Chapter 2 - THE STUDY OF LIES
The walk from the kitchen to my study was a quiet one, but the silence was heavy, suffocating, and thick with the promise of violence. I didn’t look back to see if Evelyn Crane was following me. She was. In my house, you didn’t have a choice. The heavy oak doors of my study clicked shut behind her, sealing us inside a room where men with far more power than a household manager had wept for their lives.
I walked over to the mahogany desk, pouring myself two fingers of scotch. I didn't offer her any.
"Sit," I commanded, my voice barely above a whisper. It was the whisper that scared people more than the shouting.
Evelyn remained standing, her posture rigid, her hands clasped tightly in front of her perfectly pressed skirt. "Mr. Moretti, I understand how this looks. The funds were reallocated for estate necessities. The threshold request... it was merely delayed due to budget constraints."
"Budget constraints?" I took a slow sip of the scotch, feeling the burn slide down my throat. "I run a syndicate that moves ninety million dollars a month in this city alone. You think I have budget constraints for a one-thousand-dollar piece of marble?"
"It’s protocol, sir. You asked me to optimize household spending—"
"I asked you to manage my home, not run a grift on a crippled four-year-old." I slammed the glass down on the desk. The sharp crack made Evelyn flinch. I pulled the folded document from my jacket and tossed it onto the polished wood. "Eight thousand, four hundred dollars. Over four months. You coded it as marble restoration, but my floors are the same. You denied the accessibility request to keep the books balanced on paper while you skimmed the cash."
Evelyn swallowed hard, her composure cracking. "I've served this house for five years, Victor."
"Mr. Moretti," I corrected coldly. "And five years of service doesn't buy you a pass for stealing from me. But you know what truly offends me, Evelyn? It’s not the money. I drop eight grand on a suit without blinking. What offends me is the cruelty. You made that little girl apologize to a floor you were using as a cover for your theft."
I pressed an intercom button on my desk. "Silas. My study. Now."
Evelyn took a step back toward the door. "Victor, please. It was a mistake. A lapse in judgment. I have debts—"
"Everyone has debts," I said, stepping around the desk, closing the distance between us like a predator circling wounded prey. "But you chose to pay yours by letting a child bleed on my threshold. You're fired, Evelyn. But you're not leaving. Not until Silas audits every single dime that has passed through your hands."
The study doors opened, and Silas, my underboss—a man built like a freight train with the eyes of a dead man—stepped inside. He assessed the room in a fraction of a second.
"Take her phone," I ordered. "Lock her in the east wing guest room. No windows, no outside contact. Then get the ledger."
Evelyn began to shake. "You can't hold me here! I know people! I know things about this family!"
May you like
I leaned in close, my voice dropping to a terrifying calm. "If you know things about this family, Evelyn, then you know exactly what I do to people who steal from me. Pray the audit only finds eight grand."
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