Chapter 8 - The Price of Freedom
The federal authorities were closing in. Moretti’s seized documents had opened a massive RICO investigation, and the U.S. Attorney’s Office had subpoenaed the entire Cornero corporate empire. While Arthur was insulated by layers of legal shell companies, Norah’s name appeared as the chief auditor who had signed off on the corrected ledgers.
On a rainy Tuesday morning, federal agents intercepted Norah outside her brother's apartment in Queens.
In a sterile interrogation room at 26 Federal Plaza, Assistant U.S. Attorney Marcus Vance slid a manila folder across the metal table. ""Miss Hayes. You have no criminal record. You’re an honors graduate who fell on hard times due to your mother’s hospital bills. Why are you throwing your life away for a blind mob boss?""
Norah sat with her hands folded, her face impassive. ""I work as an executive assistant, Mr. Vance. That’s not a crime.""
""It is when your employer runs the largest extortion and smuggling syndicate on the Eastern Seaboard,"" Vance countered aggressively. ""Arthur Cornero is going to federal prison for life. We have enough evidence to put him away in ADX Florence. But you? You can walk. Sign this immunity agreement, testify about the encrypted offshore accounts you deciphered, and you enter witness protection with five million dollars in relocation funds.""
Norah looked at the document. It was her ticket out. No more assassins. No more safehouses. No more hiding behind reinforced steel shutters. She could take her brother, move to California, buy a house by the ocean, and never look over her shoulder again.
She picked up the pen.
Vance smiled triumphantly. ""Smart girl.""
Norah clicked the pen, then placed it neatly beside the document. She looked the prosecutor directly in the eye. ""Arthur Cornero didn't steal those millions, Mr. Vance. Domenic Moretti did, in collusion with Russian syndicates. Arthur has spent the last month transferring forty million dollars of those illicit assets into a charitable trust that covers medical debt for low-income families in Brooklyn. If you want to prosecute someone, look at the politicians Moretti was bribing on Wall Street. You'll find their names on page twelve of the federal filing. I sent a copy to the New York Times twenty minutes before your agents picked me up.""
Vance’s smile vanished. His face turned bright red as his phone began buzzing frantically on the table.
The interrogation room door burst open. Not federal agents, but three high-powered defense attorneys flanked by Vincent.
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""This interview is terminated,"" the lead attorney announced, dropping a court injunction on the desk. ""Our client is leaving.""
Norah stood, smoothing her skirt. As she walked past Vance, she whispered, ""Tell your team to audit better next time. There were three formatting errors on your subpoena.""
