Chapter 4 - The Boss’s Verdict
The weight of Rocco Moretti’s gaze was suffocating. He didn't raise his voice, nor did he slam his fists on the table like Caleb. He simply walked slowly toward the metal chair opposite me, pulled it out with deliberate care, and sat down.
“You heard him?” Rocco asked. His voice was a low, gravelly vibration that scraped against my nerves.
“Mr. Moretti, I didn't touch those files. I didn't swipe a keycard. I’ve never even been to the second-floor nursery,” I stammered, my hands trembling violently as I gripped the edge of the table. “Look at me. Look at my life here. Why would I risk my daughter? Why would I steal your baby?”
“That,” Rocco said quietly, “is what you are going to tell me.”
“She’s lying, Boss,” Caleb interjected from the doorway. “The digital trail is ironclad. Keycard 44-B, assigned to Elena Vance, opened the west wing service hatch. The timing matches the physical evidence. She used her kid as a distraction—sent the four-year-old in to retrieve the bundle so she wouldn't look like the primary suspect if caught.”
I stared at Caleb in sheer disbelief. “Are you insane? She’s four years old! She doesn't even know what a conspiracy is, she thought the baby was crying because he wanted his mother!”
At the sound of my raised voice, Lily stirred in the corner, letting out a soft, frightened whimper.
I choked back my tears instantly, turning my head away so Rocco wouldn't see the raw panic breaking me apart. If they took me away, if they locked me in some black-site basement or threw me out into the pouring rain, what would happen to my little girl in a house full of armed men who viewed human lives as disposable chess pieces?
Rocco watched the interaction in silence. His dark eyes darted from my trembling hands to the sleeping child in the corner, then back to the fabricated cream-colored memo resting on the table.
He reached out, his long fingers sliding the paper toward himself. He didn't read it. He just stared at the embossed letterhead.
“Caleb,” Rocco said softly.
“Sir?”
“When was this memo generated in the system?”
“Uh—according to the IT metadata, it was logged into the server database at 8:22 PM tonight.”
Rocco slowly lifted his gaze from the paper to his security chief. “And when did you arrive at the estate tonight, Caleb?”
Caleb blinked, a microscopic flicker of hesitation crossing his otherwise polished features. “I—I arrived at 5:00 PM, Boss, same as always. To oversee memorial security.”
“Strange,” Rocco murmured, leaning back in his chair. “Because the server logs show that file wasn't created from the security console. It was uploaded via an external administrative terminal located in the private wing.”
Caleb’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Well... yes, sir. I had to update staff classifications after the memorial guest list changed this afternoon.”
“You updated staff classifications for the nursery?” Rocco’s voice dropped another octave, turning into something lethal. “Since when does my head of physical security handle administrative HR memos for domestic housekeeping staff?”
May you like
The room went dead silent. Even the distant sound of the rain against the basement window seemed to fade.
Caleb opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His face lost all its color, the confident smirk replaced by cold, hard sweat.
