Chapter 5 - UNRAVELING THE NET
For forty-eight hours, the Moretti estate operated under a cloud of engineered grief.
I played the role of a broken leader perfectly. I spent long hours locked in my study, staring out the window, refusing meetings, and drinking scotch by the bottle—most of which I poured down the sink drain.
Julian moved through the estate like a shadow king.
He took over security shifts. He reassigned loyal guards to distant perimeter posts. He held private meetings in the conservatory with senior lieutenants, whispering that I was losing my edge after the "fiancée tragedy."
On Thursday evening, Julian knocked on my study door and walked in without waiting for an answer.
I was sitting at my desk, dark circles drawn under my eyes with light theater makeup, an empty bottle of macallan sitting beside my elbow.
"Leo," Julian said, his voice dripping with false concern. "You haven't left this room in two days. The board is getting anxious. The quarterly shipping contracts for Pier 19 need your signature by midnight."
I raised my head slowly, my eyes unfocused, acting like a man drowning in alcohol and sorrow.
"The contracts..." I muttered, waving my hand weakly. "Sign them yourself, Julian. You handle it."
Julian’s eyes flashed with a predatory triumph. He stepped forward, placing a thick stack of legal documents on the desk.
"I can't sign them without your master key card, Leo," Julian said smoothly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a silver pen. "And the board needs a signed resolution transferring temporary executive authority to me while you... take time to heal."
"Temporary authority," I repeated blankly.
"Just for sixty days," Julian urged, leaning over the desk, pointing to the bottom line of the document. "It’s a formality. To keep the Vance family from sensing blood in the water. Sign here, brother."
I picked up the pen with a trembling hand.
Hidden beneath the blotter paper on my desk was a micro-camera, streaming video directly to an encrypted server controlled by my private security team in Brooklyn. On the third floor, Mia was sitting safely with her daughter, protected by six elite guards who answered only to me.
And in a black SUV parked two blocks away sat Elena, monitoring every word through a parabolic mic.
"If I sign this..." I slurred slightly, looking up into Julian’s eyes. "...what happens to Elena?"
Julian’s mouth curled into a subtle, arrogant sneer. "Elena is gone, Leo. Forget her. She was a leech. Once you sign this, I’ll make sure she never bothers you again."
"And Mia?" I asked.
Julian leaned closer, dropping his quiet facade for a fraction of a second. "Mia won't be a problem either. Accidents happen to maids every day."
That was all I needed.
I put the pen down.
"What's wrong?" Julian asked, his brow furrowing as his hand moved instinctively toward his coat jacket where his sidearm sat.
"I'm not signing, Julian," I said, my slurred tone vanishing instantly, replaced by a voice as cold and hard as granite.
Julian froze. "What?"
I sat up straight, clearing my throat. "I said, I'm not signing."
Julian’s posture shifted instantly from smooth advisor to dangerous operative. "Leo... you aren't in a position to negotiate. The estate guards are under my command. The board is in my pocket. Pier 19 is already surrounded by Vance’s men."
"Is it?" I asked with a calm smile.
I tapped a button on my desk console.
The double doors of the study flew open.
Standing in the hallway were eight heavy tactical guards dressed in black gear, automatic rifles pointed directly at Julian’s chest. Leading them was Marcus—my chief of security who Julian thought he had reassigned to Chicago three days ago.
Julian spun around, his hand snatching his pistol from his shoulder holster.
"DON'T MOVE!" Marcus roared.
Four red laser dots bloomed on Julian’s chest.
Julian stood frozen in the center of the room, his gun halfway out of its holster, his breathing ragged as he looked from the guards back to me.
"You..." Julian gasped, his face draining of all color. "How?"
"You played a good game, Julian," I said, standing up from my chair and pulling a cigars from a crystal humidor. "But you forgot one basic rule about this house."
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I lit the cigar, blowing a thin plume of blue smoke into the air.
"Nobody moves a single stone in the Moretti estate without me knowing."
