Chapter 2 - The Inner Circle
For the first time in the three years I had worked for him, I saw genuine, unmasked fear flash across Dante Moretti’s face. It vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by a cold, murderous resolve that made the air in the room drop twenty degrees.
He stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the linoleum floor. He pulled out his encrypted satellite phone with practiced speed, barking rapid-fire commands into the receiver.
“Move my mother to the secure estate immediately. Put an armed detail on my sister and her children. Nobody travels alone, and no one opens their doors to unverified personnel,” he ordered, his voice brooking zero argument. Then he paused, his eyes locking onto mine. “And put four armed guards outside Harper’s room right now.”
“Dante, no, I’m just your employee—” I started to protest.
“You were brutally attacked because you are tied to my name,” he cut me off quietly, stepping closer to the bed. “That makes this entirely my responsibility, Harper.”
His expression shifted into deep, analytical concentration as his corporate mind resumed control. “The Northbridge acquisition dossier was discussed by exactly six people in my entire organization. That is the entire list.”
My stomach tightened into a knot. “You. Me. General counsel. Chief Financial Officer. Head of corporate acquisitions. And one outside board member.”
I didn’t need to finish the sentence. We both arrived at the horrific conclusion at the exact same time.
“Someone inside Moretti Global leaked the project details to our competitors,” I whispered.
“Yes,” Dante growled, running a hand through his dark hair. “Which means the stolen laptop matters far more than just a missing piece of hardware. They wanted access to your local cache files.”
Then, through the fog of pain and concussion medication, another crucial memory surfaced from the brutal alleyway attack. A flash of a man holding my leather work bag. A muffled voice hissing through the rain. Where is the original physical file?
“Dante,” I said urgently, trying to sit up again.
He turned back around, his eyes narrowing. “What is it?”
“They weren’t really after my laptop. Not primarily.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When they threw me against the brick wall, they kept demanding to know where ‘the envelope’ was. They kept asking about a specific file.”
His expression sharpened into razor-sharp focus. “What file, Harper?”
And then, like a lightning strike, I remembered the mysterious manila envelope that had inexplicably appeared resting right in the center of my executive desk the previous afternoon before I left the office. There had been no return address. No interoffice memo. No explanation attached.
Out of curiosity, I had opened it before locking up. Inside were deeply sensitive financial audit records showing millions of dollars moving through an offshore shell company I didn’t recognize—a company tied directly to Moretti Global’s primary subsidiary accounts. I had placed it in my briefcase, planning to hand it directly to Dante first thing that very morning.
“I received an anonymous envelope yesterday afternoon,” I confessed, my voice trembling.
Dante went completely, terrifyingly still. “What was inside that envelope, Harper?”
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That was when the horrifying truth crashed over me like a tidal wave. The ambush in the parking garage hadn't just been a generic warning to scare Dante away from a high-stakes business merger. Someone inside his multi-billion-dollar empire was embezzling corporate funds and running a massive illegal operation, and they knew I had accidentally intercepted the smoking gun.
I had received the evidence. And whoever sent those thugs believed I still had the physical papers locked in my possession.
