Chapter 6 - The Ink of the Dead
The handwriting belonged unquestionably to Lucia.
Every looping stroke, every sharp cross of the letter 't', was etched into Matteo’s memory from childhood letters sent back and forth during boarding school years. Seeing it scrawled across the margin of a theft ledger felt like a physical blow to the chest, driving the air straight out of his lungs.
If I die, Calvin did it. Tell Matteo.
Calvin Mercer stopped struggling in Matteo’s grip. His eyes dropped to the open page, dilated with absolute horror as he realized the safety net he had woven over twelve years had just dissolved into ash.
"You forged her signature on the asset transfers," Matteo whispered, his voice dangerously low, stripped of all humanity. "You stole her empire, piece by piece, while she was still alive. And when she threatened to expose you..."
"She was going to ruin everything!" Calvin blurted out, panic cracking his smooth veneer into jagged fragments. He tried to scramble backward, but Matteo’s grip tightened like a vise, hoisting him higher against the paneled wall. "She found out about the offshore restructuring! She was packing her bags to go to the Commission! I didn't want to hurt her, Mr. Moretti, I swear to God—it was supposed to be a slow-acting sedative, just enough to keep her quiet until the transfer papers cleared!"
The confession hung in the dusty air of the north wing like a sulfur cloud.
Twelve years of grief, twelve years of self-blame, twelve years of believing his sister had chosen to slip away into the dark, shattered in less than five seconds.
"You killed her," Matteo said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
Before Calvin could draw another breath, Matteo drew his custom silver-engraved pistol, pressing the cold steel barrel directly under the manager’s chin.
"Boss!" Tony’s voice barked from the open doorway as the heavy-set guard burst into the room, pistol drawn, scanning for threats. He stopped dead when he saw Calvin pinned against the wall and Matteo trembling with white-hot fury. "Boss, hold on. If you pull that trigger here, there's no turning back. Let the syndicate tribunal handle him. Let him talk."
Matteo stared down at Calvin’s pathetic, weeping face. The temptation to paint the wallpaper with his brains was an overwhelming, roaring fire in his veins. But Tony was right. A quick death was too merciful for a parasite who had poisoned a Moretti and starved an innocent mother.
Slowly, Matteo lowered the gun, though he didn't release his grip on Calvin’s collar. He shoved him hard to the floor, sending the estate manager sprawling into a heap of dust and old carpet.
"Tony," Matteo commanded without looking back. "Drag him down to the basement holding cell. Strip him of his keys, his phone, and his dignity. And call Dr. Vance at Mercy General. Tell him to clear a secure room for Grace Bell—she’s moving into the master guest wing as soon as she's discharged, with twenty-four-hour armed protection."
"Consider it done," Tony said, hauling Calvin up by his arms while the former manager wept and begged for mercy.
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As they dragged Calvin out of the room, the heavy oak door slamming shut behind them, Matteo stood alone in Lucia’s bedroom. He reached out, his fingers brushing the surface of the open ledger, his mind racing with a terrifying new realization. Calvin was just a middleman. No estate manager could orchestrate a multi-million-dollar transnational asset laundering scheme without backing from higher up the syndicate food chain.
And as if on cue, his encrypted phone began to buzz violently against his thigh.
