THE MISSING SCHEDULE: A DEBT OF FORTY YEARS

The grand boardroom of the Moretti estate was a masterpiece of intimidation. Dark wood, leather chairs, and a massive mahogany table that had seen decades of ruthless deals.

When Adrian wheeled David Rossi into the room, the twelve members of the board fell completely silent.

I walked in behind them, holding my small handbag, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Sitting at the head of the table, occupying Dominic’s old chair, was Marcus Laurent. He was a silver-haired man with cold, reptilian eyes. Vanessa stood directly behind him, looking triumphant and furious at the same time.

Edward Harrison, the elderly donor who had defended me the night before, stood up.

"Adrian," Edward said, clearly confused. "What is the meaning of this? Mr. Laurent informed us you were stepping down due to a personal crisis."

"Mr. Laurent is misinformed," Adrian said, pushing David’s wheelchair to the opposite end of the table.

Marcus Laurent smiled, a thin, cruel expression. "Adrian, sit down. You’re embarrassing yourself. We all know the wedding is off, and we all know why. The Moretti name is compromised."

"The only thing compromised in this room is your leverage, Marcus," Adrian said smoothly.

He reached into his jacket and tossed the original red ledger onto the center of the table. It landed with a heavy, satisfying thud.

Vanessa’s eyes widened. "Father, you said you took it from Leonard!"

"I took what Leonard gave me," Marcus snarled, glaring at the door where Leonard now stood.

Adrian didn't give Marcus time to recover. He looked at the board members.

"Gentlemen," Adrian said, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "For forty years, this company has operated under a lie. My father, Dominic, was not the sole founder. He was funded by Julian Rossi."

Murmurs erupted around the table.

"Furthermore," Adrian continued, raising his voice over the noise, "Julian Rossi was wrongfully imprisoned due to false evidence orchestrated by my mother, and facilitated by Marcus Laurent."

The room exploded.

Marcus slammed his fist on the table. "That is slander! You have no proof!"

"I have the original schedule," Adrian said, pulling the heavy parchment from the ledger. "Signed by my father, returning fifty-one percent of this empire to the Rossi family."

He turned to David.

"David is Julian’s son. And as of today, I am transferring controlling interest of Moretti Holdings to him."

Edward Harrison adjusted his glasses, looking at the document. "Adrian, if you do this, you lose control of the company your father built."

"My father built it on a stolen foundation," Adrian said, looking at Edward. "I am tearing it down to build it right."

Answer one: Adrian chose justice over his family's dark legacy, sacrificing his own power to fix his father’s greatest sin.

Open two: Will Marcus Laurent let a hostile takeover fail without using his final weapon?

Marcus laughed. It was a cold, ugly sound.

"You think you’re noble, Adrian?" Marcus sneered, pulling a sleek black folder from his briefcase. "You think giving the company to the chauffeur makes you a hero? If you transfer those shares, I will release the police reports I kept from 1987. I will prove your mother was a thief. I will prove your father was an accessory. The Moretti name will be worthless, and the stock will tank. David Rossi will inherit a bankrupt shell."

The board members shifted uncomfortably. A scandal of that magnitude would destroy their portfolios.

"He's right, Adrian," one of the board members muttered. "We can't survive that kind of PR nightmare. We have to vote against the transfer."

Vanessa smiled, crossing her arms. "Checkmate, Adrian."

David looked down at his lap. He had fought so hard, but the corporate machine was designed to crush people like him.

But Marcus had made one fatal miscalculation.

He forgot about me.

I stepped forward, opening my small handbag.

"Marcus," I said, my voice steady. "You are forgetting something very important about 1987."

Marcus glared at me. "Sit down, old woman. You have no place here."

"I was Dominic’s closest friend," I said, pulling out a small, micro-cassette tape. "And when he realized you were blackmailing him with his wife’s crime, he didn't just sit back and take it."

Marcus’s face lost a fraction of its color.

"What is that?" Vanessa demanded.

"Eighteen years ago, before he died, Dominic wrote me a letter," I told the room. "He asked me to remember what he’d done, yes. But he also gave me the key to a safety deposit box. Inside was this tape."

I held it up.

"It’s a recording of a phone call," I explained. "Between Dominic Moretti and Marcus Laurent. In it, Marcus explicitly demands thirty percent of the gambling routes in exchange for providing the forged documents used to frame Julian Rossi."

The silence in the boardroom was absolute.

Marcus Laurent looked as though he might have a stroke. "That tape is a forgery! It’s inadmissible!"

"It’s inadmissible in criminal court due to the statute of limitations," Leonard Voss spoke up from the doorway. "But it is highly admissible to the SEC, the federal banking regulators, and every major news outlet in the country. If you release the files on Adrian’s mother, Catherine releases the tape of you orchestrating the fraud."

Edward Harrison turned to Marcus with a look of pure disgust.

"Marcus," Edward said sharply. "If you do not leave this property immediately, I will personally fund the legal team to destroy your corporation."

Marcus looked around the table. He saw the cold, unforgiving eyes of twelve men who realized he was a liability.

He snatched his briefcase. He didn't say a word. He walked out of the room, looking significantly smaller than when he had entered.

Vanessa stood there, abandoned. She looked at Adrian, opening her mouth to speak, to try and salvage the ruins of her ambition.

"Leave the ring on the table, Vanessa," Adrian said.

She swallowed hard, her hands shaking as she pulled the massive diamond from her finger. It hit the mahogany with a hollow clink.

She turned and ran.

Adrian picked up a heavy gold pen from the center of the table. He clicked it open, signed the bottom of the transfer document, and handed it to David.