Chapter 13 - the missing piece
Marco stepped into the kitchen, holding a manila folder and a secure encrypted phone.
"Boss," Marco said, nodding politely toward Claire. "The private jet is fueled and ready at Oakland. Flight plan filed directly for JFK. We have four armed escorts on the ground in New York waiting for our arrival."
"Good," Luca said. "What did Julian’s personal accounts show?"
Marco opened the manila folder and laid a single sheet of paper on the kitchen counter.
"Julian’s offshore accounts in the Caymans were funded from a shell corporation called *Vanguard Holdings*," Marco explained. "We traced the ownership trail through four different European banks. The final originating account isn't in Switzerland or Delaware."
Luca leaned over the counter, his eyes scanning the banking codes. "Where is it?"
"Manhattan," Marco said, his voice dropping into a low, serious tone. "A private trust fund established thirty-two years ago."
Luca’s brow furrowed. "Thirty-two years? That was before my father took over the family."
"Look at the signatories on the trust, Boss," Marco said quietly.
Luca picked up the paper. His eyes moved down to the bottom of the page, where two names were listed as secondary trustees with power of attorney over the funds.
The first name was Vincent Moretti—Luca’s late uncle.
The second name made Luca’s breath catch in his throat.
*Elena Moretti.*
Luca stared at the paper as if it had burst into flames. "Elena? My mother?"
Claire stepped forward, looking at Luca’s stunned expression. "Luca? What is it?"
"My mother died when I was twelve," Luca whispered, his fingers tightening on the paper until the edges crumpled. "She died in a car bombing in Palermo. My father identified her remains. He brought her ashes back to New York."
Marco shook his head slowly. "The trust was updated, Boss. Not thirty years ago. The last authorized signature on this account was stamped six months ago. In person. At a private banking branch on Madison Avenue."
A dead silence fell over the kitchen.
Lila hopped down from her stool, holding her stuffed rabbit, and skipped over to Luca, tugging gently on the hem of his navy jacket. "Luca, look! Rabbit has a new bow!"
Luca looked down at his daughter. His mind was spinning into an abyss of questions that shattered everything he had believed about his past, his family, and his empire.
His mother wasn't dead.
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Or someone had stolen a dead woman’s identity to fund the operation that had hunted Claire and Lila for six long years.
"Marco," Luca said, his voice shaking with a cold, controlled fury. "Pack the bags. We're going to New York."
