Chapter 1 - The Lockdown at Moretti Estate
The massive wrought-iron gates of the Moretti estate slammed shut with a heavy, metallic reverberation that echoed through the surrounding Westchester woods. Outside, the rain began to fall in long, gray sheets, masking the stone walls and obscuring the perimeter guard posts. Inside, the quiet of the estate had become suffocating.
Dominic Moretti stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his private study on the second floor. The room smelled of old leather, cigar smoke, and polished mahogany. Below, in the courtyard, four black SUVs sat idling, their headlights cutting through the growing storm.
Behind him stood Marcus Vance, his long-time head of security—a scarred veteran of the private military sector who had managed Dominic’s personal safety for over fifteen years.
"The guests have all cleared the main gate," Marcus reported, his voice low and tight. "My men swept every vehicle before it left the grounds. Nobody left with anything out of the ordinary, and we’ve initiated a full lockdown. No one enters or leaves without your personal thumbprint authorization."
Dominic didn't turn around immediately. He kept his hands in his pockets, staring out at the rain. "The kitchen staff?"
"Confined to the lower dining room under armed guard," Marcus replied. "All seven of them. The head chef, the sous-chefs, the prep team, and the dishwashers. Nobody has been allowed to use a phone, and we’ve confiscated all personal electronic devices."
Dominic turned around slowly. His expression was completely blank, but his eyes carried a lethal, icy stillness. "Ethan's allergy to peanuts and trace tree-nut extracts isn't public knowledge, Marcus. Only six people in this house knew the precise chemical composition that could trigger an anaphylactic shock fast enough to bypass an EpiPen."
"I know, boss," Marcus said, his jaw tightening. "That means the poisoner isn't just an intruder. It's someone who has been inside our circle for months, maybe years."
"Find out who cleared the dessert cart from the cold room to the main ballroom," Dominic commanded flatly. "And bring Sophia Carter to me."
Marcus hesitated. "Sophia? Boss, her kid saved Ethan. If she were involved—"
"I didn't say she was involved," Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. "I want to know how her daughter managed to wander near the commercial cold room at five o'clock on a Sunday afternoon when that wing was supposed to be completely sealed off."
Five minutes later, the heavy oak door of the study opened, and Sophia Carter walked in. She was still wearing her head housekeeper’s black uniform, though the sleeves were rolled up, and her hands were visibly trembling.
She stopped just inside the threshold, looking at Dominic with a mixture of fear and fierce maternal protectiveness.
"Is Ethan okay, Mr. Moretti?" Sophia asked, her voice raspy. "Dr. Harris said he gave him a preventative sedative, but—"
"Ethan is resting," Dominic said gently, gesturing toward the leather armchair across from his desk. "Sit down, Sophia."
Sophia walked over and sat on the edge of the leather cushion, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "I swear to you, Mr. Moretti, Lily was in the staff breakroom with me five minutes before the cake was brought out. She slipped through the side door while I was retrieving the floral arrangements. I had no idea she had gone into the service corridor."
"I am not interrogating you, Sophia," Dominic said softly, pulling out his own chair and sitting down across from her. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I owe you and your daughter Ethan's life. If Lily hadn't knocked that plate away, my son would be dead right now. I am asking you to help me understand what she saw."
Sophia let out a long, shaky breath, her shoulders dropping slightly. "She... she told me a little bit more while I was tucking her in. She said the man in the cold room was wearing a dark jacket, not a chef's uniform. She thought he was playing a game with the cake."
"Did she see his face?"
"No," Sophia shook her head, tears filling her eyes. "She said he had a black cap pulled down low. But... she said something strange, Mr. Moretti."
Dominic’s eyes sharpened. "What did she say?"
"She said he was wearing a shiny watch," Sophia whispered, looking up to meet Dominic's eyes. "A tiny gold watch with a dark strap. She noticed it because when he reached into the silver box to grab the powder, the watch glinted under the cold room’s fluorescent light."
Dominic’s breath hitched slightly, though his face remained a mask of iron.
A gold watch.
He stood up smoothly, turning to Marcus, who was standing near the door. "Marcus. Check the wrist of every single member of the kitchen crew, the serving staff, and the house security detail."
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"Right away, boss," Marcus said, turning to leave.
"And Marcus," Dominic added, his voice cutting through the room like a honed blade. "If anyone is wearing a vintage 1970s Audemars Piguet with a black crocodile leather strap... bring them straight to the basement cell."
