Chapter 2 - THE EXCLUSION CLAUSE
"WHAT?!" Dominic shrieked, his voice cracking violently. He rushed toward the altar, grabbing the silver microphone off the lectern. "That’s illegal! That is legally impossible! I am his only blood heir! He cannot disinherit his son!"
On the screen, Victor smiled—a dark, cold grin that sent chills down the spines of everyone in the room.
"You are correct, Dominic. Under Italian maritime inheritance law, a direct heir cannot be fully stripped of their legacy without cause. Which brings me to the second part of this recording."
Victor raised a thick black folder on the video screen and opened it.
"Six months ago, I commissioned a private forensic investigation into the tragic car accident that took my youngest brother’s life twelve years ago—the accident that left me as the sole owner of the shipping docks. I discovered that the steering assembly on my brother's vehicle had been deliberately sabotaged."
Dominic froze. His chest heaved, his eyes wide with an emotion far worse than panic: absolute terror.
"And the person who authorized the wire transfer to the mechanic in Naples," Victor continued, his voice dropping to a icy whisper, "was a nineteen-year-old boy using my secondary credit line. You, Dominic. You murdered your uncle to secure your succession."
The cathedral turned into an arena of screaming voices. Board members stood up, shouting demands for police intervention. Members of the press who had snuck into the back rows began flashing cameras frantically.
Jessica scrambled backward on her hands and knees, trying to distance herself from Dominic. "I didn't know!" she screamed, her voice shrill and hysterical. "I didn't know about the uncle! I just wanted the money! Dominic, stay away from me!"
Dominic didn't look at her. He stared up at the screen as his dead father delivered the final blow.
"Because of your criminal treason against the family," Victor said, "the Exclusion Clause of the DeLuca Constitution is officially activated. You are stripped of your surname, your trust funds, your property deeds, and your executive authority. You leave this cathedral with nothing. Not a single cent. Not a single stone."
Victor reached forward on the video, his hand moving toward the camera lens.
"Elena," Victor said, looking directly out at me. "The keys to the main safe are in the mahogany box under my desk. The USB drive you hold contains the master encryption keys to every asset in Europe and Asia. Take what is yours, my child. And burn the parasites who tried to destroy you."
The screen flickered black. The cathedral lights slammed back on in full force.
Dominic stood under the harsh light, his jaw trembling, surrounded by five hundred people who were now looking at him not as the golden heir of a shipping dynasty, but as a murderer and a fraud.
Marcus Vance stepped forward, flanked by four armed guards. He pulled a pristine white linen handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to me.
"Mrs. DeLuca," Marcus said respectfully, bowing his head. "The board of directors is waiting in the vestry. Your private security team has secured the estate. How would you like us to handle the former Mr. DeLuca and Miss Mercer?"
I took the handkerchief and wiped the cold red wine from my cheek. Then, I slowly unpinned the stained white veil from my hair and let it drop onto the stone floor at Dominic’s feet.
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I looked my husband in the eyes—the man who had cheated on me, humiliated me, and sought to cast me into poverty.
"Throw them out," I said quietly. "And call the federal prosecutors."
