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The crystal chandelier overhead hummed with a quiet, expensive indifference, casting diamond-like reflections across the ballroom floor. Three hundred of the city’s elite—men in bespoke tuxedos smelling of aged scotch and expensive cologne, women draped in jewels that could fund a small nation—had frozen mid-breath. / Chapter 13 / 16

Chapter 13 - Operation Trojan HorseThe next morning, the war room at Moretti Holdings looked like a military command center. Holographic maps of global shipping routes, financial ledgers, and intercepted encrypted communications glowed across the massive central screens.

"We can't wait for them to strike again," I said, standing at the head of the conference table, pointing a laser stylus at a glowing node in Zurich. "The Consortium relies on absolute anonymity. Their funds are funneled through a shell company called Aegis Global Logistics. If we freeze their liquidity using our European leverage, they'll be forced to come out of the shadows and negotiate."

Eleanor crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow in grudging admiration. "And what makes you think they'll negotiate instead of sending another hit squad?"

"Because Aegis Global Logistics isn't just a shell company," Lorenzo added, finishing my thought with a lethal grin. "It's the primary funding source for their entire European arms operation. If we seize it, their regional directors will turn on each other in a feeding frenzy trying to find the scapegoat."

We executed the plan at precisely 9:00 AM New York time.

With a single keystroke, Moretti Holdings exercised a hostile debt-restructuring maneuver, legally seizing ninety percent of Aegis Global Logistics' assets under international anti-money-laundering statutes.

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Gabriel’s eyes did not leave Evan’s face. Fourteen years of blood, sweat, midnight phone calls, and silent understandings hung in the quiet foyer of the mansion, reduced to the steady, deceptive hum of the grandfather clock.

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The rain drummed a frantic rhythm against the glass of the narrow brick building above Mrs. Carter’s alterations shop in Brooklyn. Dominic Moretti stood frozen on the threshold, his boots planted on the worn welcome mat, his lungs refusing to draw breath.

The rain drummed a frantic rhythm against the glass of the narrow brick...

Within minutes, the global financial markets went into a tailspin. Phones started ringing uncontrollably across our trading floor. Emergency override requests poured in from London, Geneva, and Hong Kong.

The Consortium was bleeding out in real-time. And they knew exactly who had plunged the knife in.

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