Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Champagne
By two o'clock in the morning, the storm over the estate had reached its peak. Heavy rain battered the high glass windows of the grand study, while thunder rolled across the dark hills.
Marcus returned to the study, holding a heavy steel briefcase recovered from Celeste’s private suite in the west wing.
"Boss," Marcus reported, setting the briefcase on the oak desk. "We unlocked Celeste's private safe. We found these."
Victor opened the briefcase. Inside lay three vials of a clear, synthetic neurotoxin, alongside an encrypted satellite tablet displaying a live video feed of a private dock in South Boston.
"The toxin in these vials is a slow-acting amnesiac compound," Marcus explained, his face grim. "It's the same compound used by private military clinics to induce memory loss in covert operatives. Celeste has been dosing your private evening whiskey with small amounts for the last six months."
Victor’s jaw set like iron. The subtle fatigue and memory lapses he had experienced over the past few months weren't signs of aging—Celeste was slowly erasing his mind so she could take full legal control of the Moretti trust!
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the study opened, and Clara walked inside, holding Ellie's hand. Clara had changed out of her maid uniform into a simple, elegant dark blue dress provided by the estate stylist. Her fair, rosy skin was radiant under the lamplight, her brown hair styled neatly over her shoulders.
Ellie ran across the room, throwing her small arms around Victor's leg. "Daddy! Miss Clara remembered something!"
Victor dropped to one knee, lifting Ellie into his arms, then looked up at Clara. "What did you remember, Clara?"
Clara walked over to the desk, her hands trembling slightly as she looked at the glass of bourbon Victor had poured earlier.
"The night I woke up in the clinic eight years ago..." Clara said, her voice dropping into a quiet, intense whisper. "Celeste was standing over my bed. She was wearing a doctor's coat. She held a glass of champagne and forced me to drink it before they put me in the ambulance."
Clara looked into Victor's dark eyes. "She didn't just steal my baby, Victor. She tried to poison me. But the nurse who delivered Ellie felt guilty... she lowered the dose and marked my wrist with the intake code so I could be identified if I ever survived."
At that moment, the private satellite phone on the desk chimed with a sharp, high-pitched ringtone.
Victor picked up the phone, pressing speaker.
A smooth, unfamiliar voice carrying a heavy European accent spoke through the speaker:
"Mr. Moretti... congratulations on uncovering Celeste's little secret. But I suggest you look at your private security server before sunrise."
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Victor’s eyes narrowed into slits. "Who is this?"
"I am Don Falcone," the voice replied smoothly. "Celeste's true employer. And as of ten minutes ago, the federal court in Manhattan has validated Celeste's emergency power-of-attorney documents over the Moretti estate. You have three hours to vacate the property, Victor... or my men will execute the federal seizure order."
