Chapter 4 - The Transfer of Power
By Monday morning, the financial demolition of Matteo and Deline Rossi was complete.
The front page of the Pittsburgh Inquirer didn’t feature photos of the grand wedding reception; instead, the business section ran a blistering exposé titled: Embezzlement at the Altar: Forensic Audit Uncovers Elder-Care Fraud Tied to Prominent Local Nuptials. The article detailed how over three hundred thousand dollars had been systematically drained from Walter Bellamy’s medical trust to fund a luxury lifestyle, high-end bridal deposits, and architectural retainers.
Sitting in the leather-bound executive conference room on the forty-second floor of Marzano Towers, Simone stared at the newspaper spread across the mahogany table.
The sun was streaming through the glass, warming the minimalist room, but the chill of the past weekend still lingered in her bones.
“Your father’s legal guardianship has been successfully transferred,” Julian announced, walking in from his private office holding a thick manila folder. He tossed it onto the table in front of her. “The courts signed off on emergency health proxy reassignments an hour ago. Walter is currently being moved out of that substandard facility and into a private recovery suite at Presbyterian Hospital under armed medical security.”
Simone looked up, her throat tightening with sudden, overwhelming emotion. “You didn't have to go that far. The court process usually takes months.”
“My legal team doesn't do ‘months’ when an elderly man’s life is being used as a piggybank for a pair of criminal social climbers,” Julian replied smoothly, taking a seat opposite her. He poured two cups of black coffee from a silver carafe, pushing one across the polished wood toward her. “Besides, your father has a message for you.”
Simone’s eyes widened. “You spoke to him?”
“Frank and I visited the nursing home at 6:00 AM before the lawyers woke up,” Julian said, a faint, rare smile touching the corners of his mouth. “He couldn't speak, obviously. But he used his tablet. Do you know what he typed?”
“What?” Simone breathed, her heart hammering.
Julian recited the mechanical words with quiet precision: ‘Tell her she’s finally free of them. And buy yourself a better pair of shoes.’
A watery, hysterical laugh escaped Simone’s lips, followed immediately by a hot tear that spilled over her eyelashes and dropped straight onto the conference table. She raised her bandaged hand to wipe her cheek, but before her fingers could touch her face, Julian reached across the table, his warm thumb gently catching the moisture on her skin.
He didn't pull his hand away immediately. His thumb lingered on her cheekbone, his gray eyes searching her face with an intensity that made the surrounding forty-second-floor air feel entirely electric.
“You’ve spent your whole life apologizing for taking up space, Simone,” Julian said softly, his voice losing its corporate edge entirely. “That stops today.”
“And what happens to me now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don't have a job at the bookstore anymore—Deline made sure her friends boycotted us months ago. I don't have an apartment—my lease expired on Friday, and all my boxes are still sitting in my car.”
Julian’s thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle along her jawline before he withdrew his hand and picked up his coffee cup.
“You have a forensic accounting degree from Carnegie Mellon,” Julian stated matter-of-factly. “And Marzano Holdings currently lacks an internal director of asset recovery to audit our real estate acquisitions for precisely this kind of white-collar rot.”
Simone blinked, stunned. “You’re offering me a job?”
“I’m offering you an empire, Simone,” Julian corrected, his voice dropping into that deep, absolute register of command. “Starting salary is triple what you made at the bookstore. Your office is down the hall from mine. And if anyone from your family—or any associate of your former brother-in-law—comes within five hundred feet of your desk, my security team has standing orders to throw them through a plate-glass window.”
Simone stared at him, caught somewhere between sheer disbelief and a wild, bubbling sense of liberation. For twenty-four hours, she had felt like a character in a tragedy. Now, sitting across from the most dangerous man in the city, she realized she was holding the pen for the sequel.
May you like
“I accept,” Simone said, her voice ringing clear and steady across the boardroom.
Julian raised his coffee cup in a silent toast, his gray eyes glinting with dangerous satisfaction. “Welcome aboard, Miss Bellamy. Let’s go audit some criminals.”
