Chapter 8 - THE BOARDROOM TRAP
The news footage showed the east wing of the Vale estate engulfed in flames—Evelyn’s wing. The wing where the home office, the private safe, and the original documents were kept.
"Marcus," Adrian said into his phone, his voice tight.
"We got out, sir," Marcus’s voice crackled over the line, punctuated by the sound of sirens. "Vance had a device rigged in his car. He triggered it when the police arrived. The blast hit the east wing. In the chaos, Vance slipped away."
Adrian ended the call. His home was burning, just as the Moretti restaurant had burned. But Vance had made a fatal miscalculation. He believed destroying the Vale estate would destroy the last pieces of evidence tying him to the embezzlement and the original arson.
"He thinks he’s won," Adrian said, looking at Isabella and Evelyn. "He thinks the ledgers and the property deeds burned with the house."
"They didn't," Isabella said, her voice suddenly devoid of fear. She clutched the braided leather bracelet tightly in her hand. She looked at her father. "Dad... the safety deposit box. The one under Mom's maiden name."
Carlo Moretti blinked twice. A slow, painful confirmation.
"What box?" Adrian asked.
"Before the fire, my father didn't just find ledgers," Isabella explained, turning to Adrian, her eyes blazing with a newfound fire. "Vance didn't just want the insurance money. He wanted the patents. My father had developed a unique commercial food preservation process—it was worth millions. Vance forged a deed transferring those rights to himself, but my father took the original, notarized documents and hid them."
"Where?"
Isabella took a deep breath. "First National Bank. Downtown."
Three hours later, Adrian and Isabella walked into the soaring glass lobby of the Vale Corporation headquarters. It was the day of the emergency board meeting, called by Richard Vance himself to 'address the tragic destruction of the Vale estate.'
They pushed open the heavy oak doors of the boardroom.
Vance sat at the head of the table, looking somber, flanked by highly paid lawyers. He froze when he saw Adrian.
"Adrian," Vance recovered quickly, standing up. "Thank God you're safe. We were just discussing the tragedy..."
"Sit down, Richard," Adrian said, his voice echoing in the cavernous room.
Adrian walked to the table and dropped a heavy, sealed folder onto the polished wood. Isabella stood beside him, no longer wearing a housekeeper’s uniform, but a sharp, tailored black coat she had bought an hour ago. She looked exactly like the heir to a dynasty.
"What is this?" Vance asked, a bead of sweat forming on his temple.
"The original patent deeds for the Moretti preservation process," Adrian said coldly. "Signed, dated, and notarized two days after you claimed Carlo Moretti signed them over to you. Proving your documents are a forgery."
Vance scoffed, though his hands shook. "You can't prove that. This is a desperate attempt by a ruined family."
Isabella stepped forward. She placed a small, charred object on top of the folder.
The silver spoon with the Moretti crest.
"You burned my family's legacy, Mr. Vance," Isabella said, her voice ringing clear and steady. "You tried to burn Mr. Vale's today. But you missed the most important detail in your forged contract."
Vance swallowed hard. "What detail?"
Isabella leaned in, her eyes locking onto his. "You used my mother’s maiden name to forge the notary stamp. But she didn't become a notary until a year after she died."
A reversal that shattered Vance’s entire defense. He had paid someone to forge the documents using public records, missing the nuance of a grieving family’s timeline.
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The boardroom doors opened again. Two federal agents stepped inside, flanked by Marcus.
Vance slumped into his chair, the color draining from his face completely.
