Chapter 5 - THE TRUST TRANSFER AND THE MIDNIGHT THREAT
I didn't care about Arthur Vance’s security guards. I didn't care about the threat to my brother’s clinic. The photograph burning a hole in my pocket was the undeniable proof that Luca’s life—and Lucy’s future—were on the brink of being extinguished.
"Ruth, lock the kitchen doors behind us," I ordered, my voice ringing with a newfound authority that surprised even me. "Keep Lucy in here. Do not let anyone in unless it’s Luca or the police."
"Claire, what are you going to do with that frying pan?" Ruth asked, her eyes wide as she pulled Lucy behind her.
"I’m going to interrupt a meeting," I said grimly.
I marched out of the staff kitchen and down the grand hallway toward Luca’s study. The heavy mahogany doors were shut tight, but the raised voices inside had stopped. The silence was far more ominous.
Standing outside the study doors were Arthur Vance’s two massive security guards.
When they saw me approaching with a cast-iron skillet gripped in my right hand, they didn't even draw their weapons. They just smirked, stepping together to block the double doors.
"The boss said pack your bags, sweetheart," the taller guard sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't make us carry you out by your hair."
I didn't slow down. I walked right up to them, stopping two feet away.
"Move," I said coldly.
"Or what?" the second guard laughed. "You’re gonna bake us a pie?"
I didn't swing the skillet at them. I knew I couldn't win a physical fight against two armed men twice my size.
Instead, I spun to my left and swung the heavy iron pan with every ounce of strength in my body directly into the priceless, antique Ming dynasty vase resting on the pedestal beside the study doors.
CRASH!
The explosive sound of shattering porcelain echoed like a bomb going off in the cavernous hallway. Ten thousand dollars of ancient pottery exploded into a million razor-sharp shards across the marble floor.
Both guards jumped back in shock, raising their arms to shield their faces from the flying shrapnel.
Before they could recover, the heavy mahogany study doors were yanked open from the inside.
Luca Moretti stood in the doorway, his eyes blazing with fury at the sudden destruction. Behind him, Vivienne sat in a leather armchair, dabbing her eyes with a tissue in a performance of pristine victimhood, while Arthur Vance stood by the fireplace, looking supremely unbothered.
"What the hell is going on out here?" Luca roared, looking at the shattered vase, then at the guards, and finally at me standing with the skillet.
"Mr. Moretti, this maid has lost her mind," Arthur said smoothly, stepping out from behind Luca. "She’s throwing a violent tantrum because I caught her stealing jewelry from the staff quarters. Guards, remove her immediately."
The two men lunged forward to grab me.
"If they touch me, you die on Saturday, Luca!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, dodging the first guard’s grasping hands.
Luca froze. The raw, unfiltered terror in my voice cut through the chaos. He didn't hesitate. He shot his arm out, driving a brutal, open-handed strike squarely into the chest of the closest guard, sending the massive man stumbling backward into the opposite wall.
"Back off!" Luca snarled at the guards, his voice echoing with absolute, unquestionable command. He turned to Arthur. "Call off your dogs, Arthur. Now."
Arthur’s polite smile tightened into a thin, dangerous line. He nodded sharply, and the guards stepped back, rubbing their bruised ribs.
Luca turned his intense, dark gaze down to me. "Claire. Put the pan down. What are you talking about?"
I let the iron skillet drop to the marble floor with a heavy clatter. My hands were shaking, but I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded photograph.
"Arthur Vance just cornered me and Ruth in the kitchen," I said, my chest heaving as I stared directly at Vivienne, whose fake tears instantly dried up as she saw the paper in my hand. "He took a silver vault key that Elena hid in her wedding dress, and he took a pearl earring stained with Elena’s blood that Ruth found under the sewing table."
Luca’s face went completely pale. "Elena’s blood?"
"They murdered her, Luca," I said, my voice trembling but loud enough for everyone to hear. "They poisoned her medication, and when she figured it out, they killed her before she could change the trust. But she hired a private investigator before she died. And Lucy found the proof buried in the garden."
I unfolded the photograph and shoved it directly into Luca’s hands.
Luca stared down at the glossy paper. The silence in the hallway was so absolute you could hear the rain hitting the windows.
He looked at the image of his beautiful, devoted fiancée locked in a passionate embrace with his senior business partner. Then, his eyes traced the document in Arthur’s hand in the photo.
MEDICAL POWER OF ATTORNEY & FULL GUARDIANSHIP TRANSFER: LUCIA MORETTI.
The blood drained entirely from Luca’s face, leaving a mask of pure, lethal shock. Slowly, he raised his eyes from the photograph to Vivienne.
Vivienne didn't try to cry anymore. She didn't try to play the victim.
She stood up from the leather armchair, smoothing down her red silk gown with chilling composure. The sweet, loving woman Luca had known for two years vanished completely, replaced by a cold, calculating stranger.
"It’s a fake," Vivienne said flatly, her voice devoid of emotion. "That maid fabricated a photoshop to ruin our wedding because she has a pathetic, unrequited crush on you, Luca."
"Don't lie to him," I shot back. "Your pearl earring had Elena’s blood on the post. You lost it when you held her down on the bed two years ago!"
Luca looked at Arthur Vance. "Is this true, Arthur? Have you been sleeping with my fiancée? Were you planning to take custody of my daughter?"
Arthur didn't panic. He casually reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the silver vault key and the bloodstained pearl earring, holding them up in the light.
"The photograph is real, Luca," Arthur said, his voice dripping with condescension. "But what does it matter? Elena is dead. And in forty-eight hours, you are going to sign the merger documents transferring sixty percent of Moretti Industries to Vance Holdings, and then you are going to marry Vivienne."
"I will kill you with my bare hands before I marry that monster," Luca whispered, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white. "The wedding is off. The merger is dead. Get out of my house before I call the police."
Arthur laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound.
"Call the police, Luca?" Arthur mocked, tossing the pearl earring into his pocket. "And tell them what? That a maid gave you a photograph? The coroner signed off on Elena’s death two years ago. That case is closed. And if you cancel the wedding or the merger... I will destroy you."
Arthur pulled his cell phone from his pocket and tapped the screen.
"As the senior partner of our firm, I have the authority to freeze the operational capital accounts," Arthur said coldly. "In fact, I just did. Your company has no liquid cash, Luca. Your payroll bounces tomorrow morning. Your international shipping containers will be seized by customs at noon. By Friday, Moretti Industries will be in forced bankruptcy. You will lose this house, you will lose your wealth, and most importantly..."
Arthur’s pale eyes flicked toward me, a vicious smirk twisting his lips.
"You will lose the custody battle," Arthur finished softly. "When a bankrupt, emotionally unstable widower who talks to dead wives tries to keep his child, the courts will gladly grant emergency guardianship to the stable, wealthy former fiancée who has already bonded with the girl."
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Luca stood frozen, the realization crashing down on him. Arthur had trapped him perfectly. If he fought, he lost his daughter to the very people who murdered her mother.
"You see, Claire," Arthur said, turning to me with a look of absolute triumph. "You should have stayed in the kitchen. Because now, you don't just lose your job. I happen to know your brother owes forty thousand dollars to the underground casino on the South Side. A debt I just bought tonight. If you say a single word to the police about this photograph... your brother won't live to see the weekend."
