Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Ledger
“Preston,” Warren whispered, his voice losing its booming executive authority, dropping into a cracked, desperate hiss. “What did you tell her?”
Preston was still sitting on the sofa, nursing his bruised wrist, blinking stupidly up at his father. “What? N-nothing! She’s just losing her mind, Dad! She attacked me!”
Warren ignored his son, turning his frantic gaze back to Giulietta. The patriarch of the Hales looked older in the chandelier light—the silver in his hair suddenly appearing stark against skin that had gone the color of parchment.
“Giulietta,” Warren said, forcing his hands to remain steady at his sides. “Whatever your father told you... whatever he showed you... it’s a fabrication. The Marconi books are ancient history. We signed the treaty in good faith.”
“Good faith?” Giulietta repeated, stepping over the broken glass on the floor, her voice devoid of any warmth. “Is that what you call systematically embezzling from our joint shipping accounts for the past six months? Is that what you call placing a hit on my uncle Marco last Tuesday in Little Italy?”
Preston flinched. A microscopic twitch in his left eye gave him away instantly.
Warren saw it too. The patriarch closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, letting out a long, shuddering breath of defeat.
“He told you,” Warren murmured, more to himself than to her.
“My father didn't have to tell me anything,” Giulietta said, walking slowly toward the vanity where her engagement ring still sat gleaming on the marble surface. She picked it up, turned it over in her palm, and tossed it carelessly onto the floor beside the golf club. “Your son is an idiot, Warren. He loves a high-stakes poker game, but he has a terrible habit of bragging about his corporate conquests when he’s drunk at the Downtown Club. He told me three weeks ago that the Hales didn't need to share the ports anymore because the old man—my father—was already dying, and Preston had engineered the financial trap to seize our entire fleet by dawn.”
Warren turned his furious, bloodshot eyes toward Preston. “You arrogant, blundering fool. You discussed syndicate logistics over poker tables?”
“I was going to win!” Preston yelled, scrambling backward off the sofa onto his knees. “Once we were married, I controlled her shares! It was foolproof!”
“It was amateur hour,” Giulietta corrected, her voice cutting through their argument like a razor blade.
May you like
She turned her back on them, raising her right hand. Behind her, the Marconi capos moved into formation.
“Lock the estate down,” Giulietta commanded. “No one leaves. And call my father. Tell him the wedding is officially canceled.”
