Chapter 5 - The Power of an Empire
Twenty minutes later, Arthur's black SUV didn't arrive alone.
It pulled up to our curb accompanied by a second, equally massive dark sedan. Four men in dark, identical suits stepped out of the second vehicle—built like brick walls, with earpieces tucked behind their ears and sharp, watchful eyes scanning the street. They were Arthur's private security details.
Arthur stepped out of his SUV, his face a mask of furious concentration. He walked up our porch steps, flanked by two of his security guards, and knocked three short times on the door.
"Emily, it's Arthur," he called out.
I unlocked the door and threw it open. The moment I saw him, the terror that had been building inside me exploded, and I buried my face against his coat, sobbing hysterically.
Arthur froze for a fraction of a second—unaccustomed to physical affection or emotional outbursts—before resting a large, warm hand gently on the top of my head.
"You're safe now, Emily," he said softly. "Nobody is going to hurt you or your family. I give you my word."
He stepped inside, gesturing for his security team to stay posted on the porch and along the street. He looked at the scuff mark on the bottom of our door where the loan shark had kicked it, his jaw tightening dangerously.
Ten minutes later, my mother arrived home early, having been called by a worried neighbor who saw the SUVs outside.
When she burst through the front door, expecting the worst, she found Arthur sitting on our frayed sofa, holding a sleeping Noah in his arms while I sat beside him, drinking a glass of water.
"What happened?!" Sarah gasped, dropping her purse.
Arthur gently handed Noah to my mother, then stood up, adjusting his cuffs. He explained the visit from Mr. Moretti's men in calm, precise detail.
Sarah collapsed onto the dining chair, burying her face in her hands. "Frank... my ex-husband... he borrowed money from loan sharks before he left three years ago. I thought they forgot about us. I don't have fifteen thousand dollars, Mr. Vance. I don't even have fifteen hundred. They're going to destroy us."
Arthur looked down at my mother, his expression unreadable.
"Who is this Moretti?" Arthur asked coldly.
"Victor Moretti," Sarah whispered, trembling. "He runs illegal gambling dens and predatory lending networks in East Detroit. The police won't touch him. Everyone is afraid of him."
Arthur pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen a few times, and placed it to his ear.
"Marcus," Arthur spoke into the phone, his voice carrying the terrifying weight of absolute wealth and authority. "Run a background search on a Victor Moretti in East Detroit. Find out every property he owns, every bank account he operates, and every shell company attached to his name. I want a complete financial autopsy on my desk in fifteen minutes."
He paused, listening to his assistant's response.
"And Marcus?" Arthur added, staring out our front window into the darkening street. "Buy out the primary mortgage on Moretti's main commercial building on Woodward Avenue. Then contact the District Attorney's office. Tell them Arthur Vance wants to discuss Moretti's tax evasion files."
He hung up the phone.
My mother and I stared at him in stunned silence. To us, Victor Moretti was an unstoppable monster who ruled our block with fear. To Arthur Vance, he was simply an equation to be solved, an insect to be crushed with a single phone call.
"Mr. Vance..." Sarah breathed, her eyes wide with shock. "You can't get involved in this. These are dangerous men!"
Arthur looked at my mother, then turned his gaze towards me.
"Mrs. Carter," Arthur said quietly. "Twelve days ago, I was a bitter man sitting in an empty house, believing that money was the only thing that mattered in this world. Then your daughter sent a text meant for her aunt, asking for twenty dollars to feed her brother."
He took a step closer to us, his voice dropping into a deep, steady rhythm.
"That text saved my life just as much as that milk saved Noah. I have billions of dollars, Mrs. Carter. I can buy entire city blocks with a stroke of a pen. I will not allow a cheap criminal to terrorize a twelve-year-old girl who was brave enough to stand up for her family."
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He looked at his watch.
"Moretti's men said they will return tomorrow night for their money," Arthur said, a dark, dangerous smile touching the corners of his lips. "I think I will be sitting in this living room when they arrive."
