Chapter 5 - The Council’s VerdictTen days later, the heavy iron-reinforced doors of the Moretti corporate tower’s boardroom were closed tight against the rest of the world.
The boardroom was a cavernous space of dark mahogany, smoked glass, and leather chairs. Seated around the long oval table were the seven elders of the Chicago Commission—men who controlled the shipping docks, real estate monopolies, and financial institutions across three states.
At the head of the table sat Nikolai. And right beside him, in a tailored charcoal pantsuit with a silk emerald blouse, sat me.
Across the table, Julian sat sweating through his collar, flanked by two lawyers he had hired from New York. My father had tried to enter the building earlier that morning, only to be turned away by security because Hart & Associates’ lines of credit had officially been frozen by Moretti Trust.
“The proposal on the table,” rasped old Don Salvatore, the oldest capo on the council, his rheumy eyes fixing on me before moving to Nikolai, “is whether Julian’s recent alliance with the Hart family warrants an expanded territory in the western suburbs. But the bylaws state that the primary successor must present a unified household.”
Salvatore leaned back, folding his arthritic hands over his cane. “And rumors in the city suggest, Nikolai, that your sudden marriage to Julian’s former fiancée was nothing more than a spiteful theater production.”
The entire room held its breath. Julian looked up, a desperate, pathetic spark of hope flashing in his eyes. He thought he still had a chance to claw back his dignity before the council.
I didn't wait for Nikolai to speak.
I stood up slowly, smoothing the fabric of my trousers, and walked toward the center of the glass-walled room.
“Theater?” I asked, my voice calm, clear, and resonant against the mahogany panels. “Don Salvatore, let me show you some actual theater.”
I reached into my briefcase and pulled out a thick stack of financial documents, sliding them across the polished table directly toward the old capo.
“For the past three years,” I said, my eyes locking onto Julian’s terrified face, “while Julian was supposedly managing our family’s real estate acquisitions, he was secretly funneling Moretti-backed capital into a shell corporation registered under Serena’s name in the Cayman Islands. A total of 4.2 million dollars siphoned directly from the construction payroll of the new riverfront development.”
Julian leaped to his feet, slamming his hands onto the table. “That’s a lie! She’s lying! She’s bitter because I left her!”
“I’m not bitter, Julian,” I replied, turning my gaze slowly toward him with absolute, freezing pity. “I’m a jeweler’s daughter. I spent five years auditing your expense reports because you were too incompetent to balance your own checkbook. Did you really think you could embezzle from your own brother's syndicate without leaving a paper trail in the metadata?”
Don Salvatore opened the folder, flipping through the bank statements, wire transfers, and digital signatures stamped with Julian's private security key. The old man’s face darkened with every page.
He looked up at Nikolai. Nikolai didn't even blink. He simply sat back in his leather chair, watching me with a look of profound, terrifying pride.
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“The vote,” Don Salvatore rasped, closing the folder with a heavy thud, “is unanimous.”
Julian staggered backward, his knees hitting his chair as the reality of what he had done—and what he had lost—finally crashed down around him. He had tried to trade up for a prettier sister, and in doing so, he had handed his entire empire to the woman he thought was too invisible to fight back.
