Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the North Wing
The lower security vault of the Moretti estate was built during the prohibition era, a subterranean bunker carved directly out of the granite bedrock beneath the Hudson Valley cliffs. It was designed to store contraband, bearer bonds, and secrets that could ruin governments.
Tonight, it smelled of cold stone, damp earth, and panic.
Charles Bellamy sat handcuffed to a heavy iron chair bolted directly into the concrete floor. His bespoke suit was wrinkled, his tie loosened, and his eyes darted frantically around the sterile, fluorescent-lit cell as Vincent Moretti paced slowly back and forth in front of him.
Dominic stood near the heavy steel door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, casually tossing a heavy brass key ring from hand to hand.
“You’re making a monumental mistake, Vincent,” Charles wheezed, trying to inject a final dose of authoritative bluster into his voice. “Holding me here is kidnapping. It’s extortion. My firm will have the state troopers breathing down your neck before sunrise—”
Vincent stopped pacing. He didn't yell. He simply walked up to the chair, planted his hands on the armrests, and leaned in until his face was inches from the attorney’s sweating forehead.
“Your firm doesn't exist anymore, Charles,” Vincent said calmly. “Thirty minutes ago, Dominic’s cyber team wiped your servers, seized your accounts, and forwarded every encrypted communication between your office and Vanguard Holdings to the federal prosecutor’s office in Manhattan.”
Charles’s breath caught. The bluster vanished instantly, leaving behind a pathetic, cornered man.
“How... how did you know about Vanguard?” Charles whispered.
“I didn't,” Vincent replied honestly, straightening up. “Not until Emily played that voicemail. But the moment I heard Sofia’s voice warning me about an asset transfer disguised as an engagement contract, the puzzle pieces fell into place. You didn't just help draft the papers, Charles. You managed the trust fund that Sofia set up before our marriage—a trust fund she discovered you were bleeding dry through shell corporations.”
Charles stared at the concrete floor, his lips trembling. “She... she found out too much. She was going to go to you. She packed her bags that night in December because she realized I had forged your signature on the subsidiary transfers.”
“And you intercepted her,” Dominic said, pushing off the wall and stepping forward. His voice was laced with a chilling, restrained violence. “You and whoever was helping you inside this house. You forced her off the North Gate road, staged the crash, and made everyone believe she abandoned Vince.”
“We didn't kill her!” Charles blurted out, panic overriding his self-preservation instinct. “We didn't kill her! The brakes failed—it was supposed to look like an accident on the ice, but she survived the impact! She crawled out of the wreckage before the car caught fire!”
Vincent’s chest tightened so violently he felt a physical pain behind his ribs. “Where is she?”
“I don't know!” Charles cried, thrashing against the handcuffs. “I swear to God, I don't know! After she crawled out of that ravine, she went into hiding. She knew if she came back to the estate, whoever was working with me inside the family would finish the job. She only left that phone recording on an old burner device in the staff quarters because she knew Grace’s daughter would eventually find it!”
Vincent stared down at the trembling lawyer. He could see the absolute terror in Charles’s eyes; the man wasn't lying about not knowing Sofia’s current location.
“Dominic,” Vincent said without breaking eye contact with the attorney.
“Yeah, boss?”
May you like
“Keep him down here until he remembers something useful. Then call the federal marshals. Tell them we have a guest who wants to confess to corporate embezzlement and accessory to manslaughter.”
Vincent turned sharply on his heel, grabbed the heavy iron handle of the vault door, and pulled it open, stepping out into the subterranean corridor with a singular, burning mission taking shape in his mind.
