Chapter 8 - The Boardroom Execution
The following morning, the sun rose over Manhattan, casting a brilliant golden sheen across the glass facades of the financial district.
Inside the executive boardroom of Moretti Real Estate—a soaring, fifty-story architectural masterpiece overlooking the Hudson River—ten senior partners sat in absolute, suffocating silence.
At the head of the long marble table sat Luca Moretti.
He wore a bespoke charcoal suit, his posture rigid, his slate-gray eyes fixed on the financial reports spread out before him. Standing beside him was Marcus, holding a secure tablet.
“Gentlemen,” Luca began, his voice cutting through the quiet room like a razor blade. “Before we discuss the Hudson Yards zoning approval, we have an internal security breach to address.”
A murmur rippled through the table. Senior Partner Alan Vance—uncle to the fired Harrison Vance—cleared his throat nervously.
“Mr. Moretti, surely our internal operations are—,” Vance started.
“Quiet, Alan,” Luca said softly. The two words carried so much lethal weight that Vance snapped his mouth shut instantly.
Luca tapped the table once. Marcus stepped forward, tapping his tablet and projecting a high-definition document onto the massive smart screen behind the desk.
It was a bank transfer receipt. Followed by a recorded phone transcript. Followed by a series of email exchanges between senior executives at Moretti Real Estate and Victor Thorne of Thorne Capital.
“Last night,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register, “an attempt was made to leak confidential family documents regarding my private residence to the tabloid press. Specifically, information concerning Miss Emma Hartley and her daughter.”
Alan Vance turned the color of spoiled milk. His hands shook so violently he dropped his Montblanc pen onto the marble floor.
“Furthermore,” Luca continued, standing up slowly and resting his knuckles on the table, leaning forward toward the terrified partners. “Investigation revealed that three of our senior partners have been quietly leaking commercial zoning bids to Thorne Capital in exchange for kickbacks.”
Luca’s gaze swept across the room, locking onto Alan Vance.
“Alan. You’ve been with this firm for twenty years,” Luca said quietly. “I trusted you with my father’s legacy.”
“Luca—Mr. Moretti—please!” Vance choked out, stumbling out of his chair and falling to his knees on the carpeted floor. “I have a family! It was a mistake! Thorne trapped me—!”
“Marcus,” Luca commanded without breaking eye contact with the groveling man.
“Yes, boss?”
“Escort Alan and his two associates out of the building. Revoke their security clearances, freeze their pensions, and forward these files to the U.S. Attorney’s office for federal wire fraud and industrial espionage.”
“Right away, boss,” Marcus said, signaling two massive security enforcers who stepped into the room like statues, grabbing Vance by the arms and hauling him toward the double doors as he screamed for mercy.
The remaining seven partners sat frozen in their seats, barely daring to breathe.
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Luca straightened his cuffs, sat back down, and looked across the table with absolute, unyielding dominion.
“Now,” Luca said smoothly, as if nothing had happened. “Let’s discuss how we are going to bankrupt Thorne Capital before the end of the week.”
