Chapter 8 - The Legal Trap
At 2:15 p.m., the rain had stopped, leaving the skies over Manhattan a pale, clear gray.
In the penthouse office of Vance & Associates on Wall Street, Richard Vance sat behind his massive mahogany desk, sipping scotch from a crystal glass. He was fifty-five, wearing a three-piece charcoal suit, silver hair meticulously combed back.
He was waiting for a phone call from Marco Castiglione confirming the successful pickup of the boy.
Instead, the heavy oak doors of his office swung open.
Alessandro Moretti stepped into the room, followed by two imposing guards in black coats.
Vance jumped up from his chair, a nervous, professional smile instantly plastering across his face.
“Alessandro!” Vance exclaimed, coming around his desk with an outstretched hand. “I wasn't expecting you in person! Matteo said on the phone that you wanted to review the estate trust?”
I ignored his hand and walked slowly toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city skyline.
“You’ve served my family for ten years, Richard,” I spoke quietly, looking out at the glass towers.
“And it’s been an honor, Alessandro,” Vance said smoothly, though his eyes darted nervously to the two guards standing by the locked door. “Is something wrong?”
I pulled a thick stack of financial documents from my coat and tossed them onto his mahogany desk.
“These are the offshore wire transfers from a bank in Zurich,” I said. “Fifty thousand dollars paid monthly to an account registered in your wife’s maiden name. The sender was Marco Castiglione.”
Vance’s face went completely grey. His hand trembled as he dropped his scotch glass, the brown liquid soaking into his expensive Persian rug.
“Alessandro... wait... I can explain—” Vance stammered, stepping back toward his desk drawer.
“Don't,” I said without turning around. “If your hand touches that drawer, my men will throw you out of this seventy-story window.”
Vance froze, his knees shaking uncontrollably.
“You sold information about a housemaid in my home to my worst enemies, Richard,” I said, turning around to face him with cold, terrifying eyes. “You put a child under my roof in danger for sixty thousand dollars a year.”
“I didn't know who the boy was!” Vance wept, sinking to his knees on his soaked rug. “I thought he was just an orphan! I needed the money for my gambling debts in Atlantic City! Please, Alessandro! We’ve known each other for a decade!”
“Which is why you will not die today,” I said smoothly.
Vance looked up, shocked. “You... you’re sparing me?”
“Death is an easy way out, Richard,” I said coldly. “Instead, every document proving your twenty years of money laundering, tax evasion, and mafia collusion has just been delivered to the United States Attorney’s office.”
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Sirens began to wail down on Wall Street, growing louder with every passing second.
“You will spend the rest of your life in a maximum-security prison,” I told him, stepping past his kneeling body toward the door. “And every prisoner inside will know that you betrayed Alessandro Moretti.”
