Chapter 2 - THE TREASURER'S CONFESSION
Arthur Vance, the man who had managed the Moretti family’s wealth for three decades, stood up. His hands trembled against the edge of the mahogany table.
Silence swallowed the dining room.
Vincent didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to.
“Arthur,” Vincent said, his tone dangerously calm. “Why is your signature on a transfer draining my mother’s foundation?”
Arthur looked at Vanessa.
Vanessa’s face had drained of color, but her chin remained high. “Arthur is getting old. He clearly made an accounting error. We will correct it on Monday.”
“It wasn't an error,” Arthur whispered.
He reached into his tailored suit jacket. His fingers were shaking so badly he struggled with the inner pocket. Finally, he pulled out a heavy gold pocket watch.
He slid it across the table toward Vincent.
“I didn't transfer the money for myself, Vincent,” Arthur said, his voice breaking. “I transferred it because she threatened my family.”
Vanessa slammed her hands on the table. “He’s lying! He’s been stealing from you for years, Vincent! I caught him, and now he’s trying to blame me!”
I stood frozen near the sideboard. I had known Arthur Vance for twenty-six years. He was a man of impeccable honor. He had personally paid for my husband’s funeral when we had nothing. He wasn't a thief.
“Is this true, Arthur?” Vincent asked, ignoring his fiancée's outburst.
“She found out about the offshore accounts your father used in the nineties,” Arthur confessed, tears shining in his tired eyes. “She said if I didn't funnel the scholarship money into her private trust, she would give the records to the federal prosecutor.”
A collective gasp rippled through the guests.
But the real shock was yet to come.
“Open the watch, Vincent,” Arthur instructed quietly. “Look at what she gave me as collateral to prove she meant business.”
Vincent picked up the gold pocket watch. He pressed the latch.
The lid popped open.
Vincent stared at the inside of the lid. The color vanished from his face. His jaw tightened so hard I thought his teeth might shatter.
“Answer one question, open two more,” I thought, my heart pounding against my ribs.
We knew Vanessa was stealing. But we didn't know why she had this specific leverage.
Vincent slowly turned the watch around so Vanessa could see it.
Tucked inside the lid was a small, faded photograph. It was a picture of Vanessa, looking ten years younger, standing on a beach.
But she wasn't alone.
She had her arms wrapped around a man. A man with dark hair and a familiar smile.
“Where did you get this?” Vincent asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Vanessa stepped backward, her diamond bracelet catching the light as her hands began to shake.
The man in the photograph was Dominic Moretti.
May you like
Vincent’s older brother.
The brother who had supposedly died in a boating accident twelve years ago.
