Chapter 7 - The Viper's Trail
The rain returned to Zurich with a bleak, relentless intensity, turning the pristine streets along the Limmat River into grey mirrors.
Inside a penthouse suite overlooking the Bellevueplatz, Julian Vance sat in a plush velvet armchair, pouring himself a measure of thirty-year-old scotch. The elderly attorney, who had served as Dominic Moretti’s trusted legal counsel for two decades, looked entirely at ease.
His encrypted satellite phone chimed on the glass side table.
Julian picked it up, pressing it to his ear. "Speak."
"The Hastings lead has been completely severed," a distorted voice spoke through the speaker. "Hastings signed a full confession in federal custody five hours ago. He believes he acted alone with his syndicate contacts."
"And Moretti?" Julian asked smoothly, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Is he satisfied?"
"Dominic has hired international intelligence," the voice replied. "They are tracing the Zurich shell accounts. It is only a matter of days before they reach the holding firm."
Julian smiled faintly, setting his glass down. "Let them trace it. The holding firm is registered under Marco Moretti’s name. When Dominic follows the trail, he will find his own brother’s signature on the transfer documents."
"A masterstroke," the voice noted. "Frame the younger brother, destroy the elder, and absorb the sixty-percent controlling share of Moretti Logistics through the corporate trust you manage."
"Dominic was becoming soft," Julian said coldly, his eyes darkening as he stared at the rain against the window. "Ever since his wife died, he spent more time playing father than expanding our empire. He refused the European expansion deal because it involved risk to his personal reputation. He forgot what made us powerful."
Julian stood up, adjusting his silk tie in the mirror.
"And now he relies on the testimony of a housekeeper’s three-year-old child," Julian chuckled softly. "A tragedy, really. But when Marco is arrested for treason against his own blood, I will step in as legal conservator of the estate. The Moretti name will belong to me."
Julian hung up the phone, placed it back on the table, and turned toward his bedroom to pack his briefcase.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Sitting quietly in the high-backed leather armchair in the corner of his bedroom was Dominic Moretti.
Dominic was holding an unlit cigar between his fingers, his face illuminated only by the faint light of the Zurich skyline outside. Standing beside him in the shadows were Vincent and three heavy operators from Swiss private security, their sidearms drawn and fitted with suppressors.
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Julian’s breath hitched in his throat. His scotch glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor.
"Hello, Julian," Dominic said softly.
