Chapter 6 - The Encrypted Pulse
The persistent vibration against my palm felt less like an electronic notification and more like a countdown timer ticking down in my chest.
Around us, the Hawthorne ballroom had completely dissolved into a state of frozen shock. The low, melodic hum of string quartet music from the balcony had stopped entirely, replaced by the heavy, shallow breathing of fifty terrified socialites and the frantic rustle of Celeste’s dress as she backed away from Bennett’s table as though he carried a contagious plague.
My mother’s hands were clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide with a terrifying blend of social mortification and sudden, primal dread. “Bennett... is that true?” she gasped, her voice trembling as she looked at the man who had traded my daughterly devotion for a corporate climber half his age. “Are those federal papers real?”
Bennett didn't answer her. He was staring at the manila envelope resting on the champagne-soaked tablecloth as if it were a venomous snake about to strike. His face was a mask of gray, sweaty panic, his mouth opening and closing without producing a single coherent syllable.
“You can’t do this,” Bennett finally croaked out, his voice cracking like dry wood. He looked up at Dante, his eyes wide and bloodshot. “You’re... you’re Moretti. You don't just walk into a public charity gala and drop federal subpoenas over a corporate dispute. My lawyers will—your lawyers will—”
“My lawyers are currently auditing your personal offshore holdings in the Cayman Islands, Mr. Hale,” Dante interrupted, his tone chillingly smooth, lacking even a shred of malice. It was the detached, casual delivery of a man discussing the weather. “And your compliance officer is already singing a very detailed song to the district attorney about your little midnight adjustments to the shipping manifests.”
Dante shifted his gaze slightly, looking down at me where I stood frozen beside his shoulder. His large, warm hand remained steady at the small of my back, anchoring me against the sudden, dizzying whirlwind of the room.
May you like
“We have five hours left on our contract, Marin,” Dante murmured quietly, his voice pitched so only I could hear it over the silent tension of the ballroom. “Shall we stay for dessert, or is the entertainment here beginning to bore you?”
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