Chapter 8 - The Fall of Matteo
Uncle Lorenzo hesitated, then reached for the silver flash drive and plugged it into the encrypted laptop built into the boardroom table. Instantly, the large digital display screens lining the walls of the room illuminated with thousands of lines of financial data, offshore bank statements, and wire transfer logs.
The room went dead silent.
"What is the meaning of this?" Uncle Marco asked, leaning closer to the screen, his reading glasses balanced on the tip of his nose.
"That," Dominic explained, stepping out from behind his chair and slowly walking down the side of the table, "is the audit trail of the Serrano Foundation's primary charitable trust over the past six years."
Matteo’s eyes widened in sheer terror. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his silver cane. "This is fabricated! He’s using fake documents to slander me!"
"It’s signed and verified by the Swiss Financial Market Supervisory Authority," Dominic countered, his voice smooth and cold as steel. "Twenty-two million dollars transferred directly from our children's hospital fund into dummy accounts registered under your name in the Cayman Islands."
Uncle Lorenzo gasped, looking up from the screen in absolute disgust. "Matteo... you stole from the family charity? From the children's wing bearing our mother's name?"
"It was an investment!" Matteo stammered, his usual authority disintegrating into desperate panic. "I was reallocating assets for family interest!"
"You were stealing to pay off your illegal land speculation deals in Miami," Dominic stated plainly. He stopped right behind Matteo’s chair, placing a heavy hand on the high leather backrest. "Under our bylaws, any board member guilty of grand larceny against family assets forfeits all voting shares and is permanently stripped of their surname privileges."
Dominic looked around the room at the other uncles. "Do I have a second on the motion to strip Matteo Serrano of his shares and turn these files over to the federal prosecutor?"
"Second," Uncle Lorenzo said immediately, his voice filled with contempt for his brother.
"Second," Uncle Marco added without a moment's hesitation.
"Motion carried," Dominic said.
Matteo sank back into his chair, looking suddenly old, frail, and utterly defeated. The power he had spent decades building had vanished in less than ten minutes.
"Marcus," Dominic called out.
The security chief stepped forward. "Sir?"
"Escort Matteo off the property. Hand him over to the federal agents waiting at the front gates."
Two armed security guards walked up to Matteo, seizing him by his arms and pulling him up from his chair. His silver cane dropped to the floor, rolling harmlessly across the rug.
As Matteo was dragged toward the exit, he stopped beside Isabella. He glared at her with pure hatred. "You think you’ve won, little girl? You’re still nothing! A nobody who married into money!"
Isabella stood up slowly, her velvet gown sweeping around her legs. She looked Matteo dead in the eye, her expression serene and powerful.
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"I am a Serrano," Isabella said, her voice echoing through the silent boardroom. "And unlike you, I earned my place here."
Matteo had no response. The guards yanked him forward, pulling him out of the room and closing the heavy oak doors behind him.
