Chapter 4 - Shadows at the Foundation
By mid-afternoon, Darius was in a state of absolute, unadulterated fury. He had dispatched six of his most loyal personal bodyguards across the city to find Serena, to grab Sal Rossi, to haul Senator Pitman to his office—to do something.
But his men returned one by one with empty hands and terrified expressions.
"What do you mean the docks are locked?" Darius roared, throwing a crystal decanter against the marble fireplace, where it shattered into a thousand sparkling shards. Vivien shrieked from the couch, flinching away from his rage.
"Boss, the union reps aren't letting our trucks through," the lead enforcer, Jimmy, stammered, sweating profusely. "They said the port terminal leases were transferred to Vale Logistics this morning. The security guards at the gates showed us court injunctions. If we force our way in, the federal marshals are sitting right there waiting for us."
"Vale Logistics?" Darius yelled, his face turning an unhealthy shade of crimson. "That bitch! She doesn't own those leases! I am Darius Maronei!"
"Actually, boss..." Jimmy swallowed hard, pulling a document from his coat pocket. "Our corporate lawyers just sent this over. It seems... well, every property, every holding company, every front business we've used for the last fifteen years was registered under the Vale Trust. Your name isn't on a single deed. You were listed as an unpaid consultant on the corporate filings."
Vivien sat up, her eyes wide with sudden panic. "Darius... what is he talking about? What about the estate? What about my diamonds?"
Darius turned on her, his eyes wild with toxic fury. "Shut up, Vivien!"
He grabbed his coat and stormed out to his armored SUV, slamming the door. He needed to see his bank manager, Arthur Pendelton, at the First National Commerce Bank. Pendelton had handled Maronei money for thirty years; surely money would talk.
When Darius slammed his hand down on Pendelton's mahogany desk twenty minutes later, the bank president didn't even flinch. He slowly adjusted his spectacles and looked at Darius with a mixture of pity and dry contempt.
"I need five million in cash out of the primary vault immediately, Arthur," Darius snarled, leaning over the desk. "And freeze every account with Serena’s name on it."
"I’m afraid I can't do that, Darius," Pendelton said calmly, closing a file on his desk.
"What did you say to me?" Darius reached under his coat for his sidearm.
"I said no," Pendelton repeated, clicking a pen. "And if you pull a weapon in this office, the silent alarm under my desk will summon thirty armed federal agents who are currently sitting in the lobby upstairs auditing our commercial loan records."
Darius froze, his hand resting on the grip of his pistol. "What audit?"
"Mrs. Vale Maronei presented herself at this bank at seven o'clock this morning," Pendelton explained patiently. "She brought a complete, certified record of every transaction made through our offshore accounts over the past decade. She informed us that as the sole trustee of the accounts, she was closing them and surrendering the paper trails to the IRS and the Department of Justice to ensure full tax compliance."
Pendelton leaned back in his chair. "The accounts are frozen by federal order, Darius. Not because of a mob war, but because of a tax audit. You don't have five million dollars. In fact, according to the state, your personal checking account has a balance of four hundred and twelve dollars and sixty cents."
Darius felt the room spin. The blood rushed in his ears like a deafening waterfall. "She gave them the books?"
"She gave them your books," Pendelton corrected smoothly. "Her personal holdings were fully declared, taxed, and insulated years ago. You are broke, Darius. And by tomorrow morning, I expect the federal authorities will be issuing summonses for your arrest regarding tax evasion."
Darius backed out of the office, his chest heaving. The world he thought he ruled with absolute authority was evaporating under his feet like morning frost under a brutal sun.
He drove recklessly back to the estate, his mind racing, clutching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. He still had the house. He still had his muscle. He could still fight. He would find her, choke the life out of her with his bare hands, and take back what was his.
May you like
When he pulled up the long, winding driveway of the Maronei manor, he saw three large moving vans parked near the front steps.
Uniformed workers were carrying out high-end furniture, antique paintings, and crystal chandeliers. Standing by the grand front entrance, holding a clipboard and looking immaculate in her sharp dark suit and striking new haircut, was Serena.
