Chapter 5 - The Snake in the Ledger
By 8:00 AM the following morning, Thomas Vance was standing in my ground-floor office, his face as red as a ripe tomato, his polished Italian shoes tapping nervously against the hardwood floor.
Vance was a middle-aged man with thin graying hair, sharp rat-like eyes, and a pristine suit that looked like it belonged to a corporate executive rather than an estate manager. He held a leather binder under his arm, trying desperately to maintain his professional composure.
“Mr. Moretti, I must protest,” Vance insisted, his voice laced with indignation. “Dismissing me without cause after eighteen months of loyal service? I have kept this estate running at peak efficiency! I cut domestic overhead by twenty-two percent last quarter alone!”
I sat behind my heavy mahogany desk, swirling a cup of black coffee. Marco stood by the door, his arms crossed over his massive chest, blocking the exit like a brick wall.
“You cut overhead by denying medical assistance to staff members, Vance,” I said calmly, setting my coffee cup down with a sharp clink. “You bullied women whose children were dying while pocketing the surplus budget for yourself.”
Vance’s face shifted from red to a pasty, sickly white. “That… that is an absolute fabrication! Who told you this? Was it that Carter girl? She’s a lazy, incompetent worker who—”
Before he could finish the sentence, I was across the room.
My hand clamped around Vance’s silk tie, yanking him forward until his face was inches from mine. His leather binder fell to the floor, spilling papers across the rug.
“Watch your mouth when you speak about my staff,” I growled, my breath cold against his cheek. “I had my forensic accountants audit your domestic logs three hours ago, Thomas. You didn't just deny her medical aid—you embezzled sixty thousand dollars from the estate healthcare fund over the last year.”
Vance began to sweat profusely, his eyes darting wildly toward Marco, who merely offered a cold, terrifying smirk.
“Murphy… please,” Vance wheezed, his hands clutching my wrist. “I can pay it back! Every cent! I have the money!”
“You’re damn right you have the money,” I said, shoving him backward so hard he stumbled into the wall. “Because Marco is taking you to your bank right now. You will transfer every penny of that stolen fund into a trust account for Lily Carter’s heart surgery.”
Vance rasped, clutching his throat, nodding frantically. “Yes! Yes, of course! Anything you want!”
“And if you ever step foot within fifty miles of Chicago again,” I added, stepping close enough for him to see the icy death in my eyes, “I won't call the police. I’ll call Marco. Do you understand me?”
“I understand! I swear to God I understand!” Vance cried out.
Marco grabbed Vance by the collar of his expensive suit, dragging him out of the office like a sack of trash. The heavy oak doors swung shut, leaving me alone in the sunlit room.
I walked over to the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rear gardens.
Down on the manicured lawn, Allie was sitting on a stone bench, watching Lily play. The little girl was running through the grass in her yellow dress, chasing Fantasma, who was playfully leaping over flowerbeds. For the first time since I had hired Allie, the deep, dark circles beneath her eyes seemed lighter. She looked like a woman who could finally breathe.
A soft knock at the door broke my concentration.
“Come in,” I called out.
The door opened, and Dr. Harrison—Chicago’s leading pediatric cardiologist, whom I had flown in on my private jet hours earlier—stepped into the office. He carried a silver tablet containing Lily’s medical records.
“Mr. Moretti,” Dr. Harrison said, shaking my hand warmly. “I’ve reviewed the scans you sent over from the local clinic.”
“Can you fix her heart?” I asked directly, cutting straight through the professional pleasantries.
Dr. Harrison smiled reassuringly. “The defect is complex, but entirely fixable with modern surgical techniques. With proper funding and top-tier post-operative care, she has an eighty-five percent chance of making a full, healthy recovery.”
I felt a sudden, profound weight lift from my shoulders—a sensation so unfamiliar it almost made me dizzy.
“Eighty-five percent isn't high enough,” I said, looking the doctor in the eye. “I’ll double your fee. Bring in the best team in the country. Make it one hundred percent.”
Dr. Harrison let out a soft laugh. “I’ll do everything in human power, sir. We can schedule the operation for next Friday at Children’s Memorial.”
“Good,” I said, looking back out the window. “Make it happen.”
May you like
As Dr. Harrison left, I watched Lily stop mid-stride on the lawn. She looked up toward my office window, spotted me standing behind the glass, and vigorously waved her small hand, her smile beaming through the sunshine.
I slowly raised my hand and waved back.
