Chapter 5 - The Friday Execution
Friday, 11:00 AM.
The executive boardroom on the 40th floor of the Moretti Tower was packed with thirty of the most powerful investors, lawyers, and mob bosses in New York.
At the head of the long mahogany conference table sat Veronica Hale. She wore a stunning black designer dress, her eyes expertly tear-brimmed, surrounded by three high-powered estate attorneys.
"Thank you all for coming," Veronica spoke into the microphone, her voice trembling with practiced grief. "As you know, my beloved fiancé, Dominic Moretti, tragically passed away late last night at St. Jude's Hospital following complications from his automobile accident."
A collective murmur of sympathy washed over the room.
"Under the terms of Dominic's living trust," Veronica continued, holding up a stack of legal documents, "in the event of his passing, sixty percent of his executive voting shares transfer immediately to his designated estate executor—myself—and his primary associate, Anthony Moretti."
"And where is Anthony?" asked Frank Falcone, an old-school mob boss sitting near the front.
"Anthony is currently handling the funeral arrangements," Veronica lied smoothly, a victorious smile touching her lips. "Now, if the board will sign the transfer authorization—"
The heavy double doors of the boardroom were suddenly blown off their hinges with a deafening CRACK.
The entire room gasped, several bodyguards reaching for their coats, but before anyone could pull a weapon, twelve armed state troopers flooded into the room, securing the perimeter.
Then, walking down the central aisle, dressed in a custom charcoal three-piece suit, his posture immaculate and his eyes blazing with absolute vengeance, walked Dominic Moretti.
Beside me walked Grace Miller, wearing a sharp tailored suit, carrying a secure digital briefcase.
Behind us, bound in heavy steel handcuffs and flanked by federal marshals, were Anthony Moretti and Dr. Julian Thorne.
Veronica’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her face turned a horrific, chalky white, her eyes wide with unadulterated terror.
"Dominic...?" she whispered, her voice cracking into a pathetic squeak. "You're... you're alive?"
"You look disappointed, Veronica," I said, my voice echoing through the massive boardroom like a death sentence. "Did you think the money would move faster?"
The room erupted into total chaos.
"Dominic!" Frank Falcone shouted, standing up. "What the hell is going on here?"
I walked up to the head of the table, stopping directly opposite Veronica. Grace stepped forward, opening her briefcase and connecting a high-speed thumb drive into the main presentation console.
A massive 8K screen behind Veronica flickered to life.
Audio from the penthouse security system began playing through the high-definition speakers—crisp, clear, undeniable.
“Die before Friday, Dominic. The money moves faster when you stop breathing.”
Veronica’s voice echoed through the room, followed by Anthony’s recorded confession detailing the sabotage of my Bentley's brake line and the planned potassium chloride overdose.
The entire boardroom turned to glare at Veronica with sheer disgust and murderous fury.
"That's a fake!" Veronica screamed, backing away from the table toward the glass windows. "It's a setup! He's lying!"
"It's over, Veronica," I said, leaning over the table, looking into her terrified eyes. "You tried to kill a king. But you forgot to check if the maid was watching."
The Lead Federal Marshal stepped forward, pulling out a set of heavy steel cuffs. "Veronica Hale, you are under arrest for attempted capital murder, conspiracy, and wire fraud."
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As the marshals dragged a screaming, sobbing Veronica out of the boardroom in front of every news camera and syndicate boss in New York, I turned to the remaining board members.
"Meeting adjourned," I announced coldly. "Anthony's assets are seized. Veronica's assets are seized. And anyone else in this room who ever thought about betraying me can consider this your only warning."
