Chapter 8 - The Interrogation of Fear
The lower holding cells of the Moretti estate were a far cry from the opulent marble and crystal of the upper floors. Carved directly into the deep granite foundations beneath the manor, the corridors were cold, lit by harsh overhead utilitarian bulbs that cast long, stark shadows across the damp stone walls.
Arthur Finch unlocked a heavy iron-reinforced steel door at the end of the corridor and pushed it open.
Inside the small, windowless concrete room, a man was strapped securely to a heavy metal chair bolted directly into the floor. His nose was bruised, his clothes wet from the melting snow outside, and his hair plastered across his forehead.
Marcus Vance looked up as the door creaked open.
When he saw Dante Moretti step into the room followed by Arthur Finch, his eyes widened with instinctive, animal panic. But when his gaze shifted past them and landed on Nora stepping calmly through the doorway in her tailored suit, a twisted, ugly snarl distorted his features.
“You!” Marcus spat, straining violently against the heavy leather straps binding his chest to the chair. “You ruined everything! Because of you, my brother is looking at twenty years in a federal penitentiary! You lying, manipulative little—!”
Before Marcus could finish the sentence, Dante moved.
It wasn't a dramatic Hollywood punch. It was a swift, terrifyingly efficient physical dominance. Dante stepped across the room in two strides, grabbed Marcus by the lapels of his jacket, and hauled him forward so hard the metal chair legs screeched against the concrete floor.
Dante’s face was inches from Marcus’s, his dark eyes burning with a cold, lethal fury that made the younger man instantly choke on his own words.
“You have five seconds to explain why you thought you could breach my perimeter,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling growl that sounded like a predator preparing to tear its prey apart. “And if your answer doesn't keep you breathing for at least the next ten seconds, I’ll let Arthur feed you to the stray dogs down by the port.”
Marcus choked, his breath rattling in his throat as he stared into Dante’s eyes and realized, with terrifying clarity, that this man wasn't bluffing.
“I—I just wanted to scare her!” Marcus gasped out, panic overriding his bravado. “I wanted to make her drop the charges! Cameron didn't do anything wrong! She framed him! She’s a manipulative—!”
“Shut up,” Nora said.
Her voice wasn't loud. It wasn't shaking. It was cool, clinical, and carried the absolute weight of a chief auditor reviewing a fraudulent ledger.
She stepped past Dante, walking right up to Marcus until she was standing two feet away from him. She looked down at him with an expression of profound, detached pity.
“You think Cameron is the victim here, Marcus?” Nora asked quietly.
Marcus glared up at her, his chest heaving. “You stole his accounts! You ruined his life!”
Nora reached into the pocket of her blazer, pulled out a small, encrypted tablet, and tapped the screen twice. She turned it around so the glowing display was inches from Marcus’s face.
“That is a forensic mirror of Cameron’s personal offshore server,” Nora said evenly. “Every wire transfer, every forged signature, every dollar he stole not just from me, but from three other women he victimized before me over the last ten years.”
Marcus’s eyes darted across the screen, the color rapidly draining from his face as he recognized the banking routing numbers and corporate letterheads.
“He’s not a businessman, Marcus,” Nora continued, her voice steady and unyielding. “He’s a con man and a parasite. And the only reason you’re sitting in this chair right now instead of a federal holding cell beside him is because Dante hasn't finished deciding whether to hand you over to the marshals or leave you out in the snow.”
Marcus sat frozen, his mouth slightly open, the last shreds of his manufactured outrage completely evaporating in the face of incontrovertible proof and overwhelming, terrifying power.
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Nora tapped the screen, turning the tablet off and sliding it back into her pocket. She looked down at him one last time.
“Take him off my property,” Nora said, turning her back on Marcus without waiting for an answer. “And if he or anyone else from his family ever comes within five hundred miles of this estate again, make sure they don't leave in a car.”
