Chapter 5
The penthouse in Tribeca occupied the top two floors of a restored cast-iron building on Franklin Street.
Warm lights glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, throwing shadows of wealthy men drinking expensive scotch.
Charles Wilkes laughed loudly, tossing a stack of high-value chips into the center of the poker table.
“Gentlemen, to another quarter of record-breaking yields,” Charles toasted, raising his glass.
The four other men around the table—wealthy investors and senior partners—clinked their glasses together.
Suddenly, the private elevator doors at the end of the foyer chimed and slid open.
Charles frowned, setting his glass down. “I didn't order any more service.”
The heavy oak doors of the living room were pushed open.
Dante Moretti walked in first, dressed impeccably, his presence instantly dominating the opulent space.
Right beside him stood Beatrice Gallagher, her gold satin gown slightly damp, her chin held high.
The laughter in the room died instantly.
Charles stood up so fast his leather chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor.
“Moretti?” Charles stammered, his eyes darting frantically to Beatrice. “What is the meaning of this?”
“You left the party early, Charles,” Dante said smooth as silk, walking over to the bar.
He poured himself two fingers of neat bourbon without asking permission.
“I felt we didn't get a chance to finish our conversation about accounting integrity,” Dante continued.
“This is a private residence!” Charles hissed, trying to maintain his authority in front of his peers.
“Beatrice, what are you doing with this man? Have you lost your mind?”
Beatrice stepped forward, taking a thick white envelope from inside Dante’s coat.
She threw it onto the green felt of the poker table, right into the middle of the chip stacks.
“Those are the forensic logs from the wire transfers to the Cayman entity, Charles,” she said calmly.
One of the senior partners frowned, picking up the top document and scanning it.
“What is this, Wilkes?” the partner asked, his voice suddenly sharp.
“It’s nothing! She’s a disgruntled employee!” Charles yelled, sweat breaking out across his forehead.
“It’s the four point eight million dollars you siphoned from my properties over eighteen months,” Dante stated.
“And those documents bear your personal digital signature, verified by the Federal Reserve gateway two hours ago.”
Charles’s knees seemed to buckle slightly, forcing him to grip the edge of the table for support.
“Victoria…” Charles whispered, realization dawning on his pale face.
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“Victoria is currently explaining her role to my associate,” Dante informed him with a deadly smile.
“And she was more than happy to share the audio recordings of you instructing her to frame Beatrice.”
