Chapter 8 - The Day I Took Control of the Moretti Empire
The Hudson Gateway option became exercisable at my son's birth.
That meant everyone expected the war to wait.
It did not.
Carlo's attorneys filed first.
They challenged the DeLuca trust.
Not the entire trust.
Only the option.
They argued Vincent DeLuca had exceeded his authority when he negotiated the purchase right two decades earlier.
It was exactly what Margaret had expected.
"What do they want?" I asked.
"Delay."
"Until when?"
"Past the ninety-day window."
I laughed.
"Predictable."
Margaret smiled.
"Very."
The difference now was evidence.
Matteo was cooperating.
Not out of conscience.
Out of self-preservation.
I didn't care.
He gave prosecutors and our civil attorneys records showing Carlo had planned litigation years earlier.
That helped.
But the most important document came from Adrian.
Rose Bennett's files contained a letter from Vittorio Moretti to Vincent DeLuca.
In it, Vittorio acknowledged the Hudson Gateway option.
Not challenged.
Acknowledged.
More importantly, the current owners of Hudson Gateway had inherited their rights through a partnership where Vittorio had once held a minority stake.
His acknowledgment supported the validity of the deal.
Dante read the letter.
"My father finally did something useful while dead."
I laughed.
Progress.
A special board meeting was scheduled because the Moretti companies also held minority interests in Hudson Gateway.
Conflict everywhere.
Dante could vote certain shares.
Matteo's shares were suspended.
Carlo's interests were frozen.
Adrian had proxy rights through Rose's trust.
Then Naomi found something unexpected.
My grandfather's trust held an old voting certificate.
Five percent of a Moretti logistics subsidiary.
Tiny by today's standards.
But due to layers of corporate consolidation, that certificate translated into a powerful swing vote in the company deciding whether to oppose my option.
Margaret looked at me.
"You control it."
I stared.
"Me?"
"Yes."
Dante smiled.
I looked at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That face means something."
"My pregnant wife is about to decide a Moretti board vote."
"You find that funny?"
"I find it terrifying."
"Good."
The meeting took place at Moretti headquarters in Manhattan.
I was thirty-four weeks pregnant.
My doctor allowed me to attend if I sat, hydrated and avoided stress.
Everyone in the room laughed when I relayed the final condition.
The boardroom had thirty-foot windows overlooking the city.
Men who had known Dante since childhood occupied one side.
Lawyers occupied the other.
Carlo appeared by video from federal custody.
That was surreal.
His attorney sat beside him.
Matteo did not attend.
Adrian did.
Lucia sat behind us.
Dante sat at the head of the table.
Then stood.
"I'm recusing myself from the vote."
Murmurs spread.
I looked at him.
He had not told me.
His attorney objected.
"Dante—"
"No."
He looked around the room.
"My marriage, my prior business decisions and my family's conduct create more conflicts than anyone needs."
Then he looked at me.
"The interested party should speak for herself."
My throat tightened.
Dante Moretti gave up the center seat.
Not symbolically.
Literally.
He moved.
The chair at the head of the table remained empty.
I sat where I already was.
No throne.
No performance.
Margaret presented our case.
Carlo's lawyer presented theirs.
He described the DeLuca option as "an outdated private arrangement."
I raised my hand.
He stopped.
"Outdated?"
"Mrs. Moretti—"
"Please explain which part became outdated."
He hesitated.
"The commercial assumptions."
"Meaning the land became more valuable."
"Among other things."
"So if the property had become worthless, the agreement would remain valid."
Silence.
"But because my grandfather was correct about its future value, now it's unfair."
His jaw tightened.
"That is not my argument."
"It sounds very close."
Dante looked down to hide a smile.
I continued.
"Was your client aware of the option?"
The attorney objected.
Carlo interrupted from the screen.
"Of course I knew."
His lawyer closed his eyes.
Wonderful.
"How long?"
Carlo looked at me.
"You have your grandfather's temperament."
"Condolences."
Lucia coughed to hide laughter.
Carlo's eyes hardened.
"Vincent always believed paper made him untouchable."
"No."
I looked directly at him.
"He believed people should honor what they signed."
The room became still.
I held up Vittorio's letter.
"Your brother acknowledged the option."
Carlo's face changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
"He wrote that under pressure."
