Chapter 4 - The Confrontation
Ten minutes later, the executive floor was summoned back to life.
Mark Bell and Victor Hale were escorted into Dante’s private office by two broad-shouldered bodyguards whose suits bulged slightly at the waist.
Victor swaggered in, adjusting his cuffs with an arrogant smirk. "You wanted to see us, Dante? We were just reviewing the Philadelphia shipping manifests."
Dante remained seated behind his massive oak desk. He didn't speak. He simply gestured toward the spreadsheet Sophia had placed before him.
Mark caught sight of the paper, and the color drained completely from his face. His carefully maintained composure cracked wide open, his eyes darting frantically toward Sophia, who stood quietly near the corner of the room.
"What is this?" Victor asked, glancing down. His smirk faltered. "Dante, where did you get this?"
"That’s the wrong question, Victor," Dante said, his voice dangerously low. "The right question is why my signature is on three shell-company invoices totaling over a hundred and twenty thousand dollars, signed while I was in Zurich last month."
Victor shot a murderous glare at Mark. "Mark handles the secondary filing queue—"
"Mark didn't sign them alone," Dante interrupted, standing up. The sheer physical presence of the man filled the room, pushing the oxygen out. "Mark tried to hide an envelope under the filing cabinet this afternoon because it contained a warning letter from the bank flagging these exact discrepancies."
Mark stumbled backward, his knees hitting the edge of a leather armchair. "Boss, I swear to God, I was pressured—Victor said if I didn't help route the payments—"
"Shut your mouth," Victor hissed, lunging toward Mark, but one of the bodyguards grabbed Victor by the shoulder and slammed him hard against the wood-paneled wall.
Sophia watched in stunned silence. The drama unfurling in front of her looked like a scene from a mob thriller, yet here she was, standing in the middle of it in her sensible flats and oversized blazer.
Dante walked slowly around the desk until he was standing inches from Victor Hale.
"You worked for my father," Dante said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. "You sat at our tables. You swore loyalty to the family name."
"Dante, please—it was just a little skimming—everyone in logistics takes a cut—"
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"Not from my books," Dante said.
He didn't hit him. He didn't raise his voice. He just looked at the two bodyguards. "Take them down to the basement holding area. Let Franco handle the corporate audit. And make sure every asset they own in this city is frozen by morning."
