Chapter 2 - The Audit of the Moretti EmpireThe social and psychological fallout inside the Chicago Symphony Center detonated with the force of a tactical missile.
Before the master of ceremonies could regain control of the microphone, flashbulbs erupted like lightning storms. Reporters from the Chicago Tribune, Bloomberg, and local television stations scrambled into the aisles, capturing every agonizing second of Vincent Moretti’s public humiliation.
Sophia Reynolds bolted from her seat, grabbing young Lucas by the hand, fleeing up the side aisle toward the exit in total, disgraced panic, her emerald silk dress rustling frantically against the velvet chairs.
Vincent remained standing in the aisle, frozen, his chest heaving, tears finally spilling over his dark lashes—the first time in twenty years the fearsome Chicago Don had ever wept in public.
I stepped off the stage, taking Emily’s small hand in mine, and walked calmly up the central aisle toward the grand exit doors.
"Mommy, why was that man crying?" Emily asked innocently, looking up at me as we pushed through the brass doors into the quiet night air.
"Because he realized what he lost, sweetheart," I answered softly, kissing the top of her dark curls. "Let's go home."
Waiting for us at the curb by our black armored sedan was my lead litigation attorney and dear friend, Madison Parker, alongside my chief security director, Marcus Vance.
Madison held a tablet displaying real-time financial and media metrics.
"The livestream hit four million viewers in twelve minutes, Claire," Madison reported, a razor-sharp smile touching her lips. "Moretti Global Logistics stock is dropping by six percent in after-hours trading. The board is calling an emergency session for sunrise."
"Let them call it," I said, opening the car door and helping Emily inside. "We’re going to be sitting at the head of that table."
Meanwhile, back inside the auditorium, Vincent Moretti did not leave.
He stood alone in the empty aisle long after the guests had departed, staring at the stage where his daughter had stood. His chief of security, Marcus Vance’s brother, approached him cautiously.
"Boss..." the guard whispered. "We need to get you back to the River Forest estate. The press is swarming the front entrance."
Vincent slowly raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot, hollowed out, dark circles framing his face.
"Marcus," Vincent rasped out, his voice cracked and hollow. "Find out where she lives in Boston. Find out every single detail of my daughter's life for the past seven years. Every school she attended, every doctor she saw, every meal she ate."
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"Boss, Mrs. Moretti—"
"SHE IS MY WIFE!" Vincent roared, his voice shaking the crystal sconces on the wall. "And that little girl is my firstborn child! Get the car. We are going to Boston tonight."
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