When Emma was nineteen, his company had suddenly collapsed under massive debt and allegations of cargo fraud.
David Carter had suffered a massive, fatal heart attack shortly after the bankruptcy, leaving Emma alone to raise ten-year-old Liam while working double shifts as a waitress to pay off what remained of the debts.
She hit search.
A red warning flashed on the screen: RESTRICTED ARCHIVE — LEVEL 5 CLEARANCE REQUIRED.
ACCESS ATTEMPT LOGGED.
Emma pulled her fingers back from the screen as if she had been burned.
Why would a small-time trucking company from the South Side be locked behind Level 5 clearance in Moretti Global’s deepest vaults?
“Looking for something, Emma?”
Emma jumped, quickly shutting the tablet.
Vincent was standing at the entrance of the conservatory, his dark trench coat draped over his arm.
He looked weathered from the boardroom battle, but his eyes locked onto her with piercing perception.
“Vincent,” Emma breathed, steadying her heartbeat.
“You’re back early.”
Vincent walked into the room, signaling Thomas to take Liam to the gardens.
Once the boy was out of earshot, Vincent pulled up a chair across from Emma and sat down, his expression heavy with unspoken burdens.
“Julian informed me an alert was triggered on the archive server,” Vincent said quietly, his tone lacking anger, filled instead with solemn resignation.
“You searched for David Carter.”
Emma felt a lump form in her throat.
She looked Vincent straight in the eye, refusing to shrink back.
“My father died of a broken heart after his business was destroyed, Vincent.
Everyone told me it was bad luck, bad accounting, bad contracts.
But why is his file locked in your family’s highest security vault?
What did Arthur mean when he told you to stay out of family matters?”
Vincent was silent for a long moment.
Outside, dark storm clouds were gathering over Lake Michigan, turning the water the color of bruised iron.
“I didn’t know who you were when you stopped Victoria at the banquet,” Vincent confessed, his voice rough.
“To me, you were just a remarkably brave woman who risked everything to protect my grandmother.
But after that night, when I ran your background check…
I discovered the truth about your father.”
“What truth?”
Emma demanded, her voice trembling.
“Your father didn’t go bankrupt by accident,” Vincent revealed, his eyes burning with an ancient remorse.
“Ten years ago, my brother Arthur used your father’s shipping line to smuggle unregistered weapons through the Great Lakes.
When your father found out and threatened to go to the FBI, Arthur forged documents framing him for fraud and bankrupted him overnight.
My father covered it up to protect the Moretti name.”
Emma le fixa du regard, la pièce tournant autour d’elle.
« Votre famille… a détruit mon père. »
Chapitre 18 – Le Gala du Jugement
Le gala annuel du patrimoine de Chicago, qui se tenait à l’hôtel Palmer House Hilton, était le joyau de la couronne du calendrier mondain du Midwest.
C’était un événement où convergeaient le pouvoir politique, les vieilles fortunes et les titans du monde des affaires.
En temps normal, Vincent Moretti évitait de telles démonstrations ostentatoires.
Ce soir, cependant, l’absence n’était pas envisageable.
La revendication officielle d’Arthur au conseil d’administration de Moretti avait provoqué une onde de choc dans la haute société.
Si Vincent se cachait dans sa propriété, les vautours sentiraient le sang.
Il devait prouver au monde entier que son emprise sur Chicago restait absolue.
La grande salle de bal était un océan de lustres en cristal, de champagne à flots et d’élites en smoking.
Lorsque les doubles portes s’ouvrirent et que Vincent Moretti entra, toute la salle sembla retenir son souffle.
À ses côtés marchait Emma Carter.
Elle portait une robe de soie bleu nuit, confectionnée spécialement pour elle par les plus grands créateurs milanais, qui mettait en valeur son cou gracieux et sa taille fine.
Ses cheveux auburn étaient relevés en un chignon élégant, maintenu par des épingles à diamants.
Elle ne ressemblait pas à une ancienne serveuse du South Side ; elle tenait la tête haute, le menton relevé, avec une noblesse innée et discrète qui éclipsait toutes les mondaines présentes dans la pièce.
Des murmures se propagèrent comme une traînée de poudre dans la foule.
« Est-ce la serveuse du banquet Sterling ? »
« Vincent Moretti l’a amenée comme invitée personnelle ? »
« Regarde comment il la tient… »
Vincent gardait une main protectrice fermement posée sur le bas du dos d’Emma.
« Tu es magnifique », murmura-t-il près de son oreille, sa voix grave lui faisant parcourir un frisson malgré la tension glaciale qui régnait dans la pièce.
