Chapter 5 - Secrets in the Ashes
By noon the following day, Vincent had transformed Moretti Tower into a war room.
He hadn't showered, hadn't changed, and hadn't eaten. The air around him was so toxic with suppressed violence that even his most seasoned captains refused to enter his office without knocking twice.
"I want the records from the Swiss clinic," Vincent commanded, staring out the window toward the Four Seasons. "I want the medical files of the copilot, Daniel. I want to know who funded his family after his death."
"Vincent," Damian said from the doorway. "We already know who funded Daniel’s family. Anna did. She set up an offshore trust fund that pays his mother five thousand dollars a month. It was executed through a Zurich bank."
Vincent closed his eyes, a phantom pain ripping through his chest. *A twenty-four-year-old kid died saving my family, and I never even gave his mother a phone call.* He had been so consumed by his drunken, self-pitying grief that he had let the airline’s insurance company settle with Daniel’s family for pennies.
"And Sophia?" Vincent asked, his tone dropping into a terrifying calm.
"She’s in the penthouse lounge downstairs," Damian reported. "She’s been trying to see you all morning. She’s hysterical, Vincent. She knows you went to the Four Seasons last night."
"Bring her up."
Five minutes later, Sophia entered the office. She was dressed in an immaculate ivory coat, her blonde hair styled to perfection, but her eyes were frantic, darting around the room.
"Vincent!" She rushed toward him, extending her arms. "Darling, thank God you’re alright! I was so worried about you last night. You disappeared from the gala, and people have been whispering all kinds of horrible rumors. You can’t let this woman get into your head—she’s an impostor! A con artist trying to shake down the Moretti estate using—"
Vincent didn't move. He stood behind his desk, watching her with dead, unblinking eyes.
"Sit down, Sophia."
Sophia froze. The coldness in his voice made the blood drain from her face. "Vincent?"
"Sit down."
She swallowed hard and sat in the leather chair across from him, clutching her Chanel purse like a shield. "Vincent, you’re scaring me. What is this?"
Vincent pulled a thick stack of papers from a drawer and tossed them across the desk. They slid across the polished wood, landing against her purse.
"That's a wire transfer from your private account to a boutique intelligence firm in Zurich, dated seven days ago," Vincent said quietly. "Subject line: *Target Confirmation - Geneva.*"
Sophia’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"You knew," Vincent whispered. "You knew Anna was alive."
"Vincent, no... I can explain—"
"You let me visit an empty grave for three years!" Vincent roared, the dam finally breaking. He leaned over the desk, slamming both hands down, his face inches from hers. "You watched me drink myself to death! You watched me stand in the rain at a cemetery every Sunday! You held my hand while I cried over a baby I thought was ashes! And you knew she was alive!"
Sophia shrank back in terror, tears instantly spilling down her cheeks. "I did it for you! For us!"
"For us?!" Vincent laughed, a sound so wild and broken it sounded demonic. "There was never an us! I kept you around because I felt guilty! Because I thought you were a victim of that crash too! Because I couldn't bear to look at the life I had ruined without being reminded of my failure every single day!"
"She would have taken you away from me!" Sophia screamed, dropping all pretense of gentility. Her face twisted into an ugly sneer. "You were going to divorce me before the crash! You married that nobody from Ohio, you got her pregnant, and you forgot everything we built! I was supposed to be the queen of Chicago, not her!"
Vincent stared at her, his expression turning to stone. "What did you do to that plane, Sophia?"
Sophia’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened in panic. "Nothing! It was an accident! You know it was an accident!"
"Damian," Vincent called out without looking away from her.
Damian stepped forward from the shadows, placing a mini tape recorder on the desk. He hit play.
A rough, static-filled voice came through the speaker: *“Yeah, Miss Carter gave me fifty grand to loosen the hydraulic seal on the secondary flap actuator before the Aspen flight. She told me it would just force an emergency landing at O’Hare. She said she wanted to ruin Anna’s vacation so Vincent would take her to the Bahamas instead. I swear to God, I didn't know it would ignite the fuel line!”*
Sophia slumped back in the chair, her face grey, her hands shaking violently.
"You didn't just panic on that plane," Vincent whispered, the realization hitting him like a freight train. "You planned the emergency. You created the situation where I had to choose."
"Vincent, please..." Sophia sobbed, dropping to her knees beside his desk, reaching for his trousers just as he had done to Anna hours before. "I loved you! I did it for love! I didn't know the wing would catch fire! I begged you to take me first because I was terrified! You chose me, Vincent! That proved you loved me!"
Vincent looked down at her with pure, unmitigated revulsion.
"I didn't choose you because I loved you, Sophia," Vincent said, his voice deadly quiet. "I took you first because I thought you were weak. I thought Anna was strong enough to wait sixty seconds. I trusted Anna. I valued her life so little that I took it for granted."
He pulled his foot away from her grasp as if she were a venomous snake.
"Damian."
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"Turn everything over to the federal prosecutor. Every wire transfer, the mechanic's confession, the black box telemetry. Let the FBI handle the attempted murder and aviation sabotage charges. And Damian?"
"Sir?"
"Take every asset she owns. Her condo, her jewelry, her family’s trusts. Strip her until she doesn't have enough money to buy a cup of coffee. If anyone in this city offers her a roof or a dime, tell them they answer to me."
"No! Vincent, you can't do this to me!" Sophia shrieked as Damian grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. "Vincent! You promised you would take care of me!"
Vincent didn't look at her again. He turned his back, facing the window.
May you like
"Throw her out."
***
