Chapter 3 - The Audit of the DamnedThe executive suite on the fiftieth floor of the Valente Tower looked out over the glittering, sleepless expanse of Manhattan. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows framed the glowing Chrysler Building, casting long, geometric shadows across the pristine white marble floors.
Yet, inside the private conference room, the atmosphere was about as far from luxurious as humanly possible.
Arthur Pendelton, Marcone’s chief financial officer—a man in his late fifties with sweaty gray hair, a rumpled designer suit, and a face the color of wet oatmeal—was tied securely to a heavy leather office chair. A strip of duct tape was wrapped loosely around his neck, though his mouth was currently free to hyperventilate.
Naomi sat across from him at the mahogany table, her laptop open, the screen illuminating her face with a harsh, blue glow. Spread out before her were three thick ledgers filled with offshore wire codes, dummy corporation names, and encrypted bank routing slips.
"P-Please," Arthur stammered, his eyes darting frantically between Naomi and Roman, who stood by the door with his arms crossed like a granite statue. "I'm just an accountant! I don't know anything about the shipments, I swear to God, I just balance the books—"
"Arthur, shut up," Naomi said mildly, not even looking up from her screen. Her fingers flew across the keyboard with the speed and precision of a concert pianist. "If you were just an accountant, you wouldn't have spent the last four years skimming four percent off Marcone’s narcotics revenue to fund a secret real estate portfolio in Boca Raton."
Arthur choked on his own spit, his eyes bulging. "H-How did you—?"
"You used your daughter’s middle name for the primary shell company in Panama," Naomi sighed, stopping her typing and finally looking up at him with mild, professional pity. "Arthur, that is amateur hour. Even my brother Leo knew better than to use family names when laundering drug money, and Leo once tried to pay a bookmaker with a bounced check from a joint account with our mother."
The heavy oak door swung open, and Dominic walked in.
He had discarded his suit jacket, wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. He carried two cups of black coffee, placing one beside Naomi’s laptop without a word before leaning against the edge of the table.
"Progress?" Dominic asked, his eyes fixed on the trembling accountant.
"Complete," Naomi said, tapping the trackpad. "I’ve mapped out every single hidden asset Marcone owns. His real estate holdings, his untaxed cash reserves, his bribe logs with three different municipal judges, and the offshore accounts holding his retirement fund."
She turned the laptop screen toward Dominic.
"If we execute a simultaneous digital raid right now, we can drain every single account before Marcone even finishes his morning espresso. By noon, he won't even be able to pay for his morning bagel."
Arthur let out a pathetic, strangled sob. "You'll ruin him! Marcone will kill me! He'll skin me alive!"
"Marcone is going to be a bit preoccupied with his own federal indictments to worry about you, Arthur," Dominic said smoothly, his voice devoid of any warmth. He glanced down at Naomi, a subtle spark of approval lighting up his pale hazel eyes. "You move fast, Naomi."
"When someone breaks into my home and steals my work, I tend to get efficient," she replied dryly, taking a sip of the hot black coffee. It was bitter, strong, exactly the way she liked it.
She looked up at Dominic, noticing how close he was standing. The proximity was becoming a dangerous habit. Every time he entered a room, the air seemed to shrink around her, drawing her focus away from the numbers and pulling it entirely toward the heavy, magnetic pull of his presence.
"There's just one problem," Naomi added, her voice dropping slightly.
"Name it."
"My personal backup drive. Marcone has it. If he hands it over to the feds, even if we strip his accounts, those specific routing numbers will still point back to the Delaware company we discussed at the harbor."
Dominic’s expression darkened instantly. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"Roman," Dominic said quietly.
"Boss?"
"Cancel the digital raid. We're not draining his accounts yet."
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Naomi stared at him in disbelief. "Are you insane? That's our window!"
"We don't leave loose ends, Naomi," Dominic said, turning his full, intense gaze back to her. "And we certainly don't let anyone hold your property hostage. Roman, get the car ready. We're going to pay Sal Marcone a visit."
