Chapter 8 - THE RECKONING
The boardroom fell into a deathly silence.
Giana walked slowly into the room, her presence commanding the absolute attention of every executive at the table. The fog that had plagued her mind for years was completely absent. She looked like the matriarch she was—a woman who had built empires alongside her husband.
Dom stayed close behind her, his eyes scanning the room, protective and alert. He gave me a quick nod. He was breathing fine.
Vincent’s face lost all color. The pen slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the glass table.
"Giana," Vincent stammered, attempting to maintain his composure. "You shouldn't be here. You're unwell."
"I have never been clearer, Vincent," Giana said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the room like a blade. She stopped at the edge of the table and placed the silver pocket watch down next to the ledger.
She looked at the board members, many of whom had known her for forty years.
"Seventeen years ago, my husband Antonio was murdered," Giana said, her words echoing in the vast space. "Vincent told the police, and told all of you, that my trusted nurse, Elena, killed him and stole his watch before fleeing the city."
Giana tapped the silver watch with one manicured finger.
"Elena didn't steal this watch. I gave it to her. Because this watch is the second key to Antonio's private safe. And the ledger sitting before you was inside it."
Murmurs of shock rippled through the executives.
"It's a lie!" Vincent shouted, slamming his fist on the table. The polished veneer was entirely gone, revealing the desperate, cornered rat beneath. "She’s senile! Marco put her up to this to steal my shares! That ledger is a fabrication!"
"Is it?" Marco asked coldly. He reached out and flipped the ledger open to the final, charred page that I had found in my mother's coat. He had slipped it inside earlier.
Marco slid the burned page across the glass toward the Chief Financial Officer.
"Verify the account numbers, David," Marco ordered.
The CFO, a nervous-looking man in wire-rimmed glasses, adjusted his spectacles and looked at the numbers. His eyes widened. He pulled out his laptop and typed furiously for thirty seconds.
The room waited in breathless silence.
"These... these are offshore shell accounts in the Cayman Islands," David whispered, looking up in horror. "They've been quietly draining the pension funds and the logistics division for two decades. The routing numbers match Vincent's personal holding company."
Chaos erupted in the boardroom. Executives were shouting, standing up, pointing fingers.
Vincent looked frantically around the room, realizing his empire had just evaporated. He backed away from the table, his eyes darting toward the secondary exit behind the presentation screen.
"You can't prove I killed him," Vincent hissed, pointing a trembling finger at Giana. "Elena is dead! There are no witnesses!"
"There is physical evidence," Marco said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble.
Marco picked up the silver pocket watch. He pressed the latch, popping open the false back where the train ticket had been hidden. He held it up.
"My father fought back, Vincent," Marco said. "He scratched you. Deeply. Elena wiped the blood from his fingernails before she fled. She dried it, folded it into the train ticket, and hid it inside the watch casing."
Vincent froze.
Reversal: The watch didn't just hide a ticket. It hid the DNA evidence needed to convict him.
"I had my private lab run the dried blood this afternoon while you were busy organizing your little coup," Marco continued, tossing a manila folder onto the table. "It's a perfect match to your DNA, Vincent. You bled on him while you strangled him."
Vincent lunged.
Not for the door. For me.
He moved with the desperate speed of a man with nothing left to lose, pulling a small silver derringer from his ankle holster. He aimed it directly at my face, realizing I was the catalyst who had brought this all down.
"Vincent, no!" Giana screamed.
I didn't have time to blink, let alone move.
But Dom did.
My seventeen-year-old brother, who had spent his life restricted by his lungs, didn't hesitate. He grabbed a heavy crystal water pitcher from the boardroom table and smashed it directly into the side of Vincent’s head.
The gun fired wildly, shattering a pane of floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the city.
Vincent collapsed to the floor in a shower of water and crystal, unconscious.
Dom stood over him, breathing heavily, the broken handle of the pitcher still in his hand. He looked at me, his eyes wide.
"He threatened to burn you," Dom gasped, looking at Vincent's limp body. "I wasn't going to let him."
I rushed forward, throwing my arms around my brother, burying my face in his shoulder. He hugged me back fiercely. We were shaking, but for the first time in my entire life, the fear wasn't suffocating. It was over.
Marco walked slowly around the table. He looked down at his uncle's unconscious body, then at Dom.
"Remind me," Marco said, a faint, genuine smile touching the corners of his mouth. "I am definitely hiring you."
The boardroom doors burst open again, this time flooded by Chicago Police officers and FBI agents that Marco's legal team had strategically waiting in the lobby below.
May you like
They dragged Vincent out in handcuffs.
The empire had been cleansed.
