Chapter 2 - The Estate of Judgment
The wrought-iron gates of the Moretti estate swung open slowly, flanked by private security guards in dark suits.
The sprawling limestone manor in Lake Forest looked more like a European fortress than a family home, surrounded by towering, bare oaks.
Parked in the circular cobblestone driveway was Vincent’s matte-black Porsche, parked crookedly near the grand stone portico.
Beside it stood Richard Moretti’s vintage Rolls-Royce, looking timeless, solid, and utterly imposing.
When Nathan and I entered the cavernous two-story foyer, the air inside was thick with suffocating tension.
The marble floors echoed with our footsteps as the butler, a stoic older gentleman named Thomas, bowed his head respectfully.
“Mrs. Moretti, Mr. Brooks,” Thomas murmured quietly.
“The chairman and Mr. Vincent are waiting in the great library.”
As we reached the heavy carved walnut doors of the library, Vincent’s furious voice cut through the wood.
“Father, she broadcast our private marital affairs to five hundred subordinates!
It’s corporate sabotage! I can have her board seat revoked and sue her for breach of fiduciary confidentiality!”
The doors were pushed open, and all sound in the room died instantly as Nathan and I walked across the threshold.
Vincent stood by the massive marble fireplace, his bespoke Italian suit wrinkled and his silk tie loosened at his throat.
His dark hair was uncombed, and his bloodshot eyes flashed with murderous irritation the second he saw me.
Standing behind him, clutching a designer handbag like a shield, was Sophia Carter herself.
Sophia wore a tailored cream dress that was far too elegant for an ordinary Monday morning at the office.
Her makeup was pristine, but her trembling hands and pale lips betrayed the sheer panic running through her veins.
At the far end of the long conference table sat Richard Moretti, seventy years old, wearing a three-piece charcoal suit.
His silver hair was combed straight back, his cold blue eyes resting on his son with total, devastating disgust.
“Sit down, Claire,” Richard said quietly, his voice cutting through the silence like a sharpened blade.
He didn't look at Vincent, nor did he acknowledge Sophia’s presence with so much as a blink.
“And you, Mr. Brooks, take the seat beside your client. We have serious business to conclude.”
Vincent marched toward me, his hands clenching into fists as he stopped three feet from my chair.
“Claire, what the hell was that message?” Vincent hissed, his breath smelling of stale whiskey and mints.
“Do you have any idea what kind of chaos you’ve unleashed at headquarters?
Sophia and I were working on the maritime acquisition all week!”
I looked up into the face of the man I had loved for three years, and for the first time, I felt only pity.
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“You spent five nights in room 1402 of the Drake Hotel, Vincent,” I replied, my voice steady as stone.
“I didn't sabotage your career. You destroyed it yourself the moment you charged her suite to our marital credit card.”
