Chapter 3 - The Purge of the BoardroomAt 10:00 AM the following morning, the grand executive boardroom atop the forty-story Moretti Tower on Wall Street was packed to absolute capacity.
Over forty senior syndicate capos, commercial logistics directors, high-society attorneys, and corporate shareholders sat around the massive forty-foot carved walnut table beneath sparkling crystal chandeliers.
Sitting at the head of the table, wearing a dark suit, holding a gold-headed cane, was sixty-five-year-old Victor Moretti—Lorenzo’s arrogant, greedy uncle. Beside him sat Dr. Richard Vance, holding a leather briefcase, looking smug and triumphant.
"Gentlemen," Victor announced into the central microphone, his voice dripping with condescending authority, "today we execute the final legal transfer of Lorenzo’s voting proxies to my private holding company. Due to his permanent, irreversible medical coma—"
BOOM!
The heavy double oak doors of the executive boardroom were thrown open with a violent, hydraulic impact!
The chatter of forty corporate executives vanished into an absolute, speech-bound silence.
Walking down the central red carpet, flanked by Marcus Vance and six armed Vance Security operatives, was Isabella Moretti.
Beside her walked me, wearing a breathtaking, custom-tailored dark navy silk coat over an ivory dress that celebrated my tall, radiant figure, holding my sixteen-month-old daughter Emma securely in my right arm.
And walking right behind us, wearing an magnificent charcoal bespoke suit, his broad six-foot-three frame squared, his dark hair neatly cut, his severe, handsome face radiating an untouchable, sovereign authority... was Lorenzo Moretti.
Victor Moretti dropped his gold-headed cane.
The heavy metal clattered flat against the hardwood floor, echoing through the silent room, as his face went from arrogant red to an ugly, paper-white shade of green.
Dr. Richard Vance stumbled backward out of his chair, knocking over his water glass, his jaw sagging open in utter, catatonic horror.
"L-LORENZO...?!" Victor stammered, taking three panicked steps backward against the table. "WHAT... WHAT IS THIS?! YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE BRAIN-DEAD!"
"You should have hired a better doctor, Uncle," Lorenzo spoke, his deep, gravelly baritone carrying cleanly across the vast room, dropping the temperature to absolute zero.
Lorenzo walked steadily past the gaping executives, stopping at the head of the table. He pulled out the heavy leather executive chair, turning to face me and Emma.
"Sit, Clara," Lorenzo said gently, his storm-gray eyes softening with immense respect as he pulled out the chair for me.
I sat down smoothly, holding Emma on my lap, while Lorenzo stood beside my chair like an unshakeable, towering fortress.
Bridget Colton stepped forward, sliding a thick stack of court-stamped legal notices flat into Victor Moretti’s trembling hands:
REVOCATION OF PROXIES: Certified medical certificates signed by three independent federal neurosurgeons proving Lorenzo Moretti is 100% mentally and physically competent.
THE ARREST WARRANTS: Federal warrants served on Victor Moretti and Dr. Richard Vance for Attempted First-Degree Murder, Chemical Poisoning, and Corporate Fraud.
THE BENNETT TRUST ENFORCEMENT: Legal injunction confirming Clara Bennett as sole fifty-one percent controlling equity holder over the South Manhattan Commercial Docks.
"Victor Moretti, Richard Vance," Lead Federal Marshal Miller declared coldly, stepping forward with heavy steel handcuffs. "You are under arrest."
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CLICK. CLICK.
Victor thrashed and shrieked hysterical, groveling pleas as marshals dragged him and Dr. Vance out of the Moretti Tower in total, public disgrace, surrounded by news crews capturing their complete downfall for the morning news.
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