Chapter 7 - The Ghost Walks In
The temperature in the private dining room on the surveillance screen dropped ten degrees. Julian’s face drained of color, his skin turning the pale, chalky gray of a corpse as Dominic strolled casually into the room, hands in his pockets, radiating an aura of lethal, unbothered control.
"Mr. Moretti," the federal prosecutor stammered, scrambling to his feet, knocking his chair back against the wood paneling. "What is the meaning of this? This is a private, confidential federal meeting—"
"Save the speech, Counselor," Dominic interrupted smoothly, pulling out a chair opposite Julian and sitting down uninvited. He didn't look at the prosecutor; his dark, piercing eyes were locked entirely on my husband, who was trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. "I believe you were discussing offshore accounts and missing development loans belonging to the Moretti syndicate."
Julian swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. "I... I don't know what you're talking about. My debts were settled years ago—"
"Your debts never die, Julian," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a soft, terrifying purr. "Especially when you try to pay them off with counterfeit documents and a fake death certificate. But I didn't come here tonight to collect on a loan."
Dominic reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, black USB flash drive, tossing it carelessly across the white tablecloth so it clattered to a stop right in front of the prosecutor’s coffee cup.
"I came here to drop off an audit," Dominic continued. "Every recorded phone call, every wire transfer receipt, and every signed corporate resolution proving that Julian Vance didn't just run a shell company—he stole three million dollars from his own investors, framed his innocent wife, and perjured himself in front of a federal officer in under five minutes."
"That’s—that’s fabricated!" Julian shouted, jumping to his feet, his chair crashing backward to the floor. Sweat beaded visibly across his forehead. "He’s a criminal! Don't listen to him, Counselor! He's trying to protect Clara!"
The prosecutor stared down at the flash drive, then up at Julian, his professional instincts instantly smelling blood in the water. He reached out, picked up the drive, and slid it into his briefcase.
"Mr. Vance," the prosecutor said coldly, signaling to the two security guards standing at the door. "I think you and I need to have a much longer conversation about perjury and wire fraud."
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Before Julian could bolt toward the exit, the heavy restaurant doors swung open wide, and I walked into the room.
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