Chapter 5 - The Confession on the West Side
The basement security facility beneath Moretti Capital’s downtown logistics hub was cold, sterile, and entirely soundproof.
Arthur Pendelton sat at a metal interrogation table, his expensive silk tie loosened, sweat pouring down his pale forehead as he stared at the two armed guards standing silently by the reinforced steel door.
The heavy door swung open.
Elena walked in, followed closely by Vittorio Moretti.
Pendelton flinched, shrinking back into his chair. “This is illegal! You’re holding me against my will! I demand my lawyer!”
“Your lawyer, Julian Vance, is currently sharing a holding cell with two federal marshals who specialize in RICO violations,” Vittorio said smoothly, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite Pendelton. He crossed his legs, resting his elbows on the table. “You can talk to us, Arthur, or you can explain your offshore accounts to a federal judge in Brooklyn who loves mandatory minimum sentences.”
Pendelton looked desperately at Elena. “Elena, please... I’ve been with this company for thirty years. I watched you grow up—”
“You watched my father loot the company and you helped yourself to a slice of the pie,” Elena interrupted, her voice dropping into an icy register. “Where is the seventy-two million from Newark?”
Pendelton swallowed hard, his hands shaking. “It... it’s in a holding account in Zurich. Under a blind trust.”
“Who controls the trust?” Vittorio demanded.
Pendelton hesitated.
Vance stepped forward from the shadows, placing a heavy manila folder on the table and sliding a single photograph across the wood.
It was a picture of a man stepping off a private jet in Geneva—a man whose face appeared on the board of directors of three major real estate conglomerates in Manhattan.
Pendelton’s eyes widened in sheer terror. “You... you found him?”
“We found everyone,” Vittorio replied coldly. “Now, do you want to sign the asset repatriation forms and cooperate with the federal prosecutor, or do you want to spend your golden years eating prison food?”
May you like
Pendelton looked between Vittorio’s menacing stare and Elena’s unyielding expression. All the fight drained out of him. He slumped forward, burying his face in his hands.
“Give me the pen,” Pendelton whispered.
