Foundation board barred me from any investigatory involvement.
My credibility damaged.
Real cost.
Then my company board—Bellandi Holdings—requested governance review.
Not because incident was charity case only.
Because their CEO grabbing a witness in public was reputational risk.
I stepped aside from two major negotiations for sixty days.
Revenue opportunity lost.
No hero immunity.
Then Vivia saw video online despite safeguards.
She asked:
“Why you grab man?”
I wanted to say he helped Aunt Marcella.
Instead:
“I was angry and touched him when he told me to leave him alone.”
“Like Aunt Cella grab dress?”
My stomach dropped.
“Not the same situation.”
“But he say no.”
There.
Children.
“Yes.”
“What happen?”
“I’m not allowed to talk to him now.”
“Good.”
Brutal.
Correct.
Then Dr. Kline said:
“Do not make Vivia your conscience.”
“I know.”
“She notices patterns because children do.”
I knew.
Then Anthony’s cooperation resumed only through subpoena and counsel.
He testified in deposition.
Marcella’s defense used my confrontation to suggest Anthony changed statements under Bellandi pressure.
Except his incriminating emails existed before I ever approached.
Important corroboration.
Still, I made everything harder.
Then Marcella sent me one message through attorneys:
You finally look like yourself again.
That got under my skin.
Because part of me understood.
For months I had been performing restraint like a new suit.
Then one bad minute revealed the old reflex:
Step close.
Use presence.
Make the room move around me.
The question was not whether I could behave differently when calm.
It was whether I could when someone refused me.
May you like
Marcella’s entire case rested on the idea that Bellandis believed refusal was temporary.
I needed to prove, mostly to myself, that she was not the only one who had learned that language.
