Chapter 3 - The Purge of the BoardroomAt 10:00 AM the following morning, the grand executive boardroom atop the fifty-story Moretti Tower on Michigan Avenue was packed to absolute capacity.
Over forty senior syndicate capos, commercial logistics directors, high-society attorneys, and corporate shareholders sat around the massive forty-foot carved walnut table beneath sparkling crystal chandeliers.
Sitting at the head of the table, wearing a tailored charcoal suit, holding a silver pen, was thirty-four-year-old Vincent Moretti—Gabriel’s arrogant, greedy cousin. Beside him sat Dr. Adrian Vale, holding a leather briefcase, smirking as they prepared to sign the final executive transfer papers.
"Gentlemen," Vincent announced into the central microphone, his voice dripping with condescending authority, "today we execute the permanent transfer of Gabriel’s voting proxies to my private holding firm due to his irreversible, fatal neurological condition—"
BOOM!
The heavy double oak doors of the executive boardroom were thrown open with a violent, hydraulic impact!
The chatter of forty corporate executives vanished into an absolute, speech-bound silence.
Walking down the central red carpet, flanked by Chief Security Director Marcus Vance and four armed federal marshals, was me.
I wore a breathtaking, custom-tailored dark navy silk coat over an ivory dress, my dark hair pulled back into a sleek, regal knot, my hazel eyes radiating an unshakeable, sovereign authority.
And walking right beside me, wearing an magnificent charcoal bespoke suit, his broad six-foot-three frame squared, his handsome face carved from granite, radiating an untouchable, sovereign power... was Gabriel Moretti.
Vincent Moretti dropped his silver pen.
The heavy metal clattered flat against the hardwood table, echoing through the silent room, as his face went from arrogant red to an ugly, paper-white shade of green.
Dr. Adrian Vale stumbled backward out of his chair, knocking over his water glass, his jaw sagging open in utter, catatonic horror.
"G-GABRIEL...?! CLARA?!" Vincent stammered, taking two panicked steps backward against the table. "WHAT IS THIS ILL-MANNERED INTERRUPTING?! YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE BRAIN-DEAD!"
"You should have hired a better doctor, Vincent," Gabriel announced flatly, his deep, gravelly baritone carrying cleanly across the vast room, dropping the room's temperature to absolute zero.
Gabriel walked steadily past the gaping executives, stopping at the head of the table. He pulled out the heavy leather executive chair, turning to face me.
"Sit, Clara," Gabriel said gently, his storm-grey eyes softening with immense respect as he pulled out the chair for me.
I sat down smoothly, while Gabriel stood beside my chair like an unshakeable, towering fortress.
Bridget Colton stepped forward, sliding a thick stack of court-stamped legal notices flat into Vincent’s trembling hands:
REVOCATION OF PROXIES: Certified medical certificates signed by three independent federal neurosurgeons proving Gabriel Moretti is 100% physically and mentally fit.
THE ARREST WARRANTS: Federal warrants served on Vincent Moretti and Dr. Adrian Vale for Attempted First-Degree Murder, Chemical Poisoning, and $120 Million Corporate Fraud.
THE BENNETT TRUST ENFORCEMENT: Legal Injunction confirming Clara Bennett as sole fifty-one percent controlling equity holder over the South Chicago Commercial Docks.
"Vincent Moretti, Adrian Vale," Lead Federal Marshal Miller declared coldly, stepping forward with heavy steel handcuffs. "You are under arrest."
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CLICK. CLICK.
Vincent thrashed and shrieked hysterical, groveling pleas as marshals dragged him and Dr. Vale out of the Moretti Tower in total, public disgrace, surrounded by news crews capturing their complete downfall for the afternoon news.
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