"What pressure?"
"Vincent."
"My grandfather forced Vittorio Moretti to write letters?"
Dante leaned toward the microphone.
"I would also like to hear this story."
Carlo glared at him.
The vote proceeded.
The Moretti entities would not oppose exercise of the DeLuca option.
Eleven votes in favor.
Three against.
Two abstentions.
My trust's five percent provided the final margin required under a special supermajority provision.
The irony was beautiful.
The old piece of Moretti ownership sitting inside a DeLuca trust became the vote that stopped the Morettis from stealing from the DeLucas.
My grandfather would have loved it.
After the meeting, reporters waited downstairs.
I had no intention of speaking.
Then one shouted:
"Mrs. Moretti, are you divorcing your husband?"
Dante stopped.
I did too.
Cameras rose.
Dante looked at me.
No signal.
No instruction.
My choice.
I turned toward the reporter.
"My marriage is not a corporate asset."
The room quieted.
"Neither is my son."
I continued.
"Anything else will be handled privately."
Then I walked out.
Dante joined me only after I reached the car.
"Good answer."
"I know."
He smiled.
That night, he received the federal offer.
Cooperation agreement.
No promise of avoiding prosecution.
No magical immunity.
Dante would provide records and testimony relating to historic financial crimes and coercive business practices.
In return, prosecutors would consider cooperation when determining charges.
He showed me.
Every page.
"What do you think?" he asked.
That mattered.
"You want my permission?"
"No."
"Good."
"I want your opinion."
I read.
"Do it."
"Even if it means charges?"
"Especially then."
His jaw tightened.
"I may lose board positions."
"Good."
He looked offended.
I smiled.
"You need hobbies."
"I have a child coming."
"Exactly."
He signed.
Three days later, Dante resigned as chief executive of Moretti Holdings.
The board appointed Elena Rourke interim CEO.
I was surprised.
"So Elena wasn't involved."
Naomi had cleared her.
Her account had been compromised through credentials Matteo controlled.
Elena's biggest crime had been trusting internal systems too much.
We all had one version of that crime.
Dante remained chairman temporarily.
No daily control.
No late-night emergency meetings.
No excuse to disappear behind the word business.
The first evening after he resigned, he arrived home at six.
I stared at him.
"What are you doing here?"
"I live here."
"At six?"
"Apparently."
"What do people do?"
"I have no idea."
We ate dinner together.
He burned garlic bread.
I laughed until my stomach hurt.
At eight, we assembled a crib.
At nine, we discovered Dante had installed one rail backward.
At nine-fifteen, he blamed the instructions.
At nine-thirty, I took the screwdriver away.
At ten, we sat on the nursery floor.
The room was pale blue.
A wooden mobile hung over the crib.
No ledgers.
No guns.
No business.
Our rule.
Dante leaned against the wall.
"I missed this."
"What?"
"Nothing."
I looked at him.
He smiled.
"Nothing happening."
Our son kicked.
I took Dante's hand and placed it over the movement.
He closed his eyes.
"Dante."
"Yeah?"
"Do you still want to be married to me?"
His eyes opened.
"Yes."
"Not because of the baby."
"Yes."
"Not because you're afraid of losing me."
"That is part of it."
I smiled slightly.
"Honest."
"I am trying."
I looked at him.
"I haven't decided."
"I know."
"About staying."
"I know."
Pain flickered.
He did not punish me for it.
He did not persuade.
Good.
Then my phone rang.
Margaret.
I answered.
"What happened?"
Her voice was tight.
"The court scheduled an emergency hearing."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
"Why?"
"Carlo's lawyers are asking to freeze the trust entirely."
I stood too quickly.
Dante helped me, then let go immediately.
"On what grounds?"
Margaret paused.
"Fraud."
I laughed.
"Their fraud?"
"No."
Another pause.
"They claim your grandfather forged Vittorio Moretti's acknowledgment letter."
Dante's face changed.
"What?"
Margaret continued.
"And they have an expert report saying the signature may not be genuine."
The room went silent.
Our strongest piece of evidence had just become a liability.
Dante looked at me.
I looked at him.
May you like
Somewhere, even from federal custody, Carlo Moretti was still reaching for my son's inheritance.
And this time, if the court believed him, he might actually succeed.
