Chapter 9 - The Sovereign’s Judgment and the Sins Written in Red Ink
By sunrise, the Chicago police, federal marshals, and Gabriel’s private cleanup crews had cleared the estate. The assault had failed catastrophically for the Morretti family: fourteen mercenaries dead, Evan captured, and Marcus Morretti’s direct involvement exposed through encrypted burner phones recovered from the tactical leader’s body.
At 10:00 AM, our legal and financial strike team launched the final phase of our campaign.
Sitting in the war room of Vale Holdings on the 45th floor of the Willis Tower, I orchestrated the financial dismantling of the Morretti syndicate’s legitimate holdings.
Using the backdoor access tokens I had extracted from the burned Mercer server, I fed actionable intelligence directly to the Securities and Exchange Commission and the Department of Homeland Security. By 1:00 PM:
The Morretti shipping terminal in New Jersey was raided by federal agents, uncovering $80 million in contraband electronics.
The New York Stock Exchange halted trading on Morretti Maritime Corp after I published an anonymous 40-page forensic audit detailing their systematic invoice inflation.
Every major commercial bank in North America called in Morretti’s short-term credit facilities, demanding immediate repayment of $210 million.
“Marcus Morretti is completely insolvent,” I announced to Gabriel, turning the monitor toward him. “He has twelve hours before his creditors seize his remaining vessels.”
Gabriel stood behind me, hands in his pockets, watching the news ticker with cold amusement. “And Victoria Vance?”
“The French Police arrested her at the Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo two hours ago,” I replied, a deep sense of justice washing through my chest. “She was carrying two forged passports and $400,000 in bearer bonds. She will be extradited to Chicago by next week.”
A soft chime sounded on my private laptop.
A confidential file transfer had just completed from a private investigator Gabriel had hired in Boston. The subject line read: MERCER, ELEANOR — VEHICLE REINVESTIGATION REPORT.
My heart skipped a beat. My fingers trembled as I clicked the file.
Gabriel immediately stepped to my side, placing a warm, grounding hand on my shoulder as the PDF opened.
The report contained high-resolution scans of the original 2010 Illinois State Police crash analysis, alongside newly discovered maintenance invoices from Thomas Vance’s auto repair shop in Cicero.
Attached was a signed sworn deposition from the retired lead mechanic:
“On November 14, 2010, Richard Mercer paid me $25,000 in cash to intentionally score the hydraulic brake line on Mrs. Eleanor Mercer’s Lexus SUV. He told me she was planning to take his daughter and half his company assets to Massachusetts. The brake line was designed to rupture under high pressure at highway speeds.”
The room seemed to tilt on its axis.
The suspicion that had haunted my nightmares for fourteen years was confirmed in black and white ink. My father hadn't just been a tyrant, an embezzler, and an abuser.
He was my mother’s murderer.
A sharp, ragged gasp tore from my throat. I clutched the edge of the desk, the room spinning into dark static.
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Gabriel didn't say a word. He didn't offer empty platitudes. He pulled me out of the chair and held me tightly against his chest, wrapping his powerful arms around me like an impenetrable fortress.
“He will pay for every drop of her blood, Claire,” Gabriel whispered into my hair, his voice vibrating with absolute, merciless vengeance. “I swear it on my life.”
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