Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary of Long Island
By 9:30 a.m., our black armored motorcade swept through the towering wrought-iron gates of the Moretti estate on the bluffs of Oyster Bay, Long Island.
The property was an impenetrable fortress of sixty acres: centuries-old oak trees, manicured limestone terraces, and a four-story stone manor overlooking the gray, churning waters of the Long Island Sound. Armed security operators in dark suits patrolled the perimeter with trained mastiffs, while high-definition surveillance arrays swept every approach.
Inside the grand south wing, the master private conservatory was flooded with morning light from twenty-foot arched windows.
Sitting in a high-backed velvet armchair near a roaring limestone fireplace, wearing an elegant dark wool dress and her restored silver medallion bracelet, was Donna Rosa Moretti.
When Mia walked into the room holding her new plush fox, Rosa’s face lit up with radiant, grandmotherly warmth.
"Come here, my brave little bird," Rosa called softly, opening her arms.
Mia ran across the Persian rug, throwing her small arms around the older woman’s neck, giggling as Rosa kissed her forehead.
Alessandro stood by the mantle, having discarded his overcoat, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Beside him stood Arthur Ross—seventy-four years old, senior managing partner of Ross & Sterling International Legal, the supreme corporate litigator who had represented the Moretti family for four decades.
"Let’s review the mechanical forensic report on the town car, Arthur," Alessandro commanded.
Arthur Ross opened an unsealed, red-tabbed federal litigation case on the cedar table.
"The hydraulic brake lines were deliberately notched with diamond-grit wire shears, Alessandro," Arthur reported, his deep baritone grim and clinical. "The failure was timed to trigger when the vehicle descended the steep incline toward the Queensboro Bridge approach. The intent was a catastrophic, high-speed collision into the river."
"And the authorization logs for the private garage?" Alessandro asked, his eyes darkening into flint.
"The garage security cameras were digitally looped for fourteen minutes yesterday at 2:00 p.m.," Arthur revealed, rotating his tablet to display the decrypted access manifests. "The biometric keycard used to bypass the local terminal was registered to Julian Sterling—the Managing Director of Apex Harbor Logistics and the fiancé of your younger sister, Bianca."
The conservatory went dead silent.
Rosa Moretti set her porcelain teacup down on the saucer with a sharp, hollow clink.
"Julian has been maneuvering for six months to liquidate our deepwater container concessions in Newark, Alessandro," Rosa said, her voice rich with solemn authority. "He believes that if I am dead, Bianca’s inheritance rights will give his private equity syndicate thirty percent of the voting common shares before the annual Commission assembly next week."
"Julian is fifty minutes away from learning what happens when you touch my mother," Alessandro said softly.
He turned toward me, his slate-gray gaze taking in my steady posture.
"Elena," Alessandro said.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"You hold a master’s degree in forensic accounting from Columbia University, don't you?"
I blinked in surprise. "I completed the degree three years ago, before my husband died and the medical debts forced me into domestic service."
May you like
Arthur Ross smiled, sliding a stack of thirty unsealed banker's boxes onto the table.
"Then your cleaning days are over, Miss Vance," Arthur said. "Welcome to the forensic audit team of Moretti Sovereign Maritime."
