Chapter 32 - The Sons of the Old Empire
Antonio Deluca was not a gangster.
He wanted everyone to know that.
He owned venture funds.
Hotels.
Technology companies.
A professional soccer club.
He appeared on business magazines wearing sneakers with suits.
Very modern.
Very respectable.
His father had helped murder mine.
Antonio requested dinner.
I accepted.
Adrian objected.
Then accepted because apparently marriage meant making bad decisions together.
We met at The Linden Room.
Same original booth.
Elisabetta deliberately seated herself nearby.
“You are not invited,” Adrian told her.
“I am old. Every room is mine.”
Antonio arrived alone.
Late thirties.
Friendly smile.
No visible security.
He shook Adrian’s hand.
Then mine.
“Mrs. Voss.”
“Mr. Deluca.”
“My father spoke about yours.”
I almost punched him immediately.
Instead, I sat.
“Interesting opening.”
“I prefer directness.”
“Your father helped kill Michael Carter.”
Antonio did not flinch.
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
“You admit it.”
“He confessed to me before dying.”
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“Then why try to acquire my company?”
“To prevent you from selling it to someone worse.”
Now I was confused.
Antonio opened a folder.
Inside were financial records.
Helix Strategic Partners had six major beneficiaries.
Antonio was one.
The others were children of men once connected to Vittorio, Giancarlo, and Charles Whitmore.
Not all criminals.
Some were victims.
Some were both.
“We formed Helix years ago,” Antonio explained.
“Why?”
“To purchase assets abandoned during the collapse of the old networks.”
“Profitable scavenging,” Adrian said.
“Yes.”
“Why Northstar?”
Antonio shook his head.
“We did not approach Northstar.”
“Then?”
“They approached us.”
“Who?”
“Thomas Vale.”
Antonio looked at me.
“He wants your husband’s freight technology.”
“That’s worth eight billion?”
“No.”
Adrian leaned forward.
“What else?”
“Data.”
Silence.
Voss Holdings operated logistics systems across multiple major ports.
Legal cargo.
Customs records.
Supply-chain routing.
Government contracts.
“Access,” Adrian said.
Antonio nodded.
“Northstar wants infrastructure intelligence.”
“For what?”
“I don't know.”
“That answer is getting old.”
Antonio smiled.
“I agree.”
I watched him.
“Why warn us?”
He looked down.
“Because my father spent his life believing loyalty meant obeying men worse than him.”
His voice changed.
“He died asking me not to become him.”
I understood that more than I wanted to.
“So you're trying to redeem the Deluca name?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He looked up.
“Names don't deserve redemption. People do.”
That sounded annoyingly wise.
Adrian glanced at me.
I knew that look.
He liked Antonio.
Terrible judgment.
Then Antonio said:
“Thomas Vale offered me three hundred million dollars yesterday to stay silent.”
“Did you take it?”
“Yes.”
I nearly choked.
He smiled.
“Then transferred it to an escrow account controlled by federal investigators.”
I stared.
“Okay. Maybe I like you a little.”
“Thank you.”
Adrian looked offended.
“Focus.”
Antonio gave us a flash drive.
“Vale’s people sent confidential acquisition documents.”
Priya analyzed them.
Buried inside was a plan to restructure Voss Holdings after purchase.
Within ninety days, Northstar would sell three data subsidiaries to a private defense analytics firm.
That firm had no employees.
No office.
No real operations.
Shell company.
Owner hidden.
Again.
Marcus traced it for sixteen hours.
Finally, a name.
Charles Whitmore.
Impossible.
He was in federal prison.
But the company had been created before his arrest.
Beneficiary rights transferred afterward.
To whom?
His daughter.
Charlotte Whitmore.
Forty-three.
Corporate attorney.
No criminal record.
No involvement in her father’s known activities.
Until now.
“What does she want?” I asked.
Marcus looked grim.
“She filed suit this morning.”
“Against who?”
“You.”
I laughed.
“Popular week.”
The complaint alleged federal investigators had improperly seized privileged Whitmore legal files after I “coerced” Charles into surrender.
Ridiculous.
But discovery requests demanded access to documents related to Michael Carter’s ledgers.
Adrian understood.
“She wants the blackmail files back.”
“Why?”
“Leverage.”
Again.
Always leverage.
Then Charlotte appeared on television.
Perfect suit.
Controlled grief.
“My father committed crimes,” she told reporters. “But the Voss family has exploited his downfall to conceal its own.”
I watched.
She continued.
“My goal is transparency.”
Elisabetta threw a bread roll at the screen.
“Liar.”
I agreed.
Then Charlotte said something that made me stand.
“Sophie Carter-Voss has built a public identity around her father's supposed heroism.”
Supposed.
“She has never disclosed that Michael Carter accepted money from Vittorio Voss before his death.”
My heart stopped.
That was false.
We had the recording.
Dad refused.
Unless there was something else.
Charlotte held up a check.
Signed by Vittorio.
Payable to Michael Carter.
$250,000.
Endorsed on the back.
Michael’s signature.
My mother whispered:
“No.”
I stared at the screen.
For the first time since hearing my father’s final recording, doubt entered the room.
Not because I believed Charlotte.
May you like
Because I had learned one brutal lesson.
Dead parents still had secrets.
