Chapter 9 - THE AUDIT
At 10:00 AM the following morning, the snow had stopped, leaving the coast covered in a blinding blanket of pure white ice.
Inside the glass-walled conference room of the Boston Harbor Hotel, five men sat around a long mahogany table.
On one side sat Dominic Rinaldi, surrounded by four lawyers and three heavily armed bodyguards. His face was red, his fists clenched on the table.
On the other side sat Daniel Moretti, wearing a dark gray three-piece suit, looking completely relaxed as he poured himself a glass of mineral water.
Standing beside Daniel, wearing a tailored navy blazer and holding a heavy leather briefcase, was Amara Hale.
"What is this joke, Moretti?" Dominic sneered, glaring at Amara. "You bring your fat little clerk to a peace summit?"
Daniel’s hand hit the mahogany table with the force of a gunshot.
BOOM.
Every man in the room jumped. Daniel stood up slowly, his dark eyes burning with a murderous light that made even Dominic’s bodyguards step back an inch.
"Speak about her like that again, Dominic," Daniel said, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly quiet whisper, "and you won't leave this room to see your bank accounts seized."
Amara set her hand gently on Daniel’s forearm. The simple touch was like throwing water on hot iron; Daniel’s jaw loosened slightly, though he kept his eyes locked on Rinaldi.
"Mr. Rinaldi," Amara said calmly, stepping forward and opening her briefcase. She pulled out a stack of thirty certified municipal documents, each bearing the red embossed seal of the City of Boston and the State of Massachusetts. "These are the certified land deeds for the four waterfront terminals on Newark Bay."
Dominic’s red face suddenly lost all color.
"As you can see," Amara continued, laying the papers out in a precise row like a deck of cards, "the true ownership of those deeds was transferred to the Moretti Municipal Trust three days ago after your default on the city tax assessment. The Genovese family in New York received digital copies of these filings at eight o'clock this morning."
Dominic’s lead lawyer quickly grabbed the top document, scanned it, and turned to his boss with a look of utter horror. "Dominic... it's real. The deeds are locked. The New York accounts are frozen."
Dominic stared at the papers, then looked up at Amara, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "How... how did you find the cross-filings?"
"I work in municipal records," Amara said, closing her briefcase with a crisp, satisfying CLICK. "Nobody reads the fine print. I do."
Daniel leaned across the table, leaning on his hands, his face inches from Dominic’s.
"Here are my terms, Dominic," Daniel said quietly. "You surrender your Boston operations to my family today. You return to New York and explain your land leases to the Genovese family yourself. And if I ever see a Rinaldi soldier north of the Connecticut border again, I won't use land deeds. I'll use Marco."
May you like
Dominic looked at Daniel. Then he looked at Amara, standing calm, composed, and utterly victorious beside the most dangerous man in Boston.
Dominic slowly stood up, pulled his coat around his shoulders, and walked out of the room without saying another word. His lawyers scrambled after him like panicked mice.
