Chapter 7 - The Final Confession
The lower holding cells beneath the Moretti estate were cold, damp, and completely isolated from the outside world. Thick concrete walls muffled all sound, and a single overhead incandescent bulb cast a harsh, sickly yellow glow over the bare metal chair bolted to the floor.
Richard Sterling sat in that chair.
His expensive designer suit was rumpled and stained with sweat. His hair was disheveled, and his hands trembled inside the heavy steel cuffs securing him to the table.
The heavy iron door at the end of the concrete corridor groaned open.
Footsteps echoed sharply against the floor—steady, unhurried, terrifyingly calm.
Dominic Moretti stepped into the cell. He didn't wear a tactical vest or carry a weapon. He wore his tailored black overcoat, his hands buried deep in his pockets, looking down at the fallen corporate titan with the detached coldness of a scientist observing an insect under a microscope.
“Richard,” Dominic greeted quietly.
Richard jerked his head up, his eyes bloodshot and wide with sheer panic. “Moretti... listen to me. This is a mistake! My lawyers are filing habeas corpus motions as we speak! You can't just snatch a CEO off the street and throw him in a private dungeon!”
“Your lawyers are currently shredding their own files, Richard,” Dominic replied smoothly, pulling up a steel stool and sitting down directly opposite him. “Federal prosecutors in three jurisdictions have your offshore wire logs, your encrypted communication transcripts with Marcus Vance, and sworn testimony from your co-conspirators. You aren't going to trial. You’re going away for a very long time.”
Richard slumped forward, the fight completely draining out of him. The arrogant, untouchable billionaire who had tried to crush Moretti Holdings was gone, leaving behind a pathetic, cornered coward.
“Why?” Richard whispered, his voice cracking with miserable defeat. “We could have split the West Coast shipping lanes. There was enough wealth for both of us. Why risk everything over a corporate merger?”
Dominic leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes boring straight into Richard’s soul.
“Because you thought wealth was about what you could take,” Dominic said softly. “You thought empires were built on backstabbing, poison, and fear.”
He stood up, adjusting his coat cuffs.
“You tried to kill my son because you thought he was a weakness,” Dominic continued, walking toward the heavy iron door. “You didn't realize that the greatest strength a man can have isn't the army he hires... it's the people who stay when the lights go out.”
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“Moretti! Wait! What are you going to do with me?!” Richard shrieked as the iron door began to swing shut.
“Nothing,” Dominic’s voice echoed back from the dark corridor. “Federal marshals will pick you up in ten minutes. I’m done wasting my time on men who don't matter.”
