Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Milwaukee
Elias backed up until the edge of his executive leather chair pressed against the back of his knees. He sank into it slowly, looking up at me as if he were seeing a ghost that had learned how to use a corporate ledger.
"Your father..." Elias stammered, his fingers gripping the armrests until his knuckles turned white. "Your father was Thomas Moretti. The accountant who retired to Milwaukee after... after the federal indictments in the nineties."
"My father was Thomas Moretti," I agreed, resting both hands flat against the mahogany desk, leaning down so my eyes were level with his. "And he didn't retire to Milwaukee to hide, Elias. He retired because he had spent thirty years structuring international maritime trusts for the family, and Damiano gave him an island in the Adriatic and a pension that could buy this entire city block."
Elias swallowed hard, his throat clicking nervously. "And you... you let me marry you? You let me treat you like a quiet, insignificant little mouse for four years while you lived in my house?"
A quiet, humorless laugh escaped my lips.
"Treat me? Elias, you never looked at me long enough to see me," I said, my voice dropping into a register that made him flinch. "You married an orphan with no social connections because it flattered your vanity to have someone who stayed in the background, poured your scotch, and never asked questions about your late-night board meetings with Claudia Voss."
At the mention of Claudia’s name, Elias’s eyes flickered with a sudden, guilty panic. "Claudia... Claudia has nothing to do with this! That was just a professional arrangement—"
"A professional arrangement that included a four-million-dollar brownstone in downtown Chicago and a matching diamond ring," I finished for him, pulling a thick manila folder from under my arm and tossing it onto his desk. "Along with forty-two fraudulent invoicing receipts where you skimmed municipal construction funds to pad your personal brokerage account."
Elias stared at the manila folder as if it were a venomous snake. "You... you audited my firm?"
"From my kitchen table," I smiled coldly. "While you were upstairs sleeping or out entertaining Claudia, I was reviewing your corporate tax shelters. It turns out, Elias, you are remarkably sloppy when you think nobody is watching."
"You can't do this," Elias whispered, his voice cracking into panic. "If you call the SEC... if you trigger these audits... I'll go to prison. I'll lose everything!"
"You already lost everything, Elias," I said, standing up straight and buttoning my jacket. "You just haven't finished reading the paperwork."
The glass doors of the office opened again, and Damiano Moretti stepped inside.
He didn't look at Elias. He walked straight to my side, his large, warm hand resting securely on the small of my back, his dark eyes fixing on Elias with an ancient, murderous contempt that required no words at all.
"The cars are waiting downstairs, Serena," Damiano said quietly. "And the federal bankruptcy trustee is downstairs in the lobby, ready to secure the premises."
May you like
"Let's not keep him waiting," I said, turning away from my ex-husband without giving him another glance.
As we walked toward the private elevator, Elias let out a raw, broken sob, his head dropping into his hands as the empire he had built on the illusion of my insignificance finally collapsed into dust around him.
