Chapter 5 - The Confrontation in Jersey City
The top floor of Duca Holdings in Jersey City offered a sweeping, panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline across the Hudson River.
At five-forty-five in the morning, the city was draped in a dark, misty twilight. Rain streaked down the massive glass walls of the executive suite.
Marco Rossi sat behind my mahogany desk, wearing a bespoke gray suit, a glass of twenty-year-old scotch resting by his hand. On the screen of my master terminal, a green progress bar was at ninety-two percent:
TRANSFER INITIATED // DUCA_HOLDINGS_ESCROW -> PANAMA_SHELL_CORP_09 // AMOUNT: $4,200,000.00
"Almost there," Marco hummed to himself, taking a slow sip of his scotch. "Just another three minutes, Alexander... and you're broke."
The heavy double glass doors of the executive suite swung open.
Marco didn't look up, assuming it was Vance returning with news from the estate. "Is the maid's confession secured, Vance? Did Vivien call?"
"Vivien is currently in federal custody," a voice answered from the doorway.
Marco froze.
The glass of scotch slipped from his fingers, crashing onto the marble floor and shattering into a hundred sharp pieces, amber liquor soaking into his expensive Italian shoes.
He raised his head slowly, his face turning gray as ash.
I stood in the entrance of my office.
I had stripped off my wet overcoat. I wore a clean dark suit, my hands shoved casually into my pockets, my expression as calm and unreadable as the surface of a frozen lake.
Behind me stood six federal agents in navy tactical vests stamped with FBI in bold yellow lettering, led by Special Agent Miller.
Beside Miller stood Sophia Carter, her dark hair brushed back, holding her daughter Emma tightly in her arms.
"Alexander..." Marco breathed, his voice cracking, his hands trembling as he tried to stand up from behind my desk. "How... how did you... Vance said—"
"Vance is sitting in the back of an FBI van outside Port 4," Agent Miller interjected firmly, stepping forward with a stack of federal arrest warrants in his hand. "Along with Miss Romano."
"This is a mistake!" Marco shouted, his cool demeanor completely shattering as he pointed a trembling finger at me. "Alexander, listen to me! It was Vivien! She planned the whole thing! She wanted to drain the escrow accounts because her father's bank is insolvent! I was only trying to protect your assets!"
I walked slowly across the room, stopping three feet from the desk I had shared with him for fifteen years.
I looked down at the computer screen. The progress bar had reached ninety-nine percent.
I reached out my hand and pressed the red physical break-switch on the side of the terminal.
The screen flashed bright red, then went completely black.
TRANSACTION TERMINATED BY USER // ASSETS FROZEN BY FEDERAL ORDER
Marco stared at the dead screen, letting out a choked, desperate sound like a dying animal.
"Fifteen years, Marco," I said softly, looking straight into his wide, terrified eyes. "I gave you five percent of my father's company. I made you a multi-millionaire. I trusted you with my life."
"Alexander... please..." Marco wept, dropping to his knees behind the desk, clutching at my trousers just as Emma had done in the great hall hours earlier. "We're brothers! Remember what we built! Don't do this to me!"
I stepped back, pulling my leg from his grasp.
"Brothers don't lock three-year-old children in empty rooms," I said flatly. "Brothers don't frame innocent widows. Brothers don't sell out their blood for Panama shell accounts."
I looked at Agent Miller. "Take him away."
Two federal agents stepped forward, pulled Marco's arms behind his back, and snapped steel handcuffs around his wrists.
Marco screamed and raged as he was dragged out of the executive suite, his pathetic cries echoing down the long, glass-lined corridors until the heavy doors swung shut, leaving the office in absolute silence.
I turned around and looked at Sophia and Emma.
Sophia was crying softly, tears of relief streaming down her cheeks, her arm wrapped tightly around her daughter.
Little Emma looked up at me from her mother's shoulder, her small, brown eyes clear and bright in the morning light.
"Is the bad man gone, Mr. Alex?" she asked softly.
May you like
I walked over to them, dropped to one knee, and took Emma’s tiny hand in mine.
"He's gone forever, Emma," I said gently. "Nobody is ever going to hurt you or your mommy again."
