Chapter 2 - The Scorned Socialite's Revenge And The Dark Secret Lurking In The SafeThe iron gates of the Moretti estate slammed shut with a heavy, metallic clang that echoed across the Hudson Valley.
Inside a sleek, black rented town car parked half a mile down the private road, Isabella Romano was hyperventilating, her manicured fingernails digging into the leather upholstery until her knuckles turned white. Mascara streamed down her cheeks, ruining a face that had graced the covers of three different luxury lifestyle magazines that month.
"Drive, you idiot!" she screamed at the bewildered driver, who hastily stepped on the gas. "Drive to Manhattan! We are going straight to Apex Media! We are going to destroy that old bastard and his little peasant family!"
For three years, Isabella had clawed her way to the top of New York's elite food chain. She had latched onto Don Moretti when his health was rumored to be failing, positioning herself as his dutiful companion while quietly plotting to get her name added to his multi-billion-dollar trust fund. She had spent millions of his corporate credit cards on gala dresses, private jets, and offshore bank accounts. And now, all of it—the penthouse views, the society parties, the unlimited power—had been snatched away from her in less than five minutes because of a dirty little maid and her brat in duck socks.
As the town car sped toward the city skyline, Isabella pulled out her diamond-encrusted smartphone. Her fingers flew across the screen, dialing a number she swore she would never need again.
"Marcus? It's Isabella," she snapped the moment the line connected.
A low, gravelly chuckle rumbled through the speaker. "Well, well. If it isn't the future Mrs. Moretti. What’s wrong, sweetheart? Did the old man finally sign over the kingdom, or did you get locked out of the jewelry vault?"
"Shut up and listen to me, Marcus!" Isabella hissed, tears of rage stinging her eyes. "We have a massive problem. Don threw me out. He tossed me into the rain like garbage because of some peasant maid and her bastard child. But that’s not the worst of it. Before I left, I overheard Vance and the old man talking in the study. Don is rewriting his entire will tonight. He believes that brat belongs to his long-lost daughter—the one his sons whispered about years ago before they were conveniently written out of the succession."
On the other end of the line, Marcus’s tone instantly turned sharp and calculating. Marcus Vance was the estranged nephew of the estate's head butler, a disgraced corporate lawyer who had been fired from Moretti Enterprises two years prior for insider trading. He had been feeding Isabella inside information in exchange for a cut of the inheritance.
"His daughter?" Marcus muttered, processing the information. "I thought she died in a car crash in upstate New York twenty-five years ago. The body was never positively identified, but Don shut down the investigation himself."
"I don't care if she rose from the dead!" Isabella snarled, staring out the window at the gray river rushing past. "If that child gets verified as his bloodline through DNA testing tomorrow morning, we lose everything. Every single penny. My lifestyle, your payoff—gone. We need to strike first, Marcus. What do we have on the old man? What did you steal from his private study before you got fired?"
Marcus laughed darkly. "Oh, I have plenty, Izzy. I have copies of the original land deeds, the shadow company ledgers from the 90s, and... a draft of an old medical report that proves Don Moretti was declared mentally incompetent by a private psychiatric board three years ago when he had that stroke. If we leak that to the financial press and file an emergency injunction through a corrupt judge, we can freeze the entire estate before he can adopt that brat or sign a new will."
"Do it," Isabella whispered fiercely, a cruel, manic smile spreading across her tear-stained face. "Freeze his assets. Ruin his reputation. Let the whole world watch the great Don Moretti crumble. And as for that little girl in the duck socks... let's just make sure she never makes it out of that mansion alive."
Back at the Moretti estate, however, the atmosphere was vastly different.
Inside the warmly lit private library, smelling of aged leather and burning cedar logs, Don Moretti sat in his wingback armchair. On the Persian rug at his feet, little Lily was happily playing with a set of antique wooden building blocks, her duck socks kicking softly in the air.
Rosa stood nervously near the doorway, wringing her hands, her apron now replaced with a clean maid's uniform provided by Mrs. Gable.
"Mr. Moretti," Rosa whispered, her voice trembling. "I... I can pack our things tonight. I don't want to cause trouble for you. If you want us to leave, we will leave."
Don looked up from a heavy leather-bound photo album resting on his lap. He looked at Rosa, tracing the soft curve of her jawline and the hazel color of her eyes—features he hadn't allowed himself to look at closely until now. The resemblance to his late daughter, Clara, was undeniable, haunting, and agonizingly clear.
"You are not going anywhere, Rosa," Don said gently, closing the photo album with a soft thud. He pulled a gold pocket watch from his vest and clicked it open. "At eight o'clock tomorrow morning, Dr. Harrison is arriving to conduct a formal, court-admissible DNA test. Until then, you and Lily are officially under my roof as family."
Before Rosa could process his words, the heavy oak doors of the library burst open.
Mr. Vance rushed in, his face pale, holding a glowing tablet in his hand. "Sir! You need to look at this immediately. The morning financial news networks are breaking an emergency broadcast. Someone has leaked confidential medical records and forged asset-freezing orders against Moretti Enterprises. The stock is already plummeting twenty percent in pre-market trading!"
Don Moretti slowly rose from his chair. His eyes narrowed, not with fear, but with the cold, lethal fury of an apex predator whose territory was being challenged.
"Show me," Don commanded.
May you like
On the screen, a breaking news banner flashed across the screen in glaring red letters: EMERGENCY CRISIS AT MORETTI CORP: FOUNDER DECLARED MENTALLY UNFIT AMID ALLEGATIONS OF FRAUD AND ILLEGITIMATE HEIRS.
Isabella’s face appeared on the screen, smiling triumphantly as she stepped out of a limousine in front of the courthouse, ready to deliver her first malicious press conference.
Related Stories
