Chapter 6 - The Paper trail of Bell Paper
By 9:00 AM, the morning sun poured through the high library windows of the Cold Spring compound, illuminating stacks of historical corporate records spread across the floor.
Marco walked in carrying a steaming mug of black espresso and a manila folder with a red confidential stamp.
"Boss. The harbor patrol fished Julian Moretti out of the river near DUMBO," Marco reported, setting the coffee onto the desk.
"Is he breathing?" Alessandro asked, now wearing a soft black button-down shirt with the top three buttons undone to accommodate the bandage.
"Barely. He's in federal custody at Bellevue under armed guard. The feds found six forged cashier's checks in his waterproof coat."
Marco turned to look at Natalie, his expression shifting into professional respect.
"Miss Collins. We ran a forensic trace on the specialty paper stock used for the counterfeit certificates."
Natalie looked up from her laptop, where she had been reviewing the foundation’s archived invoices.
"Where did the pulp come from?" she asked.
"It wasn't imported from Italy like the genuine stock," Marco revealed, sliding a chemical analysis sheet across the desk.
"It was milled in upstate New York by a subsidiary called Hudson Valley Specialty Fibers. And the primary shareholder of that mill is Mrs. Eleanor Bell."
Natalie froze, her coffee cup pausing halfway to her lips.
"Mrs. Bell?" Natalie whispered, shock draining the color from her face.
"The sweet seventy-two-year-old grandmother who brings cinnamon scones to the shop every Tuesday morning?"
"The sweet grandmother whose late husband was Don Moretti's chief bookkeeper for thirty-five years," Alessandro answered grimly.
Natalie covered her mouth with her hand.
"She sent me to your mansion," Natalie realized, the horrible truth falling into place like heavy dominoes.
"She specifically told me to represent Bell Paper at your dinner because she thought I was just a naive girl who only cared about pretty typography. She wanted someone who would nod, smile, and deliver the forged batch without asking questions."
"She didn't know you had spent eight years studying chemical pulp composition to save the shop money," Alessandro said, a cold, predatory smile touching his lips.
"She thought she was sending an expendable sheep. Instead, she sent a master inspector who blew up their entire money-laundering network."
The desk phone chimed with a priority line notification.
Alessandro clicked the speaker.
"Speak," he commanded.
"Mr. Vitale," his chief operations director in Manhattan spoke rapidly.
"Eleanor Bell just arrived at our midtown offices with three corporate attorneys. She's claiming that the foundation breached its commercial supply contract by rejecting the donation certificates."
"Is that so?" Alessandro said smoothly.
"She says if you don't release the nine-million-dollar collateral deposit by noon, she will file an emergency injunction to freeze every bank account associated with the Vitale scholarship fund."
Alessandro looked across the desk at Natalie.
May you like
"Miss Collins," he said, extending his hand toward her.
"Would you like to come to midtown and show Mrs. Bell what a real master printer does to an amateur con artist?"
