Chapter 7 - fractured trust
By three in the morning, the atmosphere inside the Moretti war room was suffocating.
Maps of Manhattan and Chicago were spread across the heavy oak table. Marco stood at the end of the board, setting down a stack of decrypted wire transfers.
"Boss," Marco said, his voice hesitant. "We ran the IP addresses on the Chicago bank account that paid Celeste two million dollars today."
"Who owns the account?" Victor demanded, setting his coffee glass down.
Marco swallowed hard, looking down at the papers. "The account belongs to Sofia Moretti."
Victor froze. He slowly raised his eyes, glaring at his closest enforcer. "Say that again."
"Sofia opened the offshore account in Chicago six months ago," Marco revealed, his hands steady despite the tension in the room. "She’s the one who authorized the wire transfer to Celeste three hours before your engagement party."
The double doors of the war room swung open.
Sofia walked in, carrying a tray of espresso cups. She stopped when she saw the guns on the table and the cold, lethal look in her brother's eyes.
"Victor?" Sofia asked softly. "What's wrong?"
Victor stood up, stepping around the table until he towered over his sister. "Why did you transfer two million dollars to Celeste today, Sofia?"
Sofia set the tray down, her composure cracking. Tears welled in her eyes. "I had to, Victor! Celeste found out that I knew Elena was alive five years ago! She threatened to tell Adrian Cross that Maya wasn't born in New York!"
"What does Maya's birthplace have to do with anything?" Victor barked.
"Because Maya wasn't born in a hospital, Victor!" Sofia sobbed. "She was born in a private clinic in Chicago during the fire! Celeste bought the medical records to force me into giving her access to your vault!"
May you like
Victor stepped back, the betrayal hitting him like a physical blow. The sister he trusted to protect his daughter had been paying off the woman who tried to destroy him.
"Hand over your phone and your keys, Sofia," Victor said, his voice dropping to absolute zero. "You're locked in the west wing until this is finished."
