Chapter 2 - The Paper Trail of Treason
"Don't touch her, Blake!" I shouted, stepping directly into his path, forcing him to halt his advance toward my sister.
Blake froze, his breathing heavy and ragged, his dark eyes locked onto the manila folder in Chloe's hand. The cold, impenetrable swagger he wore on the streets of New York completely evaporated, replaced by a sudden, desperate panic.
"Chloe," Blake growled out, his voice shaking with a mix of rage and terror. "Whatever paper you're holding, you hand it to me right now. You have no idea what you're messing with."
"Oh, I know exactly what I'm messing with, Blake," Chloe replied coldly, sliding a stack of legal documents out of the folder and holding them up under the bright light of the chandelier. "I'm looking at the offshore shell accounts that Vanessa opened three months ago using my sister's stolen identity."
The room went dead silent.
I turned my head slowly to stare at my sister, then at Vanessa. "What did you say?"
"Three months ago," Chloe explained, her eyes burning with pure hatred as she glared at Vanessa, "Vanessa filed a fraudulent corporate affidavit listing herself as the secondary power of attorney for Amelia Moretti Design Holdings. She used your social security number and forged your signature to transfer four point five million dollars out of your business accounts."
"That's a lie!" Vanessa shrieked, backing away toward the bathroom. "Blake! Tell her she's lying!"
Blake didn't say a word. He stood frozen in the center of the room, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck strained against his tattooed skin.
"She isn't lying, is she, Blake?" I asked, my voice dropping into an icy, razor-sharp whisper as the horrible reality crystallized in my mind. "That's why she gave up her SoHo apartment. That's why she moved into this penthouse. It wasn't just an affair, was it? You two were stealing my entire business out from under me."
"Amelia, listen to me," Blake pleaded, stepping toward me with his hands raised, his voice losing every ounce of its former authority. "It's not what it looks like. The syndicate was facing a federal audit. I needed clean, unmonitored commercial accounts to move capital out of the city. I was going to put the money back!"
"You used my sister's company as a money-laundering front?!" Chloe shouted, taking a step forward. "You used her hard-earned legitimate reputation to clean your blood money, and then you brought your cheap mistress into her home to keep an eye on her accounts!"
Vanessa let out a nervous, manic laugh, clutching her satin robe. "Amelia, you don't understand how the real world works! Blake was protecting you! If the FBI found those accounts, you would have gone down with his capos anyway! I took the legal risk!"
"You took four point five million dollars of my life's work!" I roared, my composure finally shattering into pure, unadulterated fury. "I built that company with my own sweat and sleepless nights while you were crying on my guest room floor about your debts!"
"And now those accounts are frozen," Chloe added smoothly, pulling a court-stamped injunction from the folder. "I met with the Chief Prosecutor of the Southern District of New York two hours ago. As of seven o'clock tonight, every account associated with Amelia Moretti Design Holdings—including the offshore routing numbers Vanessa set up—is under federal freeze."
Blake let out a roar of absolute fury, slamming his heavy fist against the mahogany nightstand, shattering the glass lamp sitting on top.
"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" Blake screamed at Chloe, his face turning dark purple. "You brought the federal government into my house?! Do you have any idea what my syndicate board will do to me when they find out four million dollars of family capital is frozen in a federal vault?!"
"They'll probably remove you from power," I said coldly, stepping right up to his chest, refusing to flinch as he loomed over me. "And then they'll come for the woman who convinced you to use my company."
Vanessa gasped in terror, her eyes widening as she realized the true, horrifying weight of the situation. In the Mafia world, a boss who lost four million dollars of family money to a federal freeze was a dead man walking—and the mistress who helped him do it was a target.
"Blake..." Vanessa whimpered, her confidence completely gone as she grabbed his arm. "Blake, do something! Call your lawyers! Call your capos!"
Blake roughly shoved her hand off his arm, looking at her with pure, unadulterated disgust. "Shut up, Vanessa! You told me her sister wouldn't look at the quarterly ledgers until next month!"
"She didn't!" Vanessa cried out. "I don't know how Chloe found out!"
"Because I'm her accountant, you idiot," Chloe spat out. "Did you really think a high-end design firm generating millions a year didn't have an independent financial auditor?"
The sound of heavy, rapid footsteps echoed down the marble hallway outside the primary suite.
The heavy double doors of the bedroom were pushed open, and three of Blake's most senior, heavily armed security guards stepped into the room, led by Marco—Blake's long-time underboss and chief of security.
Marco took one look at the shattered lamp, the federal legal documents in Chloe's hand, and the terrified mistress standing in her satin robe.
"Boss," Marco said, his voice flat and devoid of its usual respect. "The federal marshals just pulled up to the gate downstairs. And the Commission wants an emergency meeting at the docks in twenty minutes."
Blake turned around slowly, his face ghostly pale. The nightmare was officially unfolding in real time.
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"Marco," Blake ordered, trying to regain his composure. "Clear the gate. Tell the marshals they need a signed warrant from Judge Harrison."
"Judge Harrison was arrested thirty minutes ago, Don Blake," Marco revealed coldly, stepping aside to reveal two uniformed federal agents walking up the grand staircase behind him. "The marshals already have the warrant. And the Commission ordered me to bring you in."
