Chapter 4 - The Reckoning
The campaign headquarters of Charles Vance was located in a glittering glass high-rise in Midtown.
At 9:00 AM the next morning, the office was bustling with young, ambitious aides in blue suits, all working to secure the Vance legacy.
But the room went dead silent when the glass doors were pushed open by two of Ricardo Moretti’s men.
I walked in first. I had traded my cheap waitress uniform for a tailored emerald-green silk dress that Ricardo had delivered to the estate. My hair was styled, my chin was up, and my green eyes were sharp.
Behind me walked Ricardo Moretti, flanked by Dominic.
We walked straight past the receptionist and pushed open the double doors to my father's private office.
Charles Vance was standing by his desk, looking immaculate in a charcoal suit, his silver hair perfectly styled. He was laughing with his campaign manager, but the laugh died instantly when he saw me.
His eyes widened in shock, then darted to Ricardo, and finally back to me.
"Clara?" my father stammered, his political mask slipping for a split second. "What... what are you doing here? And with Mr. Moretti?"
"Hello, Father," I said, my voice cold and steady. "I believe you have something of mine."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Charles said, trying to regain his composure. He looked at Ricardo, his voice dropping into a warning tone. "Ricardo, what is the meaning of this? We have an agreement. The police commissioner and I—"
"The police commissioner is currently being questioned by the FBI, Charles," Ricardo said, stepping forward. He laid a digital recorder on the desk. "And your agreement with the Moretti family is officially void."
Charles’s face drained of color. "What?"
"Two years ago, you told Clara her daughter died in Zurich," Ricardo said, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. "You took that child, forged her birth certificate, and handed her over to my late wife to buy my favor. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"
"You... you have no proof," Charles whispered, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of his mahogany desk. "It was a legal adoption—"
"I have the clinic records, Charles," I said, stepping closer to him. "I have the testimony of the doctor you paid off in Zurich. And most importantly, I have my daughter. She spoke yesterday. Do you want to guess what the first word she said was?"
Charles stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He knew his career was over. If this story leaked to the press, he wouldn't just lose the election; he would spend the rest of his life in a federal penitentiary.
"Here is how this is going to go," Ricardo said, leaning over the desk, his eyes burning into my father's soul. "You are going to withdraw from the Senate race today, citing 'health reasons.' You are going to sign a full, unconditional confession regarding the abduction of Leah Vance, which I will keep in my private safe as insurance. And then, you are going to leave this city and never return."
Charles looked at his daughter, then at the mafia boss who held his life in his hands.
"And if I refuse?" he whispered.
May you like
Ricardo smiled, a cold, bloodless expression.
"Then I won't use the law to destroy you, Charles. And I promise you, that would be much, much worse."
