Chapter 5 - The Resurrection of the DeadLorenzo Vale took a fast, clumsy step backward, his hands sweating profusely against his suit jacket. "Julian! Listen to me! This woman is a intruder! She was caught stealing from your estate last night! I gave orders for her removal—"
"You gave orders to cover your tracks, Lorenzo," I interrupted cleanly.
I reached into my coat, pulled out an encrypted tablet, and tapped the glass screen, projecting a massive audio and banking archive onto the wall monitor behind Beatrice's seat.
The red numbers and voice recordings illuminated the room:
OFFSHORE TRUST TRANSFERS: $120 MILLION — Diverted by Lorenzo Vale from Vance Logistics into Cayman accounts between 2014 and 2026.
FORGED TREASON AFFIDAVITS — Created by Lorenzo to execute Captain Thomas Gallagher and fifteen loyal captains.
LIVE AUDIO RECORDING: NOV 12, 2014 — Lorenzo Vale discussing the poisoning of my father's heart medication with secondary syndicate buyers.
The thirty captains around the table jumped out of their chairs, roaring in utter, furious outrage.
"YOU TRAITOROUS BASTARD!" Captain Donatelli screamed, drawing his sidearm. "YOU KILLED OUR DON!"
"WAIT!" Lorenzo shrieked, backing against the glass wall windows, his hands shaking frantically as he pulled a concealed revolver from his shoulder holster. "IT'S A FABRICATION! YOU CAN'T PROVE ANY OF THIS! VINCENT MORETTI IS DEAD! HE DIED TWELVE YEARS AGO!"
The side service doors of the boardroom swung open.
Walking through the doorway, resting his withered hands on his heavy wooden cane, wearing a clean dark wool coat, his steel-gray eye burning with an absolute, terrifying vengeance, was Vincent Moretti.
The thirty captains froze mid-step, their jaws sagging open in total, speech-bound horror.
"Vincent...!" Donatelli gasped, dropping onto his knees flat on the carpet. "MY GOD... VINCENT IS ALIVE!"
Lorenzo Vale’s knees completely gave out. He collapsed flat onto his back on the carpeted floorboards, his revolver slipping from his trembling fingers, rolling pathetically across the floor toward my feet.
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He looked up at Vincent, then at Beatrice, and finally at me, realizing with a terrifying, absolute clarity that his twelve-year empire of blood and lies had just come to an apocalyptic end.
"Twelve years in the dark, Lorenzo," Vincent spoke softly, his voice echoing cleanly through the room like a tolling bell. "And today... the sun comes up."
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