Chapter 4 - The Traitor's Footprint
The room fell into an oppressive silence. The crackle of the fireplace was the only sound echoing across the high ceilings.
Claire stepped backward, her face drained of all color. "Someone inside your own family was ruining my life?"
Vincent didn't answer immediately. His tall, broad frame stood rigid, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides. The dark red pocket square in his suit jacket seemed to flame against the black fabric.
"Marco," Vincent said, his voice dropping into a register that made the security chief visibly tense. "Which internal account?"
"Account 409, Boss," Marco whispered. "The administrative fund managed by Counselor Anthony."
Anthony Vance was the fifty-two-year-old chief legal advisor of the Moretti family—a polished, soft-spoken man who had served Vincent’s father for twenty years and currently managed the syndicate's real estate holdings.
"Anthony..." Vincent murmured, his mind piecing together seven years of unanswered questions. "Anthony was the one who handled Gabriel’s estate documents after the ambush at Dock 42. He was the only one who had access to Gabriel’s private financial files."
"Why would he do this to us?" Claire cried out, her voice trembling with emotion. "I didn't even know Anthony existed! I never asked for a penny from the Moretti family!"
"Because as long as Gabriel’s daughter was alive, she was the rightful heir to thirty percent of the Moretti family shipping terminals," Vincent explained, turning to look at her. "If Anthony declared Gabriel dead without heirs, those terminal shares defaulted back to the administrative fund... which Anthony controlled."
Mia, sensing the tension in the room, reached into her mother’s faded dress pocket and pulled out a small, tarnished silver key attached to a pink ribbon.
"Mommy," Mia said softly, holding up the key. "Is this for the box Daddy left?"
Claire blinked in surprise. "Mia... where did you get that?"
"It was inside the old teddy bear Daddy gave me before he went away," Mia explained innocently. "The seam broke this morning when we were on the bus."
Vincent walked over, looking down at the small silver key. Engraved on the bow of the key was a tiny crest—an eagle holding a coiled snake, the old seal of the Moretti family.
"That key opens a private safety deposit box at First Chicago Trust," Vincent said. "Gabriel had a private box reserved for emergency family records."
Before Claire could answer, a sharp red light flashed across the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the study.
A high-powered rifle laser dot swept across the carpet, settling directly over Vincent’s chest.
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"Get down!" Vincent roared.
Vincent lunged forward, grabbing Claire and Mia in his broad arms, slamming them down behind the heavy oak desk just as a silenced high-powered bullet shattered the thick glass window, embedding itself deeply into the mahogany bookshelf behind them.
