Chapter 2 - The Audit of the TrustVincent cleared his throat, taking a step toward his grandfather's chair. "Grandfather, the purchase was made using my discretionary executive compensation. Sophia has served as my chief assistant for six years. Her apartment in South Chicago was compromised by safety issues, and as CEO, I authorized a housing subsidy—"
"A fifteen-million-dollar mansion in River Forest registered under her personal name is not an executive subsidy, Vincent," Dominic Moretti interrupted coldly, tossing the leather folder flat onto the mahogany coffee table.
The folder spilled open, revealing high-definition corporate banking ledgers, wire transfers, and land registry deeds.
Dominic pointed a calloused finger at the primary ledger.
"You didn't use your personal executive compensation, son," Dominic revealed, his voice shaking with pure, unreserved disgust. "You routed fifteen million dollars out of the Claire Bennett-Moretti Family Trust—the trust fund established by Claire’s late father when your marriage was ratified four years ago."
Vincent’s face drained of every remaining drop of color. He staggered backward half a step, his storm-gray eyes darting to the papers on the table, then snapping to mine in utter, catatonic shock.
"Claire...?" Vincent stammered, his voice cracking into a raw, breathless thread. "That... that was an automated liquidity draw from the secondary account! I didn't check the funding source!"
"You didn't check because you didn't care, Vincent," I stated flatly, my hazel eyes locking onto his without a single flinch. "You assumed I was home nursing our newborn son, too tired and distracted to review my private portfolio audits."
Sophia thrashed her hands frantically, falling onto her knees on the Persian rug beside Vincent. "Mr. Moretti! Sir! I didn't know the money came from her trust! I swear! Vincent told me it was a corporate bonus!"
Old Anthony stood up slowly from his wingback chair, his gold-headed cane striking the floor with a loud, echoing CLACK.
"Silence, girl!" Anthony roared, his voice booming through the manor like a thunderclap.
Sophia shrieked, backing away on her knees, burying her face in her hands.
Anthony walked over to his grandson, stopping two inches from Vincent's face. He looked at the six-foot-two CEO with absolute, weightless revulsion.
"Four years ago, Vincent," Anthony whispered, every word dropped like a block of glacier ice, "you swore an oath before this family and the city of Chicago that you would treasure Claire Bennett and build a legacy worthy of our name. Instead, you stole from her father's trust to buy a palace for an assistant while your wife was recovering from childbirth."
Anthony turned to Dominic.
"Dominic," Anthony commanded.
May you like
"Yes, Father?"
"Execute Section 9 of the Family Charter immediately."
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