Chapter 4 - The Dinner Party Trap
By Saturday night, the formal dining room at Larks Hill blazed with the light of fifty candles, reflecting off silver candelabras and crystal wine decanters. Marcus Ferrante sat at the head of the table in my father's old seat, laughing heartily as he regaled our guests—two federal judges and a state senator—with stories about the family's long-standing dedication to lawful enterprise.
I sat at the opposite end, cutting my steak with slow, deliberate precision. Noel stood quietly against the wainscoting behind Marcus's chair, dressed in a sharp black uniform, pouring vintage Bordeaux into his crystal glass with hands that didn't shake.
"You've been unusually quiet tonight, Dante," Marcus said, flashing a warm, paternal smile that didn't reach his cold, calculating eyes. "Worrying about the dock strikes in Newark again?"
"Not the strikes, Marcus," I replied, setting my silver fork down with a soft clink that carried across the silent room. "Supply chains are easy to fix when you know who's sabotaging them from the inside."
Marcus's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, laughing it off. "Ah, always the visionary. Just like your father."
"My father didn't hide his accounts in offshore shell companies registered in the Cayman Islands under dead men's names," I said sharply, the temperature in the room plunging instantly. The judges froze, their wine glasses suspended halfway to their mouths.
Marcus slammed his glass down, red wine splashing across the white linen tablecloth. "Have you lost your mind? In front of guests?"
"Guests who happen to specialize in federal financial fraud," I continued, standing up and sliding the black leather ledger across the polished mahogany table directly toward Marcus's plate. Three dried, pressed leaves spilled out from the pages, fluttering across the white linen like dead butterflies.
Marcus stared down at the ledger, his face turning the color of ash. He looked up, his eyes darting toward the doorway where Dominic and four armed security guards now blocked every exit.
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"You little bitch," Marcus hissed, half-rising from his chair and glaring past me toward Noel. "I should have finished your family years ago."
"You already tried," Noel said softly, stepping forward into the candlelight, her voice ringing clear and absolute through the grand dining room. "And today, the audit is finished."
