Chapter 4 - The Trap is Set
Over the next two weeks, Moretti Enterprises became my entire world.
Gone were the frantic late nights worrying about bounced rent checks or whether I could afford Clara’s ballet lessons. Instead, my life was consumed by legal warfare. Adriano and I worked in tandem, reviewing every shred of documentation tied to the Vance family’s sprawling financial network.
I discovered that David’s investment firm was built on a house of cards—leveraged debt, fraudulent valuations, and illegal kickbacks funneled through municipal zoning boards. Every offshore account Marcus Vance had hidden, I tracked down. Every loophole David had engineered into the Long Island City redevelopment contract, I weaponized.
By Friday evening of the second week, Clara had practically made herself at home in Moretti’s executive tower.
Angela had set up a small desk in the corner of my office with a massive supply of colored markers, sketchpads, and an endless supply of apple juice boxes. Clara had decided that Adriano—whom she insisted on calling "Mr. Moretti-with-the-cool-watch"—was her new favorite person, largely because he had once let her press the private elevator button that went straight to the rooftop helipad.
"Mommy," Clara announced, crayons scattered across the floor as she looked up from drawing a terrifyingly green dragon. "Can Mr. Moretti come to my school play next Tuesday? I'm playing a tree."
I choked on my coffee. "Clara, Mr. Moretti is a very busy man. He doesn't have time to watch you stand on a stage wearing cardboard leaves."
Before I could stop him, Adriano stepped out of his private connecting office, jacketless, wearing a crisp charcoal dress shirt with the sleeves still rolled up.
"What kind of tree?" Adriano asked, walking over to Clara’s desk and squatting down so he was at eye level with her.
"An oak tree," Clara beamed proudly. "And I get to say a line about photosynthesis."
Adriano nodded with absolute, grave seriousness. "Photosynthesis is a crucial biological process, Clara. I wouldn't miss it for the world. What time does the curtain go up?"
I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. The most feared man in Manhattan, a man whose word could cause stock prices to plummet or dockworkers to strike, was currently negotiating the logistics of a first-grade elementary school theatrical production.
"Six o'clock," Clara said happily. "And you have to wear a suit."
"Naturally," Adriano replied solemnly.
May you like
He stood up, his gray eyes shifting to me. The warmth he had shown Clara vanished instantly, replaced by the cool, calculating edge of a strategist preparing for battle.
"Helena," he said quietly. "We're ready."
