Chapter 4
By ten o'clock that evening, a massive winter blizzard had fully descended upon the Colorado mountains. Heavy snow slammed against the tall lodge windows, howling through the pine trees outside. Inside, the lodge was on total lockdown. Armed guards patrolled every corridor, their dark suits sharp against the warm timber walls.
Upstairs in the master suite, little Noah was fast asleep under a heavy feather duvet. He was clean, dressed in a warm woolen sweater that was slightly too big for him, his fair cheeks rosy from the warmth of the hearth. On the bedside table sat a half-empty bowl of chicken soup and his handmade wooden airplane.
Richard sat in a leather armchair beside the bed, holding a glass of scotch. He hadn't touched the drink. His eyes were fixed on the sleeping child.
A quiet knock came at the door. Frank stepped inside, holding a thick black folder.
"Boss," Frank spoke in a low tone. "We ran the serial numbers on the notary stamp from that paper you found inside the toy."
"And?" Richard asked, not taking his eyes off Noah.
"The notary was registered in Denver four years ago under a private legal firm," Frank reported. "The firm was liquidated six months after Dominic’s death. But we managed to track down the digital archive backups from the state server. Boss... there wasn't just one trust document."
Richard slowly turned his head to look at Frank. "How many?"
"Three," Frank said, stepping closer and opening the folder. "The first trust transferred the timber rights to Noah. The second trust transferred the Chicago banking accounts to Noah. And the third trust... was a legal guardianship clause signed by your late wife, Eleanor, six months before she passed away."
Richard’s hand tightened around his scotch glass until the crystal creaked under the pressure. Eleanor. His beloved wife, who had died of cancer five years ago.
"Eleanor signed a guardianship clause?" Richard whispered.
"Yes, Boss," Frank said, handing him a printed document. "According to these records, Eleanor knew about Sarah's pregnancy before anyone else. She personally funded a private medical clinic in Denver to protect Sarah during her term. And she left a specific directive in her will: if Dominic died, the entire Bellacorte estate would pass directly to Dominic’s child, bypassing Mark entirely."
Richard closed his eyes, taking a deep, heavy breath. The pieces of a ten-year family tragedy were finally colliding in his mind. Eleanor had known Mark’s ruthless, greedy nature better than anyone. She knew that if Mark controlled the family empire, he would destroy it. So she had quietly secured the bloodline through Dominic.
"Where is the original copy of Eleanor's directive?" Richard asked.
"It's stored in the secure vault at the old estate house," Frank replied. "The house that burned down three years ago."
Richard stood up, his dark three-piece suit neat despite the chaotic evening. "The house didn't burn down by accident, did it?"
"We checked the old fire department logs from that night, Boss," Frank said grimly. "The official report says an electrical surge started in the basement. But the local chief who signed that report... received a three-hundred-thousand-dollar wire transfer from an offshore account two days later."
Richard’s expression turned deadly. "An account linked to Mark."
Before Frank could answer, a sudden noise echoed from the courtyard below—a sharp, metallic bang followed by the loud barking of security dogs.
Richard immediately pulled a heavy custom pistol from his shoulder holster, walking toward the window. Down in the snow-covered driveway, under the bright floodlights, three black vehicles had pulled up to the security gate. A group of men in dark winter coats were standing near the fence, gesturing aggressively toward the lodge guards.
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"Who the hell is that?" Richard demanded.
Frank checked his tactical radio, his face darkening. "Boss... it’s the Morelli syndicate from Denver. They say they're here to collect on a debt signed by Mark."
