Chapter 2 - The Paper Trail of BetrayalRafe’s smile faltered, replaced by a tight, rigid twitch at the corner of his mouth. He cast a sharp, dismissive glance at Etta before advancing toward the center of the conservatory, the two corporate attorneys trailing nervously behind him like obedient hounds.
“You’re making a grave mistake, Emilio,” Rafe said, tossing the thick leather folder onto a rustic glass-topped table between them. “The board of directors met late last night. With your extended medical leave and the federal inquiries into our port logistics in Biloxi, the shipping conglomerates are demanding an interim executive signature. If you don't sign the temporary authorization today, the syndicate votes to freeze our operational accounts by midnight.”
Emilio didn't even look down at the folder. He kept his eyes locked on his younger brother, a cold, humorless smirk touching the corners of his lips.
“Let them freeze the accounts,” Emilio replied softly. “Every single bank account tied to that specific syndicate subsidiary is currently flagged under federal subpoena, Rafe. Do you take me for a fool? You weren't trying to save the shipping lanes; you were trying to transfer the primary titles into your own offshore shell company in the Caymans before the indictments drop.”
The two attorneys instantly went pale, exchanging frantic, terrified glances.
Rafe’s face drained of color, his hands balling into tight fists at his sides. “You’re delusional. The isolation in that bedroom has rotted your mind—you’ve been listening to gossip from the servants—”
“Watch your tone when you speak of my wife,” Emilio interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, slicing through the air like a razor.
Etta froze, her breath catching in her throat. She stared at Emilio’s profile, her heart hammering against her ribs. Wife? They weren't married. They had never even crossed that line. It was a tactical maneuver—a dangerous, deliberate power play meant to strip Rafe of any legal leverage he thought he held over domestic staff testimony.
Rafe whipped his head toward Etta, his eyes wide with disbelief and outrage. “Your what? You’re elevating a cleaning woman to protect your assets? Have you completely lost your grip on reality, Emilio? She’s a hired hand from the lower wards! She doesn't even have a last name anyone respects!”
“My name is Etta Malloy,” Etta said, stepping out from behind the lemon trees, her voice steady and ringing with absolute clarity. She walked right up to the table, looking Rafe dead in the eye. “And unlike you, Mr. Corsaro, I didn't spend the last nineteen months slowly poisoning the man who put a roof over my head.”
The conservatory plunged into a silence so absolute that the distant sound of traffic outside the wrought-iron gates felt miles away.
May you like
Rafe’s breath hitched. He stepped back instinctively, his gaze darting between Etta and Emilio. “You’re insane. Both of you. You’ll be hearing from the corporate executors by this afternoon, Emilio. When the board strips you of every title, don't expect me to come back to bail you out.”
Without waiting for a reply, Rafe turned on his heel and stormed out of the conservatory, his attorneys scurrying frantically behind him, the heavy oak doors slamming shut with a resounding echo.
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