Chapter 3 - The Verdict in the Study
The private study on the second floor of the mansion was built like a fortress. Solid mahogany walls, dark green leather armchairs, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the misty rain sweeping across the forest estate.
When I entered, Evelyn Crane was standing near the fireplace, escorted by two of my personal security guards, Vince and Dominic. Her hair was still immaculately pinned, but the sharp color had drained from her lips.
Marco stood near the door, looking tense.
I walked behind my desk, sat down in the high-backed leather chair, and placed three items on the blotter: First, the yellow carbon receipts. Second, the blue medical file with the red DENIED stamp. Third, my father’s silver pocket watch, which I unclipped and laid flat on the wood.
“You have three minutes, Evelyn,” I said softly, looking at the ticking second hand.
Evelyn took a breath, drawing herself up to her full height, relying on thirteen years of earned authority to save her. “Mr. Moretti, this is an extraordinary misunderstanding. The medical foundation has strict budget constraints set by the board—”
“I am the board,” I interrupted smoothly. “I fund the foundation with five hundred thousand dollars every January. The foundation account currently holds two point four million dollars. Why did you sign a denial on a child’s surgery?”
Evelyn swallowed. “The procedure was speculative—”
“The procedure was written by the head of pediatric orthopedics at Johns Hopkins,” I said, opening the folder and sliding the document toward her. “And the forty-two thousand dollars required for Lily’s leg is exactly five months of your skimming operation.”
She looked down at the paper, then back up at my face. For the first time, she saw the reality of her position. She wasn't dealing with an employer who was worried about human resources or labor laws. She was dealing with Gabriel Moretti—a man whose family had controlled the subterranean economy of the Midwest for three generations.
“Gabriel... please,” she whispered, her voice finally dropping the formal facade. “I spent thirteen years managing this house. I kept your secrets. When your father died, I handled the press, the police, the funeral— I took a small percentage because my husband’s medical debt in Florida was drowning us!”
“You took my money,” I said, my voice dropping an octave into pure velvet thunder. “That is a financial offense. I would have fired you and stripped your pension.”
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the desk.
“But you made a mother watch her four-year-old daughter limp across a stone floor every morning while you lectured her about my marble. You used my name—my home—to torment a child so you could hide your petty theft.”
Evelyn began to tremble violently. “What... what are you going to do to me?”
I looked at Vince, my head of estate security.
“Evelyn’s employment is terminated immediately,” I announced. “Confiscate her estate keys, her corporate cards, and her pension rights. Evict her from the manager’s cottage by sunset today.”
Evelyn gasped, a sob breaking from her chest. “My cottage? Where am I supposed to go?”
“I don't care,” I replied coldness. “Furthermore, my legal team will file civil and criminal charges for grand larceny, corporate embezzlement, and child endangerment with the State Prosecutor’s office at nine o'clock tomorrow morning.”
“No!” Evelyn cried out, dropping to her knees on the Persian rug. “Please! A conviction will ruin me! I’ll go to prison!”
“You should have thought about prison while you were listening to that child’s brace strike my floor,” I said, picking up my silver watch and slipping it back into my vest pocket.
I looked at Vince. “Take her out of my sight. If she is on estate property after 5:00 p.m., arrest her for trespassing.”
Vince and Dominic grabbed Evelyn by her arms, lifting her off her knees, and dragged her out of the study, her desperate pleas fading down the long, carpeted corridor.
May you like
I stood up, walked to the window, and watched the rain pounding against the glass.
Outside on the south lawn, the twin rotors of my Sikorsky S-76 helicopter were already spinning, cutting through the cold morning mist.
